TOP O THE MORN, BEJESUS

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And a Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you lads and lassies.

Not being Irish I don't get too excited about the day, but I do cook corned beef and cabbage and make my own Irish soda bread.

Now not to brag, but elderly Irish mammas have raved about my soda bread and TLW (The Little Woman) has taken it into the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co. my soda bread where little Irish girls and boys claim it was better than what they got at home from their Irish mammas!

Of course I make it for TLW because she is the love of my life, so everything should be perfect for her. My children are half Irish or half of my children are Irish, I’m not sure which, but there is the Irish element in it somewhere.

Actually I’m married to a Leprechaun, a wee creature in Irish mythology, who really exists in my life. She is always on the go, doing things and keeping Amazon.com afloat.

Her Dad Jim was from the old sod, a true Irishman if ever there was one. Opinionated, crotchety, he actually corrected the Sunday NY Times, then sent in the newspaper with his corrections.

The Irish are a fascinating people in this country in the early 50’s and into the early 70’s. They had the same values as Italians, family loyalty was important to them, self-respect and morality played a big part of their makeup, but most importantly, family. I was lucky in that I could feel at home with TLW’s family, they were so like my own, they were Americans first.

But recently I have been referring to TLW as the leprechaun, my leprechaun because she is always about, telling me what she thinks, lending her good advice to me, making my like easier and certainly more beautiful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8EXDtoGfrs

God bless the Irish, they have done so much to build America, protect it and help make it grow into what it is today, they deserve to celebrate their existence and we should al be proud of them.

May the road rise to meet you,
may the wind be ever at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

THE END

GENIUS, PURE AND SMPLE

The other day Mom asked me to suspend her cable service. She feels there is no point in having to pay for something she doesn’t watch anymore.

Being a dutiful son, I get her cable bill and call Cablevision. This is a company that I feel is pretty good, they rarely if ever screw up and try to please their customers. I just wish they would make the various phone numbers more obvious when you need to talk to them. After searching all over the bill I take a stab at one number, then another and finally connect!

I give them the account number and the phone number along with the address and a gentleman on the other end takes all the information and assures me he will take care of it immediately. I hang up satisfied and relax a little bit. I decide to put on my TV to further my education in the law, I’ll watch Judge Judy.

I turn on the set and this big notice appears on my TV

“YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO USE YOUR SET TOP”

Not knowing what the Hell that means I call the phone number on the screen to talk to a representative.

Instead of Mom’s cable service being suspended, they suspended mine!

I guess its their way of saying: You want to end a service, I'll end a service for you!

RIGHT BACK AT CHA!

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Rheobatrachus silus

In 2013 the Lazarus Project scientists revealed that they successfully recovered frozen tissue from the 1970's and rejuvenated the cells of the Rheobatrachus silus, a species of frog that has been extinct since 1983! So I guess you are wondering what the Hell THAT has to do with the price of good pepperoni?

It means that if you wait long enough, everything comes back in vogue, even me.  Black will be the new black, and recently I have been having a spate of social relevance, my #1 son with the help of TLC (The Lovely Courtney) are having their first child, or My first grandchild! While all my contemporaries have had grandchildren, and some many, I have been left out of the picture, not relevant to their conversations or part of the comparisons. I seriously at one point was thinking of adopting a grandchild.

I sit at a Board meeting, and someone mentions their grandchild, or some other meeting and a grandchild comes up, me… I just bury my head in my shirt and listen all the while being envious.

So in about 15 days, I will be like that Rheobatrachus silus, a specie what has not been relevant since the 80’s. But will I be like those annoying grandparents who go on for hours and brag about their grandchild? Will I speak endlessly about some cute thing the kid did? Will I make a nuisance of myself about how beautiful this child will be? I think so. Maybe like that Rheobatrachus silus, I’ll croak.

Have a good day!

  

"Grandpa, I'm really proud of you," said the modish young lady.

"What's to be proud of?" asked the old man.

The young lady replied, "I noticed that when you sneeze, you've learned to put your hand in front of your mouth."

"Of course," explained Grandpa.

"How else can I catch my teeth???"

I DISCOVER

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EXCELSIOR!

Being an old geezer now, there are things that are becoming more complicated for me as I progress through the age of electronic gadgetry. When TLW (The Little Woman) introduced me to the latest cell phone or android as they call it, there are things I don’t know about or care to investigate. Even the latest is not always the latest because the next day there is a new version, as it is in my case.

Recently while in Myrtle Beach S.C., I decided to go for a cup of coffee one morning and asked TLW if she would join me. Getting our coffee we decided to sit in the beautiful lounge area of the hotel and there on the wall was this large screen TV. On the hotel channel was this infomercial about the use of apps and the ability to read these strange codes that are now appearing in newspapers, magazines and on TV, you know them as the square little boxes. (See photo)

I hate my cell phone, and it hates me, and there is no two ways about it. It refuses to stay off, when I do have it on and it rings, I have to struggle with it as I try answer the darned thing, swiping my finger over it and usually missing the swipe as it rings even more alarmingly. I try to keep calm but I STILL MISS CALLS! Then of course it rings at the most inopportune times, on the road where it is buried under my coat and the damned seatbelt!

Anyway, back to the little box. The lady on the infomercial began to give us a detailed instruction on what the box means and does, something I didn’t care about, but wondered what it meant. I mean you are talking to someone who just recently found out what Blackberry is or what the difference between an android and my behind is. Suddenly there was a whole new world opened to me! I learned what it means and how to use it and now look for the box, just to try out the app. If you have one tattooed on your behind, I will read it with my ‘smart phone’. Huh, pretty good: I just used the word ‘smart phone’! There is no stopping me. I now am getting rid of all those stupid scanner chips on my keychain, because they are in my phone. Why, even my library card is on the phone.

I will NEVER be as good as some of these kids with the texting. The other day I was watching this kid whip out his cell phone and then, WITH HIS THUMBS, text out a message in nothing flat, to my amazement, that looked as long as a Sunday Times article! If I just try to type ‘Hi’, I will need my index finger, I have to take off my glasses and squint and really concentrate, then correct one or two typos, and Not use the wrong button for send! This kid used two thumbs!

Good God, is it not great in America? I am cutting edge. (Almost)

IN THE ‘SPIRIT’ OF THINGS

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They have to be kidding the public: this cannot be true, yet I witnessed the truth. It seems there is a rinky-dink airline that flies into and out if LaGuardia airport, that looks and feels like a leftover of what didn’t make it with the real airlines.

I’m talking about Spirit Airlines, and the crew of what is the worst service ever. My flight out of LaGuardia was almost 2 hours late, the plane was cramped and the seats were beds of scattered garbage!

The plane must have had extra seats installed because there was NO room to even maneuver the aisle, get to the luggage compartment or even climb, literally into your seat! In my seat alone there was a used napkin stuck into the low ceiling over the seat, an empty bottle of flavored water left in the magazine holder and no in-flight magazine.

Then the crew made their announcements, One that you had to shut off all electronic devices and this elderly gentleman said he was having trouble shutting off his phone. The flight attendant asked what kind of phone he had and he said: "a rectangle one" and second, that if you wanted a drink, you couldn’t use a charge card, because their machines weren’t working, you had to pay cash, and have the exact change or close to it. They didn’t even offer the complimentary peanuts or chips, not that I needed them or even water! I was waiting for them to ask us to share the evacuation procedures card with the person next to us.

I used to hate Southwest the most for their stupid idea of selecting your seat on the plane, after having to be on vigil for the right moment to sent your seat request in for ‘A’ seating or wind up in between two rather wide people, and having to hunt down a space for your luggage!

Don’t get me wrong, I still hate Southwest the most, but I hate Spirit a close second. Their motto is: “Who Cares?”

LADY, YOU REALLY NEED THAT DONUT?

Since the plane to Myrtle Beach was being delayed, we decided to go wait in the boarding area and find a seat. Finding a seat is important because if you don’t you have to either stand or lay on the floor. I am a people watcher by nature, I like to watch people and wonder where they are going or what they do for a living or how many banks they robbed. We were lucky in that we found seats that gave us a sweeping view of the whole waiting room and the abundance of characters that inhabited it. They are large and small, black and white and Asian, young and old alike.

 

The boarding area was getting crowded by only one person, seated next to TLW (The Little Woman) was this lady who was about 350 to 400 lbs, eating a donut and on the floor is a Frappuccino at her feet. Watching her eat this donut I wondered if she really needed the donut. She answered my question by reaching into her brown bag and taking out another donut, after licking her fingers from the first donut. I must say though that she WAS getting her exercise, she would reach down for the Frappuccino with a grunt!

By now, the people from the next flight to Dallas were arriving and beginning to fill the area along

with those of us headed for Myrtle Beach, where they were redirected to another boarding gate. Suddenly, my biggest fear along with having to sit next to the donut lady on the plane arrived. It came in the form of a young family, a father, mother brother and little screaming sister! The sweet and adorable little creature had her pants on fire or so it seemed, screaming to the top of her lungs and squirming unhappily like someone was torturing her. I wanted to.

I surveyed the room and calculated what the odds were of sitting next to the fat lady, or next to the screamer, or worst still sitting next to both on the plane. To calculate my bad luck, you enter 100%, divided by 0 and add 100 and you should get a decent estimation.

And so the plane’s departure time was getting even later as the plane was being held up by weather and traffic, and so I sat and watched.

Tomorrow: IN THE ‘SPIRIT’ OF THINGS.

FLYING SIDEWAYS

Nightmares do happen: they do come true.

Jumping out of the shuttle from the Airpark van we headed into the worst airport in the NY Metropolitan area, LaGuardia. The old buildings are dying, and not just showing their old age.

Into the terminal we go for Spirit Airlines, and this being my first venture on the airline, as we head south to Myrtle Beach and a little exploration. Up to a kiosk we go to get our tickets, finally find a machine that is working and after a few tries, out come two pieces of paper, one with my name on it and one with TLW (The Little Woman)’s name printed clearly. We are a little nervous because we realize the plane will be boarding in about 35 minutes and we need to get through the check-in. Off we go to Gate B6 and in front of us is a long snake like line that looks like it will take forever to get through.

People are coming up from the outside to enter the boarding gate thinking they have a shot at getting through immediately, and a look of surprise crosses their face as they learn that they have to go to the end of the line, a long, long way in the back. The look of surprise is quickly turned into a look of horror and shock.

Diver’s license in hand we both finally reach the clerks checking our boarding passes. TLW is good and I hand the guy my pass and license and he looks at it and says: “I need your boarding pass.”

Being a college graduate I respond in a well thought out and timely way with “Huh?”

“This is a receipt, you need your boarding pass.” Suddenly I realize, we left the pass in the machine, and now what? The guy says to me, “Go see in the machine, a lot of people do that and come back and we will let you though.” The thought is now becoming overwhelming, the idea that I have to race back to the kiosk, and hope that it wasn’t discarded by someone, TLW and I head off to find the ticket.

Reaching the kiosk, TLW says she will find someone to help and I will go to the kiosk and if by some lucky chance it will be there. As she leaves I look at the machine, and there tucked in an edge of the screen are a bunch of papers, and sure enough, there is the boarding pass! I yell for TLW and off we go.

Back through the detector we go, where they don’t make you hold your arms over your head and x-ray you! We make a pit stop and head toward the boarding area, and the boarding screen says the plane will be delayed about 45 minutes.

We find a seat and begin to people watch.

Tomorrow: You really want that donut?

LENT

What are you giving up for Lent? That was the question asked of me every year. Well, I so enjoy giving up things I think I’ll give up giving up things for Lent.

I often wondered why people needed to know what I was giving up; I mean does anyone really care? I always felt like I had to give up something really big or significant so they would shut up.

Mom had a suggestion every Lent season: “now it is Lent, give up aggravating me.” Dad had his own answers: “Go ask your mother”. I never gave up anything for Lent, because it was too long a period to give up things. It was bad enough they were taking meat away from me on Fridays, but to give up candy or TV or something important like that was too much. I would get tired of the season and call it Length.

All too often a do-gooder would give up TV or a fun thing and tell me, looking Pius and all holy, trying to make me feel bad, and I would shrug it off and look at the person and think, “Good God!” Sometimes they would tell my mother how good they intended to be, and I would be compared to the holy one and think, maybe I’ll kill him.

Of course the Church would change things and what was bad was now not so bad, what was good was not so good, and what was required to get to Heaven, well, forget about it. Lent was no different, although they still have a stupid rule about giving up meat on Friday, you can eat meat on other Fridays and not got to Hell. In fact, I just got a notice that my reservation in Hell has been cancelled because of a lack of interest on the Church’s part and a change in the rules. It almost made me angry because I thought I had paid reservations!

So what am I giving up for Lent? Well if the Church chooses meat, I’ll choose taxes, or getting up at a decent hour. I mean, who says the Church gets to choose?

IT’S AMAZING WHAT LAUGHTER WILL DO!

I visited my mom and found her alone and dozing off as is her want. She looks pretty good and got a very good report from the head nurse.

Since she has no interest in the TV I thought I’d go there with a plan to lighten up her spirits, and what better way than some of the things she loved. I had the idea to take my I-pad and use YouTube as a source of my inspiration. One of her favorite entertainers was Perry Como, and so I found a Como tune and played it for her, as she got excited that he could appear at the will or whim of someone instantly.

As Como sang ‘And I love You So’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uyc6QyDaOBg her eyes seemed to get somewhat dreamy as she said that he was her favorite singer. Lying in her bed she held onto the I-pad like she was steering it, a soft smile across her face and rapt attention as he serenaded her in her mind.

 

It then occurred to me that if music could do this to mom, someone who has lost interest or so she says, why not laughter? So I went back onto YouTube and dialed up Carol Burnett, and found the bit with Harvey Korman and Tim Conway in a dentist’s office, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wk92O0SEjXc probably one of the funniest things on TV. Once again she held the I-pad, and started to laugh out loud, just like she used to do so many years ago, and so many times.

I guess the best medicine in the world is music and laughter, and in simple doses  it can make the world shine.

A HANDSHAKE WILL DO JUST FINE!

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They were newly married and sitting up in bed one evening. She being a young bride and learning the ropes said to her newly minted husband: “Do you love me?” He looking her in the eyes began a poetic diatribe on why he loved her and how much he loved her and for the duration of his life he would love her. He in turn asked her the same question, and of course she said; “I will always love you.”

After 45 years of marriage, once again they sat up in bed one evening and she asked him the same question: “Do you love me like you did 45 years ago?” He looking at his newspaper answered: “It’s my job. Why? Do you still love me after 45 years?” She turned over and closed her eyes to go to sleep and said: “Well, I must, I’ve been living with you for all these years.”

And so we enjoin each other in those early days to live together happily ever after and don’t think about it. We become comfortable, like old shoes: worn and ragged but loved, silently without discourse with each other or anyone else.

After many years, Dad would send Mom a birthday card and/or anniversary card and sign it: ‘From Tony’ and I would happen to see it and laugh my fool head off. Dad wasn’t a poet except when it came to swearing in Italian, when the words flowed magically and without pause, causing Mom to squint and me to double over in laughter. Somehow after his verbal dissertation, he would look at me laughing and a smile would cross his face. Nowadays, when I go into my verbal allowance of bad words, (something I would have never done in our early days of marriage), I get admonished by TLW (The Little Woman) and asked to watch my language.

As I learned to swear from dear old Dad, so did my #1 Son learn to swear from me. Unfortunately he picked the wrong place to demonstrate his acumen for it: a church!

His diction was perfect!

One Sunday, as I sat there with TLW my daughter and #1 Son, being bored to tears from the usual sermons, #1 decided to ‘express’ himself. The 2-year old makes a statement: “Bitch”. It comes bursting out of his mouth loud and clear. A sudden fear overcomes me, as I look on in horror at what he said. “Bitch” he says it again, “Bitch” I’m really squirming now, with my hand on his mouth and with a side-glance to TLW and I know my life may be over. SHE is giving me the evil eye, and I know why.

We leave the church and go to the car, where I pop #1 Son in his car seat and think about walking home, but realize she won’t hit me while I’m driving with the kids in the car.

Fast-forward to today, and although I still laugh when I think about it, TLW doesn’t. Well, I guess she must still love me, I’ve been living with her for all these years!

GETTING PO’D

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Now I’m a simple guy, not too complicated and not easily angered, except when it comes to boring, stupid and inconsiderate people.

Now take last Saturday for instance. I get out to go to get some petro for my horseless carriage and when I get to the filling station there are two pumps, one in front of the station and one on the side about 150 yards away. The one in front of the station is filled with cars and people waiting behind them, so I decide to go to the side one that has no one there. No attendant comes to take care of my car, I get annoyed and step out of my car and look for someone. There at the pump is this bozo who is standing there and waving me into the crowd of cars so I can wait some more. I go to another gas station.

Getting my gas from another station, I see this Dunkin Donut store across the street and decide since I’m PO’d I’d get a donut to sooth my aching heart. I park and walk into the Dunkin Donuts establishment and what do I see? A LONG LINE OF PEOPLE AHEAD OF ME! This morning is not going well.

That afternoon I decide to make a nice salad with the steak I’m making for dinner and go to the local supermarket. It takes me forever to find a parking space because everyone and his brother and sister is there shopping, because a storm is coming in a few days and there is panic buying! THEY WILL DIE WITHOUT TEN GALLONS OF MILK, 50 MILLION POUNDS OF COLDCUTS AND 40 MILLION BAGS OF CHIPS TO WAIT OUT THE STORM!

These morons are annoying me because they are running with their carts, and blocking aisles while at the same time other idiots are coming up behind me impatient to get ahead. When you do that moron, I just take even more time and make you nuts.

Leaving the supermarket, I go out the exit door only having to negotiate around a monkey who thinks he should go into the exit door and not the entrance door. If this is not enough, I go to the road where there is a traffic light and it takes the sissies in front of me forever to move through the green light and I get stuck at the red!

There are too many morons out there, and they all live near me. They should rename the town ‘Moronville’ and be done with it.

DISCIPLINE

An astronaut’s poem to his mom:

The countdown has begun oh mom

The firing time draws near,

The hollering through the intercom

Reminds of you dear.

Remember how you predicted and then…

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Oh failure mother,

You were right again!

I used to write poems to my mother when I was young, and now I write them to TLW (The Little Woman), and I guess that I could just go out and buy a card sign it and call it a day. Being an artist and a sometime poet, I have to write a poem and design and create a card. Mom got them, and now TLW.

When I worked, I made cards by hand for people I liked for their birthday or special occasions, and even created a bogus law firm that would send people letters with wishes in them for a birthday or holiday. They all started out with:

“Dear …, This is to inform you that my client, Joe Del Bloggolo ain’t no bum!” Then I would finish the letter about what it took for my so-called ‘lawyer’ to write this letter and best wishes. I always got a chuckle from it and it was fun to do.

Mom was the disciplinarian in the house, and usually backed everything up with her many wooden spoons, all made of solid oak, all meant for either my food or my head. When she became unreasonable and wanted to punish me, out came the wooden spoon and on her horse she would chase me around the dinning room table. After a while I would ask her if she was getting tired, she would say ‘Yes” and we would sit for a spell, her on one end of the table, arms folded and the spoon in one hand eying me and me on the other. I’d ask ‘Are you ready” and she would continue the hunt. If she didn’t catch up with me, and I got away, I knew I had to go back at some point , so I would draw her a picture in crayons and leave it on the table, vowing my love and obedience ‘from here on in’. Mom would become disarmed and then say: ‘yeah sure’, and things were back to normal until the next crime, usually the next day.

I learned early on how to deal with mom and her wooden spoon, as long as I could evade the punishment, combine art and sentiment and she would be won over. I don’t take it to that extreme with TLW, just happy occasions and hope I can gain some points.

LESSONS I LEARNED

Always Remember This: 

You don't stop laughing because you grow old, 

You grow old because you stop laughing!

If there is one lesson in life I learned from Mom it is that laughter is the best medicine, it is the alternative to unhappiness that we are all too eager to embrace sometimes.

For instance, growing up we had everything but money, but that was all we needed. The walls that surrounded us were full of laughter, and when you laugh hard enough, you don’t know you are poor. If I put too much butter on my bread, mom would say: “Don’t use a whole pound of butter!” Me: “Don’t worry Ma I can’t, the other ¾’s of a pound is still frozen!”

Dad had this thing about the lights. If I sat in the dark reading, he would yell: “Put the light on, you’ll go blind!” If the lights were on: “Close all these lights, what am I made of money?” Mom on the other hand preferred I keep the lights off not to remind herself I was home, and when they were on would say: “What am I related to the light company?” I’m sorry, but when they said those things I laughed.

We used to have a rotary wall phone in the kitchen, and Tessie my older sister (much older) would use it constantly talking to her friends. In those days you paid for the phone by the minute, which became a sore point to dad and his budget. So one day he put this lock on the phone, right on the dial, but was supposed to put the lock on the ‘0’ and instead put it on the ‘1’ where it moved with the dial as you dialed. Not realizing his mistake, he would take out his key and unlock it, make his call and replace the lock when he was done. We discovered his mistake immediately and dialed away to our hearts content. It took him a few weeks to discover his mistake when one of my little sisters made a call.

Dad was skittish about certain things. Coming from an Italian family, he never really ate mashed potatoes when he was single. Mom made them and one day he told her that he didn’t like milk in his mashed potatoes! Mom did, and so did her kids, and so did dad, he just didn’t know it. She continued to make mashed potatoes with milk, and dad would taste them and say: “Is there milk in these?” Mom would reply: “No, there’s no milk in them, why would you even ask!” and we would be laughing inside.

One day Dad decided to make another announcement. Getting up one morning, he washed, shaved and had breakfast. Mom was making our school lunches and the fare was peanut butter and jelly. Dad looking over mom’s shoulder says: “How can you eat that!” Mom reminded him that we liked peanut butter and it was cheaper that cold cuts. “Well you’ll never get me to eat it!” So what happens? One night, I’m sitting at the kitchen table snacking on these crackers that sandwich peanut butter, While doing a portrait on a piece of paper. Dad is watching me and lending his expertise to the project, all the while helping himself to my peanut butter crackers. I’m watching him but not saying a word. Suddenly it dawns on me that mom puts milk in his mashed potatoes for the same reason he is eating my peanut butter snack! Mom knew him like the back of her hand!

Tricks were a big part of life in my family. My little sister once got a doll that echoed and repeated everything you said. She is talking to it and suddenly I get a plan in my head. My dad is coming for dinner after work and I take the mechanism out of the doll and tape it under his chair where he will sit for dinner. Dad sits down without saying a word, and suddenly asks for the salt, the mechanism kicks in and he jumps sky high! WE are all on the floor laughing our fool heads off and he is watching with this silly grin on his face.

Of course my favorite trick was at a family picnic in the backyard. It is a hot summer day and dad is a little exhausted running around and giving me orders on what needs to be done on mom’s ‘get me’ list. There in the sun is a lounge chair, and next to it is the garden hose, sitting in the hot sun. A solar powered light bulb goes on in my empty head and I decide to have some fun at dad’s expense. He lies down in the lounge chair, headway back and eyes closed with one arm over his eyes to shield the light from the hot sun. I take the nozzle head from the sun soaked garden hose and gentle place it in his pocket opening. I turn the water on to a trickle and the hot water of the hose starts to trickle into his pocket. Suddenly he jumps up and as he does, the hose falls away, and that thinks he’s having an accident and jumps to a standup position and runs to the bathroom. We laughed for days after that one and he laughed with us.

Dad had his moments too, as one night I am lying on the floor watching a horror movie, solidly into it and ready to jump out of my skin. Dad is watching on the couch behind me. Just as it is getting as tense as you could get a movie, he sticks his hand in my face yelling: “BOO!!!”

There are other stories that happened and someday I will tell those too. Meanwhile, keep smiling and have a good laugh or two and call me in the morning.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND AND JEWISH BROTHER PHIL!

IN THE COLD, COLD, COLD OF THE MORNIN’

Like I do every morning, I take a shower. This is for the simple reason that I don’t hear too well and need to get up close to people so I can hear them.

Every morning I step into the huge water bucket and run the hot water and it gets the job done, except for one morning recently on Feb 26th. It all goes back to the day a friend of mine complained that her shower water was too cold in the morning and wondered if her water heater was going. I explained to her that if you take a shower first thing in the morning, the water is just lying there all night and runs lukewarm, that you need to run an appliance first to get the water hot. A dishwasher or clothes washer does the trick very nicely, and so she tried it and it worked.

Doctor heal: they self!

This particular morning my water was running cold!

Immediately I figured TLW (The Little Woman) was running something while I was showering, and thought, it must be part of her evil plot to kill me and get all that insurance money and run away with a young stud. I imagined her turning on the water tap and laughing to herself, or standing by the washing machine with her finger on the start button waiting to hear the sound of the shower start, then like a mad scientist pushing the button with a sinister laugh.

Once you stand there in the cold running water shower, in Mother Nature’s finest attire, not only does your body shake, so does your mind shiver! You can’t think a thought through and you have to get out!

Turns out nothing was running, not the dishwasher nor washing machine was doing its thing, so I bailed and didn’t do my thing. But once I warmed up and dried out, I realized how irrational I can be about sinister plots that don’t really exist. However, the last fact will not curb my enthusiasm for suspicion and plots to do me in, in the future.

WHEN THERE ARE NO MORE TOMORROWS

WHEN THERE ARE NO MORE TOMORROWS

This blogue is just a journal of my everyday life, both past and present. It tries to give the facts as I remember them yesterday as well as 65 years ago. Sometimes my days are glorious and some days are horrendous, filled with unfortunate events.

As you know, mom is in a rehab center, a place where they are caring for her day and night as she is under their watchful eye. That is a decision my siblings and I made when we signed her in. Originally it was meant to rehab her and then only if it became impossible for her to live alone would the decision with the doctor’s advice would she have to stay there.

As I entered her room I took off my jacket and I could hear her faint voice call me. Moving to the bed I sat on the edge and listened.

“Yesterday, a lady came in and said that you signed papers stating that I am here for the rest of my life! Why did you do that?” The question not only caught me by surprise, it was devastating, leaving me rocked like a knocked–out fighter on the ropes. I tried to gather courage to respond, all the time looking in her eyes, eyes that told me a sad story without words. My stomach was in my throat and chest and fear that she thought I betrayed her swept over me like a dust storm in the desert. A worst feeling about her I can’t remember. A beautiful Italian aria, sung at Christmas time started to go through my head as I started to talk to her, about asking God to forgive me for my sins:

Pietà, Signore,
di me dolente!
Signor, pietà
se a te giunge il mio pregar;
non mi punisca
il tuo rigor.
Meno severi,
clementi ognora,
volgi i tuoi sguardi
sopra di me, sopra di me.

Mercy, Lord,

For my sin!

Lord, have mercy

If you reach my pray;

Do not punish me

By yoursterness.

Be less strict,

Kind, always

Turn your eyes

Above me, above me.

But I didn’t have the time to sing to myself, only to explain myself, to plead that she not cry or think less of me, that if I hurt her, it was with the intent to help her, protect her and worry about her as she has for me all those many years as her child.

“If I have to stay here, I will never feel the daylight or fresh air, never will I be in my home again! I might as well die. No one wants to die.”

I was left with no choice but to be honest, truthful and direct.

“Ma, you were given 96 years, mostly healthy. God has been very good to you. Your grandson didn’t even get two full years; your granddaughter lives in a hell all her own, in a home for people with developmental disabilities, with no chance. I have to live her life for her in the things I can do for the rest of my life. Do you think I want you here? Do you think I like having to come here instead of your home? If you went home Theresa and I would have to split up 24 hours to care for you, as it is I have to come, worry about your finances and write checks, check on your house and live my own life, no I don’t want that for you here.”

Sometimes events can take a piece of you a little at a time, until there is nothing left. It leaves you drained and exhausted, beaten like a red haired mule. That you can roll with the punches for: but when it is a child of yours or your spouse, or your parent, then it is unbearable and too much to take.

I told my mom she is never going home again! How can I do that? I told her she is never leaving the facility she is in now, how do I not just slap her face and curse her instead, isn’t it what I pretty much did anyway?

I know my sisters and I will feel the guilt and the pain. They will be like me: saddened and disturbed. For me all I will remember is her eyes, and the small frail person who once stood so strong over me, guiding me, teaching and even striking me in the right direction. I guess the biggest mistake she made was teaching me to be honest, especially with her, I told her there are no more tomorrows.

DINNER IS SARVED!

 

The other day my High School reunion committee came over for another meeting about an upcoming reunion. Prior to their arrival, I set up the large dining room table with cups and saucers, and plates for the various cakes they and I bring to the table. I start laying out the cups and saucers, and start to get carried away, placing the cup handles and dish patterns all in one and the same direction. Equally placed distance from the saucer is the plate with a fork and napkin, and I even put a little spoon at the top of the setting. I come to the last place setting and discover I am short one cup and have only a chipped plate, no good! I look and realize, this is no Downton Abbey, and know I have more cups and plates, but were did they all go?

I call TLW who is at work and she informs me that they are probably up in #2 Son’s room, where he is asleep in dream world on a Saturday. Sure enough he brings down all the cups, and dishes he has in his room, enough to feed the whole Olympic village at Sochi, Russia.

Many years ago, when mom ran the show, we as a large family of 5 kids, had very few dinners where the butler was needed. Mom had a set of China, but that was for extreme rare occasions when someone was baptized, or when we would get married, that she would use it, instead she had everyday china, and her silverware was of a very historic nature.

I had a Fred Flintstone glass for all occasions from mom’s everyday china, be it breakfast, lunch or dinner. If you know high society, there is a glass for all occasions and reasons in one night’s dinner place setting. We had all kinds of glasses for one occasion: it was a water glass. Dad had a wine glass, as did mom, the ‘decanter’ was a gallon of Villa Amando, sitting in the center of the table; it was Dad’s centerpiece. The knives and forks and spoons, all a conglomeration of historic proportions from both grandmother’s collections and what you could get from a five and dime store for a nickel each. Ours was a very colorful table setting, unlike Downton Abbey. We didn’t call it all ‘place setting’ it was more a pitch setting, as we quickly dealt the plates out so we could get back to Gabby Hayes and a cowboy movie.

On some occasions, we had napkins: paper, and sometimes a towel was passed around. “Hey Ma, how come we don’t use paper napkins more?” “What do you think I’m made of money?”

Now there was no such thing as a butter plate, since we didn’t use butter at dinner, be it mashed potatoes, beans or bread, no butter was the norm. There was a saltshaker on the table, but you never reached for it, if you did, mom or dad would react: “You’re putting all that salt on it!” “But ma, I was just moving the saltshaker!”

Dinnertime was a very sacred time as we gathered together. We all had to be at the table, and if we weren’t, we didn’t eat later. It was a time to discuss what we did; we wanted to do and to ask questions. Questions would be followed usually by dad’s answers about his childhood, and how he lived growing up. Mom would give us a usual lecture about God and country, and behavior modifications she was planning for me especially.

The food was always delicious, even if we didn’t appreciate it all the time, but we were fed well, we were clean and our table was set, all we needed was the call from our butler: “Dinner is sarved!”

DYING TWICE

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It was one of the hardest days in my life, along with losing my son and finding out that my daughter would never be normal.

Recently I visited my mom at the nursing home where she now resides. She has been there for a few weeks, first as a rehab person and now as a resident. She is dying, her body surrendering to the taxes if old age, being almost 96 years old. Her mind is very clear, and her body is betraying her. We, her children never told her that she is in for the rest of her life, and every visit has been a challenge with my conscience, feeling dishonest that I never told her the truth.

But like everything in life, this changes too, and it did.

As I leaned over her bed one morning late, I asked her how she was and she stated bored. “Ma, why don’t you read or watch the TV, you should occupy your mind.”

“No, all I want to do is go home. I want to be in my own home, I’m bored here.”

Looking up at me she squared off eye to eye and asked what I was afraid of her asking: “Joseph, am I going home, am I getting out of here?”

Broken hearted as I looked into the eyes that always laughed, watched over me as a child, and seemed to plead: I had to be truthful. “No Ma.”

“Why? I want my home.”

“Ma, You can’t, the doctor thinks it is dangerous for you to live alone. You can’t walk.”

“Oh yes I can, I can walk, I want to go home.”

“Ma, if you can walk you can go home.”

“I can!”

“Can you walk to the bathroom and back? If you can then you should go home.”

Her eyes dropped in resignation, as the realization hit her that she was not going anywhere. With colitis, one kidney, and bad back and after 2 strokes, no use of her right hand or leg, there was too much going for her. Her blood pressure is way below normal, and one of the most telling signs that death is near, she has stopped drinking and pretty much stopped eating.

“Then I will die here.”

And so she will, it is going to be a slow one, hopefully not painful.

But she has raised the stakes for my older sister and I, by laying the guilt on us. She feels we have abandoned her and all hope for her. She forgets it’s her body that is betraying her, and not us. But each day we leave her, whether it is a day or an hour, the guilt surges through us as we feel that we didn’t stay long enough, that the last time we saw her may be the last.

The long walk out of the rehab center is a long one, each step presses on my guilt, I feel I have no right to smile or feel happy, then I remind myself that it is crazy to blame myself for leaving her as if I don’t care, the pain is deep and the sadness complete.

We often hear someone is over 90 and we think how wonderful it all is. We should be lucky to have such long genes in my family, but people completely overlook the real pain and sorry of old age it brings upon the person living that long, seeing themselves slowly fall apart. Nor do they realize how awful it is for those who are caring for her, the guilt and the sorrow, the survivors feeling all the tension of waiting for the inevitable, the memories that flood your mind of a day long ago.

So mom will die twice, once by my hand as I tell she can no longer go home

, and once by God's.