I KNOW I’M GETTING OLD WHEN…

Every morning when I get up and shower, I go downstairs and follow a routine. At my age I need a routine and try to stick with it. Change the water in my Keurig Coffee maker and adding a fresh pod, sorting my pills so I don’t die, and try to recall who that was in the mirror when I went to the bathroom.

My pills are sorted in a pill container that is divided into 7 days, starting with Sunday and ending the week on Saturday, this I like because it doesn’t confuse me, and I can repeat to myself what day it is.

One morning last week I got up and did the usual and came to the pills, the ritual where I separate the am from pm intake for old people. I take them out of the pill box, put 3½ pills into a small metal container for the afternoon and the balance in a small plastic clear container that I take with me into the den with a cup of coffee. This goes on every morning, rain or shine.

In the course of the pill assignments, I was distracted by a case of cola that was sitting precariously on the counter and decided to fix it, which I did then took the pill container and my coffee and went into the den, sat down and noticed something strange! There were NO pills in the container. This spooked me and so I high-tailed my way back to the kitchen and sure enough, NO pills in sight either.

WHAT THE HELL DID I DO WITH THE PILLS?????

I try to reconstruct the simple events and still can’t seem to figure it out. I tell someone about it and get some help. Did I take them already? Did I put them in the garbage? Did I maybe do some kind of machination that makes a hand filled with pills make the pills disappear?

We shake the soda and discover them in the bottom of the cola carton?

Pray for me.

ANNA

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Somewhere in this crazy heartless world is a woman who has become very dear to the hearts of my family, her name is Anna, and she is part of the coalition of Polish women who from the parish of St. Isidore in Riverhead NY works day and night to make my mother’s last days of life comfortable.

Anna is a lovely Polish lady who came to America and brought her heart and soul with her.

When Anna first came to the facility where my mother was staying to meet her, there was an instant connection, a drawing of two souls for the first time that seemed to connect instantly. The look of acceptance in my mother’s eyes was evident as she gazed for the first time on Anna.

There must be something special about people who do what Anna does for a living, a need within their hearts that must be utilized to do what they do. In the course of one evening, mom was in need of Anna, as she suffered through colitis 9 times and each time Anna responded immediately.

When Anna talks to mom, it is with a soft calming voice, reassuring and sweet, stroking mom’s arm and hair, always with her heart. But there is another side of Anna, a side filled with laughter and amusement, of joy for life and friendship, she is the heart and soul of this difficult time for my family, and we love her. Anna may not know it herself, but she is on a mission for God Himself, doing the good that is unheralded and yet longed for.

Polish people are on the whole: good decent people. They are the butt of too many unfortunate jokes and have been abused for far too long by the countries that surround her. Yet they proved to be one of the bravest people during the Second World War, have shown America that her heart may come from Poland, and that family life is the most important thing.

Thanks Anna, America loves you!

TEE BALL

As a young father many years ago, I took #1 Son to the local little league and enrolled him in tee ball, for those kids too young yet to play Little League baseball.

Don't let the hat fool you

I was eager and all excited and #1 Son was more eager to play than any of these overpriced, and pampered babies that play for obscene amounts if money, but probably would have to check the spelling of their name by looking in their wallets.

As young as 2 years old we practiced baseball with a whiffle ball, I would pitch him underhanded and he would swing away, sending the ball off as he ran the imaginary bases. By three he was assuming the batting habits of ballplayers he saw on the TV and even pitched on occasion, kicking his leg straight up and throwing, as it bounced a few feet in from of me. Watching him was fun and I wish we could still do this again like it was in the old days.

Could go to his right and had range

So one Saturday morning we drove down to the local ball field behind a school and signed up got a hat and started the process of organized play in Little League. Daddies and Mommies from all over the neighborhood gathered on that sunny field to root on our kids.

The ball was placed on a batting tee and each kid was to take a swing or two. You could tell which child had the influence of his father by the approached the kid took, how they held the bat and which way they were standing. One little kid stood at the plate, facing where the catcher would be, his back to the tee and one when it was his turn faced toward first base. As each batter took his licks at the tee, the other kids would be out in the field ready to ‘catch’ the ball. IF by chance the ball WAS hit, all the kids from the infield, outfield and points east, west, south and north, including the parking lot and the batter would all charge the ball, which made the scene look like a pileup of football players rather than baseball players!

The slick 2^nd baseman from Bradford Street along with most of the rest had the most serious of looks while some held onto the belief that this was all a mystery. Fathers would shout out advice and take it as a personal affront if their child made a little mistake, thus revealing the failings of the father.  

But the slick 2^nd baseman from Bradford Street showed the world that he was ready, if not for Little League play and aspirations so high, at least for the New York Mets!

THAT RIDE

Yesterday, April 7^th, I took the longest ride for a short trip. I sat in the ambulance with mom as we left the nursing facility and headed to fulfill her wish to die at home. As I looked at the frail crumpled figure of someone who once was so strong, I couldn’t help but think about all those years she accompanied me to moments in my life, but the biggest moment was when she took me home from the Swedish Hospital in Brooklyn, for our first ride. How filled with hope was she for the future? How happy was she to have a first son? How content was she to hold another child in her arms? Here we were once again, but this time for her last ride.

As the ambulance made its way toward her residence, her home and her life, she had this far away stare in her face, so distant so focused on something, that I was prompted to ask by her looks if she was OK, she didn’t answer me, she didn’t blink her eye. It was her final journey. I stood down in respect for her.

I have tried to prepare myself for what is the inevitable, what is for sure, what none of us can avoid, but I cannot imagine that. Believe me I am not a momma’s boy, but she is my mother for all my years so far, it is kind of hard to not recognize the truth, all my years she was there, just a phone call away sometimes, just a sweet memory always there for me.

Somewhere in this world, maybe in a dark little corner, one of us is mourning the passing of their mom. Someone sobs so deeply that it would shake our hearts and make us invertebrate, like jelly in as we witness the truth we will or have witnessed already. I will savor the final days of her life, like the proverbial fine wine, and as the line decreases along the glass, I will take a longer taste and savor it with each sip.

A debate rages in my mind, a debate so blasphemous that it defies explanation. I hope she can get better but I now she won’t, I want her to live, but I don’t wish for her to suffer. I want her to live and I want her to die.

ONE LAST RIDE

Last Monday April 7^th was a day to remember.

It started the Friday before, when Joanne, a staff member of the nursing home my mom was living in gave my sister a manila folder filled with papers for the coming release of mom on Monday, April 7^th. In it was a phone number for an ambulette service to transport mom to her home. Mom was not making any more progress and all her therapy was over, she was unhappy and missing her home, and wanted desperately to go home to die. Joanne decided to help us make all the arrangements for mom to go home and fulfill her wish.

One Saturday, the next day, my sister called me and asked me to see if I could find the folder, since she didn’t have it. Being at mom’s house waiting for a delivery of a hospital bed, I was but a few minutes from the nursing home. I sneak into mom’s room while she is asleep and look in all the drawers and closet in her room and can’t find the folder. I leave without waking mom and call my sister and tell her I can’t find it, even after asking at the nurse’s station.

Ambulette

The rest of Saturday was spent calling ambulette companies to see if they had scheduled anybody with my mother’s name to be transported on the 7^th. No one had, and so I figured I better ask some questions. The one company name we could remember as the one we were told would transport her was very cooperative and answered my questions. It came down to this: an ambulette only transports people in a wheel chair, not flat like an ambulance, they also do not carry people up steps. Had we ordered an ambulette, they would have put mom in a chair, in great pain she would have been jostled all the way home, and left her at the foot of the steps for my sister and I to find a way to get up her up the steps and into her bedroom.

Ambulance

Monday morning Joanne comes into mom’s room and asks if we are all set. I say we are except for transportation, and that we need an ambulance, not an ambulette. Joanne asks me who says? I state that she can’t sit in a wheelchair, and since she can’t walk, how can we carry her up the three steps she has? Joanne goes out of the room embarrassed stating it will be very expensive for an ambulance and asks the nurses if it is true mom can’t sit in a wheelchair, they confirm my opinion and off she goes to find an ambulance, coming back after a few minutes with the news that an ambulance would come in around noon, and that Medicare would pay for it! Had we NOT lost the folder we would have been sitting there at the foot of the front steps with mom in severe pain from the ride in a wheelchair and us unable to move her into her own home! The ambulance crew put her in a gurney and transported her up the steps and placed her in her bed.

Tomorrow: The long ride.

GOING HOME

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we all worked so hard for her wishes

Mom has been longing for her home, her house, actually her heart and soul. When she went into the nursing home, she at first wanted to go home and mentioned to me that she knew we were putting her in it to die. She said she would never see her home again. Of course this was very hard on me, as I realized all too well we were waiting for her to die, And all too well she knew she was waiting to die, but wanted to do it in her heart, in her soul in her home. But the nursing home was the only thing that was best for her.

Cruelty comes in many forms. Cruelty comes intentionally and unintentionally. It can even come out of necessity, but the pain it inflicts is even crueler. Mom pines for her familiar comforts of her home, where she raised her children, loved my Dad and witnessed all the joys we as her children brought her, and now it is all taken away.

But suddenly the real world of cruelty reared its ugly head and became beautiful like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its self-destruction. The wonderful folks of Medicare decided that Mom could no longer receive physical therapy; she was no longer a candidate for rehabilitation. Because of this ruling by the state, we decided that we no longer needed the high cost of a rehab center: we would seek other means for her to die in dignity.

What better way to die than in your own home, among the many souvenirs of your life, pictures of your grandchildren that adorn your walls, the echoes of children’s laughter from years gone by, the moments of triumph and despair, the glories of yesteryear?

And so we sought out an answer and found one, in the coalition of Polish and Russian woman, a dedicated group through the auspices of St. Isadore Roman Catholic Church in Riverhead. A band of Russian and Polish immigrants dedicated to the transition of life to death, with dignity. They would stay with her 24/7, giving her the joy of living out her life in dignity, family and serenity.

I think that I wish to die with my wife in my eyes, with my children knowing that I loved them all the same, then I die happily, just like mom knows her children rallied to her wishes out of love and concern for her happiness. There is no greater love than a mother’s love for her children, and we as her children recognize this and not only love her, but each other, and all the beautiful nieces and nephews that grace our family tree, and all the golden beauty of our grand nieces and nephews that we so love, all because of one woman, Mom.

When I told Mom that she was finally coming home, a sweet little frail woman glowed in happiness and surprise, of disbelief and in gratitude to God. Her children had come through for her just as she did, time after time throughout her parental life. When we say goodbye, it will be with both tears of sorry mixed with tears of joy.

Thanks Mom, we love you!

IT ALL MAKES PERFECT NONSENSE

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We have decided to bring mom home from the nursing home and have her finish up her days in her own home. She has expressed this to us numerous times and we have decided that if this is what she wants we should try to make it happen for her.

When she went into the nursing facility, we thought she would never leave again, so we prepared for the event as best we could. In looking over her finances, I decided to cancel her phone and Cable service at her home since she would not be there. Now that we have reversed the decision I had to restore everything back to its original state.  Off to the cable company I go to put back her cable and this time, instead of a separate carrier, I would combine her phone with the cable bill.

Makes sense, no?

Apparently not!

I got to the Cablevision store and see Betsi (spelling correct), and we begin the discussion of restoration and the glories of combining it with a phone.

I tell Betsi (spelling correct), what I want, and she tells me I can’t reinstate the cablevision!

“Why not?” I inquire.

Because: I’m not my mother. (Maybe if I hit her with a wooden spoon I would be?)”My mother is paralyzed on one side, she can’t walk, or move her hand to sign, I tell Betsi (spelling correct), but old Betsi (spelling still correct), won’t budge.

Trying to salvage my temper, I ask to speak with her supervisor. Out comes Betsi’s (spelling correct), supervisor. “Can I help you sir?”

Yes, I want to create an account for my mother and Betsi (spelling correct), says I can’t because I’m not my mother. Obviously, Betsi (spelling correct) has met my mother and I’m no mother!

Betsi, (spelling correct), sitting off to the side listens and then states that she told me what company policy is. But her supervisor takes my side and says the man needs the service, so what can we do? I pipe up that I am a customer and that should be good enough for the cable company. Then Betsi’s (spelling correct), supervisor’s eyes light up and says: ”You could open the account in your own name, and I happily thank her.

Now, about combining phone with cable I ask.

  

I can’t. In my mother’s area, they won’t sell me a phone service with cable service. But would I be interested in a triple play? Unless she is talking about the Mets hitting into one, I’m not interested. Mom doesn’t use a computer, so why pay for Internet service? Poor Betsi (spelling correct) gets a look of doom, like here comes another nut case customer like it’s her fault that I can’t get what I want.

“Betsi? Can I get the phone service separately? Can it be a separate entity?”

“You’d be better off using another carrier, it would be cheaper.” Says Betsi (spelling correct), 

WOW! They turn away customers they are so big!

MUSINGS IN THE AIR.

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As a frequent flyer lately, I have begun to take mental notes about the art of flying. The habits of people and the things they do simply astound me to some degree. Of course if you know me, you know my opinions are usually worthless and of no value, so I will of course pass them on to you.

For instance, the people that pay all that extra money to the robber barons who run the airlines, or should I say the flying robber barons? They board first, get to sit up front and have more leg room and more seat room for their butts, all for a price. You get on and think, hmmmm… they are flying first class, yet they don’t look so first class. Maybe what is needed in first class is the look of distinction and importance. I think the men should be wearing a tux and the women formal gowns, that is first

class.

Did you ever notice when boarding a plane they have zones: zone one and zone 2 and of course what I call:’spaced out.” These are the morons that have seating assignments yet must rush the airline clerk at the entrance checking the tickets. I could tell them that if you are the first on the plane, the seat is still the same as if you got on last. AND, you will arrive at the same time!

One of my favorite things to watch are the people as they board the plane in that long hallway they make you go through. They sat for two hours in the waiting area, talking to their cell phones, and once the boarding process starts, they start to take things out of their luggage, transferring it and as they do, they hold up the whole process.

Getting in the plane has proved exciting, especially when people start to franticly look for empty overhead bins to put their carry-on luggage. Not only do they look scared, desperate and totally worried, they hold up the line some more. In their panic they slam the compartment doors shut more than once, once to close it, once because the bag is not fitting, once because a strap is hanging out and once with emphasis because they are stupid.

They it never fails, I get on a cramped plane and the seating is meant for the flight of undernourished runners, not normal fat people, and what does Jimmy sitting in front of me always do? Jimmy pushes his headrest back, taking away vital breathing room, causing me to suck air out of the overhead air duct. You know how those taste?

Why oh why do they bother with the beverage cart? It seems everyone wants to look cool with a water bottle in one hand, a cell phone in another and their carry on in still another. All for the flight attendant to struggle with a heavy metal cart, pouring drinks like  a waitress while taking orders from a dumb-ass who should be flying in baggage compartment #2. Oh, I forgot, they do it to serve a ½ ounce bag of peanuts,

IT’S NOT MY FIRST AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY COURTNEY!

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Today is the birthday of TLC (The Lovely Courtney) Who turns younger every day I get older!?
Courtney not only makes life beautiful, but she makes beautiful life, just look at her latest creation, La Principessa, Darby Shea, and see what I mean. 

As I sat in the restaurant, enjoying the company of the newly minted grandma, and having a pesto sauce with shrimp in a cream sauce, and a glass of Merlot, we discuss the events of the past two days and how happy we were in Burbank CA.

La Principessa (My granddaughter, Darby Shea) was indeed a changing event in my life, and so we celebrated alone, just the two of us.

With all the happiness of the past few days, we could feel woozy or disoriented, or just silly, but whatever it was, it was happening! I was suddenly feeling the earth move, the room shake and the lamp that hung over my head rattle, this was not a tarantella, and it was an event. Everyone had a nervous face on them in the restaurant and for good reason: the earth WAS shaking. We were experiencing an earthquake (5.1) as they later reported. I had my first grandchild AND my first California earthquake!

You say: “First CALIFORNIA earthquake?” That’s right amigos, my first earthquake was way back when at a meeting in Albany New York, as I sat to read my morning paper in the hotel room of the hotel. Actually it was the toilet, and when it struck, I thought maybe a heavy person in the room next door was sitting down and I thought: “Wow, when you have to go you have to go!”

Since to me it didn’t feel like much, when we got back to the hotel room, we put on the TV and they ere making a big deal about it, as every channel in LA was carrying the news. This substitutes for snow storms that they don’t get so they need something to make them get all excited, like our New York weathermen. The big babies!

Now I think I’ll come out from under the bed and hope it stays quiet.

Today is the birthday of TLC (The Lovely Courtney) Who turns younger every day I get older!?
Courtney not only makes life beautiful, but she makes beautiful life, just look at her latest creation, La Principessa, Darby Shea, and see what I mean. 

I’M A SENIOR CITIZEN!

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I am a senior citizen...

- I'm the life of the party... even when it lasts 'till 8pm.

Recently TLW (The Little Woman) sent me to the store to buy some milk. We drink 1%, why I don’t know, but it still looks like milk. As we get heavier from old age I guess 1% IS a good idea. - I'm anti-everything now: anti-fat, anti-smoke, anti-noise, anti-inflammatory, anti politicians!

As I was paying for the milk the storeowner, a woman, was muttering to herself out loud enough for me to hear. What she said was curious and brought me back to another time in my life.

I had a favorite uncle, Uncle Frank, a kind and wise man that had a great sense of humor, worked for the government at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and served in the U.S. Army under General George Patton.  Uncle Frank told me that whenever he entered a building for the first time as a soldier, he would cock his rifle and search the room for a back door or window as a precaution. This has nothing to do with anything except now, as a senior citizen, whenever I enter a room or new building: I search out the toilet, as a precaution. In that mode: I'm walking more (to the bathroom) but enjoying it less!

Anyway, to get back to the store owner, she kept muttering: “Friday, she doing it on a Friday! She’s doing it on a Friday! Well… she’s old anyway, it makes her happy!” I realized she was probably talking about an old friend or aunt in her 60’s who maybe was getting married. At first I laughed, then thought how insulting that is to older people! I'm a Senior Citizen and I think I am having the time of my life... Aren't I?

SAYING GOODBYE IS HARD TO DO.

It was 3:30 pm as we finished up our visit with mom, my two sisters left before me and I kissed my mother goodbye. Slowly I started to walk to the door when she called me back.

“Joe! Would you put on the TV for me?”

I go back to her bedside and reach for the remote and turn on the set.

“Put on channel 2.”

I turn to channel 2 and set the remote down, and head for the door once again.

“Joe, can you adjust me so I am square, I’m leaning too much to the side, make me more parallel to the TV.”

Me: “Is that better? Do you need more to the side, is that good?”

“I guess.”

I head for the door once again.

“Joe! Could you raise my head a little higher?”

I return to the bed and take the hand control and raise her head a little higher until she is happy with it.

Once again I head for the exit.

“Joe! Could you shut the blinds for me too?”

I close the slates and cut off the daylight. Besides it was almost dark when I finally got away!

I head once more toward the exit, waiting for the call when…

“Joe? Would you put on my glasses for me?”

I have to learn to walk faster, but then I will die for sure in guilt.

DAD WAS A BUYER

When I was a pre-teen, right until I left my parent’s house, my dad never bought a new car. All his cars were used and all an adventure.

In the beginning, Dad’s cars were all 1940’s vintage, and this went well into the late 50’s and early 60’s. He was not rich, worried more about feeding us than having a nice car, only one that would take us to where we needed to go. Going to work, taking mom shopping and church, and occasional visits to relatives nearby. The most exotic place we visited was the fish market!

Dad had an issue with car batteries, we could never put on the heater, defroster or even the radio, because: “You’ll ruin my battery!” So what happened? Well we would drive along in a rain storm, the windows fogging over, and he would keep his towel next to him, wiping and driving along the way, you want to play the radio, he would sing, you wanted heat, take a bus. At least he always had a plan.

Mom had no complaints, as long as she got to go where she wanted since she didn’t drive. Dad did not have the patience to teach her how to drive and mom as somewhat nervous behind he wheel.

One Sunday morning, Mom decided she was going to church as she did every Sunday, and dad was sick. So mom took the wheel went to church, and on the way back decided to take a shortcut, through the woods and got stuck in a muddy rut from a rainy night before! Some local citizen came to her rescue, and she never told dad what she did.

When dad had a problem car, he had a problem car. One Saturday early afternoon, as he was leaving his job for the day, he had a flat tire!  It was near Christmas, and dad had just so much money that he wanted to spend on his family. Having 5 children meant he had to do the best he could and do without for himself. Suddenly he became so angry, he started to kick the flat tire, swearing off in Italian and letting the tire have it good! It just so happened that his boss was leaving and saw the whole thing. The Boss was the owner of the company, and everyone marveled about how rich he was. Fancy alligator shoes, cashmere sweaters and silk shirts rich, with daily treks out to some restaurant for lunch rich. Seeing the commotion he goes over to dad and asks what’s the problem. Dad tells him and he looks, then walks around the car and gives dad enough money for four new tires!

Getting the car started in the morning was like trying to pick up a toy in one of those glass enclosed boxes with the claws where you drop in  quarter and manipulate the claw to grab a toy, only to have it fall from the grasp of the claw and times up. He would sneak up on the car, insert the key and press the gas pedal a few times and of course, it would whine, or groan or both, and die. This would go on a few times and finally success! He would start out in English, swearing at the car, then by the time he switched to Italian he got it running!

Finally, in his last years of his life, he bought two new cars in the late 80’s and broke the cycle, giving up looking for someone who might know how to fix a car, and save money: it was a proud day for dad!

WHAT EVER HAPPENED???

“There was a candy store run by a little bald Jewish man named Sam. He was a kind soul who had a nasty wife, and the only reason people went to his candy store was because of him. He sold not only candy but egg-creams, mellow rolls made by Breyer’s Ice Cream Company, the NY Daily News, NY Daily Mirror, NY Times, NY Post, The Herald Tribune and Journal American in the days when there were morning, afternoon and even evening 'owl' editions. These papers sat outside his window on a newsstand, and if you went inside on your left was the magazines and more importantly comic books, booths that all ran parallel to the long counter which ended with the phone booth and candy case.”  (DelBloggolo, Thursday, October 10, 2013)

Tootsie Roll?

While perusing along on Facebook, I came upon a picture of a dog named ‘Tootsie-Roll. The name took me back in time and had me thinking. Whatever happened to all those great penny candies that a kid could buy. In those days the exposure to TV was on the incline as we found this new medium an alternative to the movies and better than reading the newspapers. The radio and newspapers were the only form of news until TV came along, and supplanted the radio.

But those candies, where did they go, do they still make them?

I always had a Tootsie roll in one pocket or another, and they were small enough for mom to miss them in the wash, and when I put on a clean pair of pants, there was that little surprise waiting for me! The wrapper may have been frayed or torn, lint surrounding it, but the candy stood up to the rigors of the ringer.

I recall those little dots of sugar that were aligned perfectly on a long strip of white paper, in different colors that you actually put to your mouth to get each of the candies, sometimes taking some of the backing off too!

Then as an alternate to Tootsie Rolls was Baby Jane, with that peanut butter flavor that could also withstand the wash. These were cheap inexpensive delights for a little kid with a few pennies.  Life was good.

On a hot Sunday afternoon, dad would give me a quarter I think and I would go to Sam’s for a Mello Roll, a package ice cream by Breyer’s Ice Cream Company that was wrapped in paper and you put it on a sugar cone, just like an ice cream cone. Sam had one other treat that sometimes I had on a summer night to refresh my soul and tongue, an egg-cream, made with soda and ice cream, without an egg, frothing at the top and washed down with great satisfaction that left you with a mustache that you looked at in his giant mirror, before swiping it with your sleeve!

I WILL NEVER FORGET

“Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.”

George Eliot

Every year since 1982, there are two days I commemorate, two days that have meaning to me, in that they teach me something important. January 28, 1981, the day he passed on and was freed from the pain and anguish he was in, and the day he was born, on April 6^th, 1979.

I try not to dwell too much in his death, but try to keep his memory alive, because he is my son. I know people who feel the pain of their child’s death and understand it is not easy. Especially when you have an adult child. People will criticize them for dwelling have to live in the shoes of the parent to understand it.

Joseph

My son Joseph was my third child. Joseph looked like me when I was his ages, an aunt said he looked like someone had cut my head of and put it on his body.

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on”.

Robert Frost

Life indeed goes on, and the cycle of life with death is but nature’s way of cleaning out the old and bringing in the new to replace it.

Today Joseph would have been 35 years of age, a man in every respect and still my child, my son: he was my hope for tomorrow.

Mike

All my sons are special people. One, Michael in fact does me proud in that he cares about the future, is starting to put his money where his mouth is, doing work for the disabled and for the community. He is passionate for what he does, and seems to be intent on keeping his goals in sight. I’m proud of that and grateful, and I hope he stays his course and finds his focus rewarding that is important as being a doctor or nurse, it is about life itself, it doesn’t seem to be about himself.

Anthony

You know about my other son Anthony, a writer, writes for The Big Bang Theory, how neat is that? But most importantly has made all the right choices in life I think. He has always worked hard and continues to be successful on a moral plain.

Somehow, in my mind’s eye I see these two sons as a part of what Joseph might have been, maybe I should say: ‘was’.

So today I will go out in Joseph’s garden I built so many years ago, and sit for a while and think of him, maybe even talk to him, and he will have his day in his father’s eyes, I will never forget him.

DEEP IN THE HEART OF TAXES

It is becoming a whirlwind of forms, appointments and phone calls figuring out one’s taxes these days.

Remember when dad or mom would go to someone’s home, with a shoebox filled with old receipts and documents and that person would be the expert of filling out taxes? Even after we moved from Brooklyn, dad still traveled out to Brooklyn to have his taxes done. He’d ring the bell, some housewife would answer in her housedress and slippers, greet ‘Tony’ invite him in, remark how much I had grown and we’d sit at the kitchen table, have a cup of coffee and dad had his taxes done.

When I was single in high school,  and first had to fill out taxes there was a simple 1040 short form that if you made under a certain amount, you used, and usually you either got something back or didn’t pay at all.

I used to be the family consultant for my house when I did the short form for one or two sisters. Life was simple and taxes weren’t a big deal unless you wanted to make conversation.

When dad bought his second house, in a neighborhood where you expect to pay for services from the town, dad had a new complaint, his taxes. He would sit at the kitchen table and with his accordion file folder, pay his bills and had a section for his dreaded ‘Taxes’. Then off to see his tax person, who although still worked from the kitchen table, didn’t get to mention how I’d grown.

Then one day I got a job professionally, and saw the chunk of change they were taking from my hard earned money. I thought, at least let me hold it before you take it. I wanted a picture of the money and me, just to have something to remember it by. It’s like having children and never meeting them.

Finally, one day in March in around 1972 or 73, we found our tax guy who started with my business taxes and then my household ones. He has been doing them since and although his rates increase, he has always done a smart job. We went to him, he filled out the forms and we mailed them.

Then one day he started to get fancy. Sent us a prepared form where we filled out some of the pages with our line item deductions and he would get it, call me and then file online!

Welcome to the 21^st Century, no shoe box needed!

FROM THE PAST

As I sat in my chair one Saturday early afternoon, the phone rang wakening me from a soon self-induced coma. I answer it and immediately make myself known that I am still alive.

“Hello?” ‘Hello’ is my standard greeting, except for Christmas Day, when I go crazy and say “Happy Christmas” or “Merry Holiday”, making sure to offend everyone.

The voice on the other end starts in immediately, and I am flung back into the past and one of my favorite people. Pete San Chirico the Photographer www.petersanchiricophotography.com is on the other end!

I know Pete from the old days: in fact we had lunch one day back in 2012 on a March day. Pete was with another great guy from the past named Dominick.

Dominick, me and Pete

Pete and Dom as I call them, are like a husband and wife team, bickering, teasing and correcting each other like they have for years, and if you sit there, you will be entertained by it all.

After 3 hours and a few Manhattans later (like the old days) the check is placed on the table:

Pete: “Dom, I left my wallet home!” (He had just taken it out a few moments earlier)

Dom: “Why do I always get stuck with the check? Joe he does that to me at breakfast too! Well I don’t have enough cash for you!”

Pete: “Well use your credit card!” He then takes out his wallet and pays cash!

This is exactly what I deal with on the phone.

When I answered the phone, Pete says that Dom mentioned me at breakfast.

Dom: “Pete, are you going to call Joe?”

Pete: “You got the phone number! You were supposed to call him a long time ago!”

Then Pete tells me he winds up calling. To get back Pete tells me he has Dom in the car and will put him on speaker phone, but I should say: “Hey you #^&%)@! Son of a bitch, you don’t call?”

I do and…

Dom responds by saying:

“Hey Joe, Pete tells me you never liked him at work, is that true?”

And so I will go to lunch with these two characters, laugh myself silly, eat like a king and hoist a few, and I have it all because of an old pal named Bruce Green.

http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/search?q=Bruce

KINDNESS KNOWS NO NAMES

I’ve been doing this blogue since 2006, and I think it has its own flavor, it is different from what I’ve read in other blogs, and I think I reach some people. It is not meant to be a literary gift to anyone including myself, but a relationship with the reader and me. Good old ordinary folks are what I love, not too fancy or self-important., that’s you! I want and love to relate to you all.

Every day for the past 8 years, I have tried to write what I feel, tell who I am and recognize all the wonderful people including my doctors and neighbors in this blogue . It has been fun and sometimes easy and sometimes hard. Someday it will end and I will know when the time is. I hope it isn’t soon, but when the time comes I will let you know.

I have met some really wonderful people in my past, and perhaps starting with the Fabulous 5 who encouraged me to write this blogue. There is MFF (My Favorite Fan) Laura, who along with #1 Son Anthony encouraged me, and what they did was gifted me, and for that I am grateful. There is Minnesota Pete, Pete the Teacher, Justin and Jason, the creative geniuses of filmmaking. That month in LA where I met these wonderful folks was a wonderful God given gift for yours truly.

And since 2006, I have gone the road of pure joy, opinion, and laughing at myself, with people such as Toots II: Lois, The Princess of Foxwoods Points – Pat, Mr. Fixit and his lovely wife Corrine and my doctors, who for some reason insist on keeping me alive, such as: Dr. Strangeglove, Dr. Haveaheart and Dr. Seemore, all with their desperate attempts at healing my body, instead of my mind.

But the people that more than anyone else who are just wonderful sports, who have been kidded but in my heart respected, my sisters and in-laws, and of course my parents, and needless to say, my wonderful wife TLW (The Little Woman) and #1 and #2 sons., my little girl and TLC, (The Lovely Courtney) who has brought a lot of joy to myself for being there for #1 Son, and the mother of my first ever grandchild, and for most of all the goodness that she is. That comes from her love of her parents, who did something very right.

I guess what I am driving at is that this is very personal to me, very close to my heart and soul, and you Dear Readers, are the reason.

Thank you after 8 years of writing. Please feel free to comment when you feel it along the way

Thanks, I love you all!

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GOOD MORNING, I WAS THINKING…

Every morning, when I go to visit mom, there is a lovely young woman who sits at the desk of the Bellhaven Center for Rehabilitation and Nursing Care in the main lobby. She greets me with a very warm hello and asks how I am. I happen to find that a wonderful way to start my day, so I look forward to seeing her to start the day visiting mom. Recently I ask about her job and she told me she also worked as a cheerleader instructor after hours, five days a week, and if you look at her pretty face, she does bring on cheers.

One of the things the lovely lady told me was that she does these two jobs, and at the end of the day she is bone tired. I thought how wonderful that she is so dedicated to her two jobs and at the day she is bone tired, but feels accomplished! Good for her, I wish more young people were like that.

Driving one morning to the center I started to think about her and the fact that she does work so hard and came up with a plan.

I entered the lobby and was greeted with the million-dollar smile she owns, and asked her how she was also, I then made my suggestion; "I was thinking: why don’t you start a TV show like Letterman?" I asked. "What you do is get some TV camera crew and interview all the people who come to visit? You could have a celebrity status and make money from sponsorships. Someone comes in, you ask how it's going and who they are seeing, interview them and create instant celebrity status with some very unhappy people. I know I would watch!"

Suddenly her face lit up, she looked like she found a million dollars with her name on it! Looking up at me, she asked: “Would you sponsor me?” With that smile, you bet!