TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME

But first we eat!

 

Dad was a big Mets fan, always getting free tickets for Shea Stadium, usually about 4 to 6 a game. He would take me and whoever else was interested, as long as someone else would drive. One day he came home and invited Mom, who although was a Mets fan, never watched the games. Mom was suddenly excited: she was going to a baseball game. All week long before the Saturday game, she kept saying how good those ballpark franks tasted and how much she wanted one. If you went by Mom, she would blurt out, “Oh those ballpark franks, so good.

Saturday came along, and along with me was Dad, Mom, my brother-in-law and my sister, as we piled into the car, Mom was missing.

“Dad, where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She’s in the kitchen wrapping some something to eat for the game.” He said.

Suddenly, out comes Mom, a brown paper shopping bag, filled with heroes of sausage and peppers, meatballs and sausage, and veal and chicken parmesan.

“Ma! What are you doing?”

“What?”

What is all that stuff?”

“Eh! We gotta eat!”

“But Ma, what about the hotdogs at the ballpark?”

“YOU’RE NOT GETTING ME TO PAY FOR A HOTDOG FROM THOSE CROOKS, I CAN FEED US CHEAPER THAN THAT HOTDOG COST!” Besides, all that salt!

Well, we went to the game, and I remember the awe on people’s faces as Mom unwrapped the aluminum foil and distributing the food, the surrounding fans marveling at the feast.

MEMORIES: LIKE THE SMELLS OF THE DISTANT PAST.

Being Italian American, we can lay claim to the best noses in the world. There is a tendency for Italians to have long olfactory units, but that is because God deemed us the cooks of the world. As cooks we need to be able to smell when something is cooking correctly.

Growing up in Brooklyn, coming home from church in an Italian neighborhood, you could smell the gravy cooking from house to house, the sauce with it’s little Italian basil floating freely, gave you the sense of hunger and anticipation, of glorious pasta and meatballs, bragiole and sausage, a nice salad all waiting for you. Dad had his wine chilled in ‘the frig’ with a few slices of orange, and mom with nuts and cakes for dessert. Like was good. My sister and I would fight for the oranges, which dad doles out fairly to both of us.

Smelling is a big part of Italian life, you went to grandmas and she was out in her garden picking the green gold, the basil for her gravy, grandpa would smell his homemade wine and decide if it was ready for vinegar.

The biggest smells that ended the year on a high note were the smell of the Italian feast of Christmas Eve, the seven fish, starting with the beautifully prepared lobster gravy and spaghetti. As you entered the house, the aroma took you over, your mouth watering, the pots steaming on the stove, and Mom, my mom looking so homey in her floral apron and wooden spoon, her hands smelling of the ingredients of love, like a maestro about to present a culinary symphony!

ITS’ JUST OUT OF CONTROL!

And so on we go on: with another crazy person killing 2 innocent people with a gun, on TV no less. When do we learn to figure it out and stop the carnage? "Guns don't kill people, people with guns kill people. Unless we are in immediate danger of invasion, and the military is too busy, we do not need to carry guns. The right to bare arms is for the sake of a militia, one that we no longer use. Great job Gun Lobby, you helped the murder.

The shame is that in today’s world, with instant media coverage and instant communication with Facebook, Twitter and You Tube, it is too easy to garner attention for one’s self. You purchase an assault rifle and you are on your way. Who needs an assault rifle in this country? Do we live in the Middle East?

There used to be a sport that although I never participated in, never offended me, and that is hunting. You went out for deer or even bear, deer or rabbit, and spent the time tracking through the woods and lean about nature. You sat in a duck boat, maybe froze your butt off in the late fall, and hunted. You had a hunting rifle and you were licensed and so no one cared. That is quickly becoming intolerable. The legitimate hunter is in danger of losing his sport because we don’t put in enough or the right controls to stem the carnage. I know that we will never fully stop the incidents, but maybe we can bring this nonsense way down.

Then the gun lobby got so strong that people, ordinary people are coming under assault by crazies, citing their rights under the Second Amendment, to own assault rifles, to some sick and ill-informed concept the amendment gives each of us the right to bear arms. It doesn’t, it gives us the right to form a militia and bare arms, as was the original meaning.

But let’s support the right to bare arms, to allow the crazies to get their hands on them, and then to make a name for themselves: maybe at the cost of one of our loved ones or perhaps even ourselves.

But I have a solution:

GET RID OF THE DAMMED GUNS!

ON THE CUTTING EDGE

Recently I tried out a new barber. The old barber I had was just down the road, and I have been going to the shop itself for over 30 years off and on. I thought I’d try a new one for a change of pace, and maybe like the results.

The new barber Attila, is a man in his 40’s, tall and slightly over-weight, but right off the boat from somewhere in the Serbian Empire, with a heavy accent, and a European flair when he cuts. What’s a European flair you ask? His arms go into an exaggerated motion as he waves that scissor around, menacing both life and limb as he chops his way to the final neck shave.

His technique for brushing you is to smack the brush against your head then pound it until all the hair stand up, where he then blows them off with his lips.

Ear hair is another story. Using an electric razor, he grinds the machine into your head until he reaches hair, twisting and pushing and pressing the razor as it totally reforms the shape of your ears. If it comes out of your other ear, you know he went too far!

The guy ahead of me

Neck hair? Ha, he just applies the electric razor until it manages to get under the skin, being the only barber to cut hair at the roots, under the skin.

Then the most terrifying moment comes. He reaches into the top drawer, and extracts a strait-edge razor, as I silently prayer, not sure if this will be my last haircut or my first scalping.

When the whole process is over, I pay the man and give him a generous tip for sparing my life, as he asks: “Do you have my business card?” “No!” I answer.

Reaching for a business card on the counter he says: “When you come three times, I punch the card each time and you get a half-priced haircut. Tell your friends too. You look very nice-tell them, great haircut, half-price 4^th haircut and good price!

Leaving I stopped at the drugstore for some painkiller and the druggist says, “Nice haircut, but did somebody steal your money, you look like you didn’t give it up without a fight!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

A man walked in to a Barber Shop for his regular haircut.  As he snips away, the barber asks: "What's up?"

The man proceeds to explain he's taking a vacation to Rome. "ROME?!" says the barber, "Why would you want to go there? It's a crowded dirty city full of Mafioso! You'd be crazy to go to Rome! So how ya getting there?" "We're taking TWA" the man replies.

"TWA?!" yells the barber. "They're a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they're always late!  So where you staying in Rome?" The man says "We'll be at the downtown International Marriot." "That DUMP?!" says the barber. "That's the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and slow and they're overpriced!  So whatcha doing when you get there?"  The man says "We're going to go see the Vatican and hope to see the Pope."

"HA! That's rich!" laughs the barber. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on THIS trip. You're going to need it!"

A month later, the man comes in for his regular haircut. 

The barber says, "Well, how did that trip to Rome turn out? Bet TWA gave you the worst flight of your life!" "No, quite the opposite" explained the man. "Not only were we on time in one of their brand new planes, but it was full and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a beautiful 28 year old flight attendant who waited on me hand and foot!"

"Hmmm," says the barber , "Well, I bet the hotel was just like I described."

"No, quite the opposite! They just finished a $25 million remodeling. Its the finest hotel in Rome, now. They were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the Presidential suite for no extra charge!"

"Well," the barber mumbles, "I KNOW you didn't get to see the Pope!"

"Actually, we were quite lucky. As we toured the Vatican, a Swiss guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into this private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, after 5 minutes the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand. I knelt down as he spoke a few words to me."

Impressed, the barber pleads, "Tell me, please! What did he say?"

"He just said: Where did you get that awful haircut?'"

http://www.ahrcsuffolk.org/

LOOKING FOR GREAT GIFT IDEAS FOR YOUR CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN?

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DO YOU WATCH THE BIG BANG THEORY?

You should, nine out of ten people who don't, miss it!

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Forgotten NY is the first recipient of the

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I’M NOT PERFECT

-->

Don’t act surprised, you must have known that.

Unfortunately for me, I know people that like to leave the impression that they are perfect, that if they do things for the church or temple, they are guaranteed the joys of heaven. I mean, how would God not let them in? They go around professing their belief and even going so far as to post it on the Internet, hoping that Jesus has a page on the social media and makes notes of those that post such things. “If you love Jesus, post it in the comments box.” “If Jesus is your savior, hit like”

These ‘Holy Ones’ think they are fooling God.

A good example of this on the TV is the one and only Josh Duggar, who made a lot of money on pretending to be pious, tried fooling God and got caught, you might say with his proverbial pants down. He looked like every mother’s dream of a son or son-in-law. He dressed in very acceptable attire, was neat and clean bodily yet … I guess clean cut gets you points to heaven. He embarrassed his family; they look sheepish now and ashamed!

As it is I have difficulty with religions, they are the root of all wars, the source of constant tension and do a lot of harm. Religion makes people do crazy things, believe falsely and is polarizing. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the Holocaust, 9/11, etc. it all makes no sense.

The Duggars are a family built on the reputation that procreation is everything, and must be practiced because both TV and Jesus want it. It's a religious belief, that makes for a lot of TV and sex, but in the end, a lot of headaches as these 19 kids grow up!

Of course there are those that don’t go to church or temple, don’t practice their faith, except when they have to, you know say at Palm Sunday, or a funeral and then they put on their Sunday Go To Church clothes, a halo appears behind their head, their hands clasp in prayer, and along the way they tell you what you should do to gain the Kingdom of Heaven.

In my lifetime I have witnessed priests behave badly, uncompromising, unfeelingly, yes, even unchristian like. They then climb the pulpit, and tell me how I should behave, and by the way, leave a little bread so he doesn’t have to get a job.

The priests are not alone, the Rabbi and minister do their part too. I’ve seen nuns and priests have affairs, nothing stops them. Not all clergy are like that fully but they are all human.

The ‘Holy Ones’ are particular to hypocrisy. They create trouble, they don’t forgive, and they lack the character to admit to themselves that they have no right to tell anyone how to pray, how to mourn and what to believe in.

No, I’m not perfect, but I do as much as I can to help people, try to do good deeds and respect the poor and sick, the elderly and children of this world. I won’t spend it in a church attending to a ritual that goes on robotically every day and three times on Sunday! To me I just fall into a trance and loose sight of what I am supposed to do, walking out thinking I don’t have to think about God until next Sunday, or if God forbid, something happens.

I swear, curse and let off steam, I’m not nice sometimes and sometimes I can even get mean, but I do know my attending church won’t mend that: it just delays it. So I try to work on good works to balance and if I’m really involved, I won’t have time to be all those things I just said I can be.

I often wonder how ‘Christians’ can believe such things, even about Jesus. Do you mean to tell me that all those that lived their lives unknowing about Jesus all these years are “Unsaved”? I am not singling out Christianity; the Muslims have their beliefs in prophets as well. Who is right? Who died unsaved in this world?

It just doesn’t make sense.

RITORNI ME!

-->Soon I will be returning to Facebook, as I wipe away the scourge of pornography that infected my browser settings in FACEBOOK!

It is not that I want to necessarily return, but it is the principle of the thing, I won’t let this moron who hacked my account win.

Actually, I’m enjoying the lack of Facebook, no unnecessary emails about every posting in the universe and twice of Sundays, no messages about people who want to be friends who I don’t know from Adam. What I do miss are the postings of my sons and the wit that goes with them.

I will probably be back by mid-week coming, and will post with my customary joy, posting a joke, so my old friends know it’s me.

So as the Italians say: “Ritorni me” so I will ask them to return to the old friendship we had before the fiendship took over by some low-life.

Living without Facebook is NOT culture shock, the letter below best illustrates culture shock.

Dear Son,

Your Pa has a new job, the first in 48 years. We are a little better off now, getting $17.96 every Thursday. So we up and thought we'd do a little fixin’ up. We sent to Rosemont and Seasbuck for one of them there bathrooms you hear so much about and it took a plumber to put it in shape. On one side of the room is a great big long thing, something like the hogs drink out of, only you get in it and wash all over. Over on the other side is a little white thing called a sink, this is for light washing, like face and hands, but over in the other corner we really got something. There you put one foot in, wash it clean, pull a chain and get fresh water for the other foot. Two lids come with the darn thing and we ain't had any use for them in the bathroom, so I'm using one for a bread board and the other we framed grandmother's picture in. They were awful nice people to deal with and they sent us a roll of writing paper with it. Take care of yourself son.

Your Maw

http://www.ahrcsuffolk.org/

LOOKING FOR GREAT GIFT IDEAS FOR YOUR CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN?

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Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377

Phone:(423) 886-6943

Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

DO YOU WATCH THE BIG BANG THEORY?

You should, nine out of ten people who don't, miss it!

http://forgotten-ny.com/

Forgotten NY is the first recipient of the

Outstanding NYC Website award by

The Guides Association of NYC!

THAT FILTY FEELING

Being a sociable person, and looking to find old classmates for a high school reunion, I joined Facebook at the suggestion of a classmate, about 5 years ago. Overall the experience was fun, finding people and giving it a little DelBloggolo spin to have fun. I created my own gallery of photos to post with my words of self-derision and greeting to others. I created fun movies that wished people a happy birthday or to note a holiday.

All of that changed recently. There was a posting from someone I thought I knew, and she had a picture with this post that I could not make heads or tails about. I clicked it and yes, it turned into a nightmare. What came up was porn, sick, sad and disgusting. Someone thought to send me their perversions and once was not enough. I have since quit Facebook, and will never go back again, I don’t need it.

I will miss all the wonderful people that I have met as well as those I knew when I first joined. Because I made one click, I infected the pages of a lot of decent people that didn’t deserve such a thing, and it made me feel dirty!

I could never apologize enough to all who had the misfortune of dealing with it, I am sorry and wish I never heard of Facebook, but the damage is done.

And so Dear Readers, I now have the urge to go back to a more steady routine of blogging and through this medium I will go.

One day a group of Darwinian scientists got together and decided that man had come a long way and no longer needed God. So they picked one Darwinian to go and tell Him that they were done with Him. The Darwinian walked up to God and said, "God, we've decided that we no longer need you. We're to the point that we can clone people and do many miraculous things, so why don't you just go on and get lost

."God listened very patiently and kindly to the man. After the Darwinian was done talking, God said, "Very well, how about this? Let's say we have a man-making contest." To which the Darwinian happily agreed. God added, "Now, we're going to do this just like I did back in the old days with Adam. "The Darwinian said, "Sure, no problem," and bent down and grabbed himself a handful of dirt. God looked at him and said, "No, no, no. You go get your own dirt!"

 

http://www.ahrcsuffolk.org/

LOOKING FOR GREAT GIFT IDEAS FOR YOUR CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN?

http://www.ebeanstalk.com/?store=42

http://www.mountaintoptoys.com/

Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377

Phone:(423) 886-6943

Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

 

DO YOU WATCH THE BIG BANG THEORY?

You should, it builds strong minds!

http://forgotten-ny.com/

Forgotten NY is the first recipient of the

Outstanding NYC Website award by

The Guides Association of NYC!

THAT SPECIAL TEACHER

We all remember a special teacher in our lives that has made a profound effect on us. The man or woman leaves an indelible impression and it never goes away. It helps shape who we are. In high school, for me it was Mr. Richard Hall, a great teacher and he seemed to touch my soul with his enthusiasm, making me love the man, and remembering him fondly, as I charted out my life before me. I even went to his funeral when he past.

But sometimes the teachers we find in life come from the most unlikely places, people we never expect to find as teachers, people that teach us and we don’t realize it until later on.

My daughter is severely handicapped, can’t speak and has great trouble communicating with people. Yet she has taught me the greatest lessons of my life. Her method is simple enough: don’t say or do anything but exist.

Yet in my past world of raising children, all the things I learned, and all the advice I had gotten, was all self-centered around my family and me. But suddenly that all changed when Ellen came along, . Not immediately at first, but as things evolved.

Ellen taught me that there are others in this world, that Ellen was a small part of the bigger problem, all those poor people who had disabilities needed advocates and voices.

But there other teachers of course, there are the dedicated people that make lives worth living for those they serve. The nurses and doctors and the dedicated day care people that dote and teach and cheer on people like Ellen. They make an obscene amount of money, the minimum wage, getting less than the hamburger flipper who would rather be pecking at his/her cell phone than caring about their job. But the day care worker pecks and cares about his/her charges, the people that they cheer on everyday, and help make the simple task we take for advantage possible for those of us less able.

God bless them. Andrew Cuomo, we need your help to raise the wages of these wonderful advocates and teachers of people like my Ellen.

MY “GITAR” AND A FISH

HOW BOUT A LITTLE "LOVE ME TENDER" ON MY GITAR???

In the middle of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina there are a few things that you can’t miss, one is a pick-up truck, and the other: is a Calabash restaurant or two. Top that off with one or two golf courses, a few resort centers and a couple of people and there you have Myrtle Beach. Oh, I forgot, multiply that by several thousand!

When I got down to Myrtle Beach, we decided to look for a place to eat, and saw this seafood restaurant that said on its large sign: “Calabash Restaurant, all you can eat.”

TLW (The Little Woman) needed to go into a local store and while she did I found this coupon book she was carrying and thumbed through it. I discovered ‘Calabash’ is a term used by many restaurants.

In fact there is a Calabash street off of the 17. The 17 route along with The Kings Highway are main roads the locals and tourist travel. As you travel these roads, and any roads off of them, you will find that 50% of the vehicles are pickup trucks. Yes, BIG annoying in your way pick-up trucks. There is no escaping them, they are everywhere, leaving me to wonder: what the Hell are they all needing to pick up???

Inside the restaurants the food is mostly deep fried, comes in a plastic woven-like waxed paper lined red basket and the dinner is stuffed into it. Mostly hamburgers and catfish, shrimp and onion rings or fries, with Cokes and beer to hydrate the grease to allow it to flow like the NYC sewer system. Finding a decent restaurant with fine foods is kind of difficult, and even harder once you get in as the tourist bring in their rug rats that scream as often as possible, or in their case needed.

As we were dining at one of the Calabash restaurants, TLW inquired about a certain item on the menu and the waiter, a country boy explained that Calabash was a way of frying something, I guess a kinder, gentler way to grease the fins and claws.

So as we left the restaurant, flush with our fresh known knowledge of Calabash, this local, sitting by himself and taking apart the crab legs, calls us over. Curious, I respond by walking over to the table.

Local: “You b’long to a band?”

Me: “Why?”

Local: “Ya got the face of a gitar playa.”

Yo gotta love dem locals!

LEGENDS AND BIG SHOTS

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As vacationers, TLW (The Little Woman) and I would rather spend our time sightseeing and learning than sunning on the beach, especially since we burn so easily. To add more value the time we also take in a show or two. One of the shows we saw at Myrtle Beach was Legends In Concert.

Have you ever prepared yourself for something you swore you would not like only to find out you love it? Such was the concept of Legends In Concert, a troupe of people that imitate great entertainers and do the same material. This show had such wanna-be Faux luminaries as Prince, Presley and ‘The Blues Brothers” a country singer and Katie Perry, all doing acts from the 1980’s, a time when I was so divorced from the music scene that there was not much I recognized as hits, except for Presley, who along with the Dan Akroyd, John Belushi wanna-be’s.

The crowds got into the singing and performances and the house rocked, singing along and waving back and forth with their arms, the performers got a wild approval from their audience, including myself.

There was kissing the audience of any old lady over 70, including dancing and holding her hand, making about a gaggle of old girls feel young again.

I always wanted to hang out with the big shots, and so off we went to Wilmington, North Carolina and the battle ship USS North Carolina. The big ship saved from the scrap heap and made into a memorial to all the service men who served on her and other military branches during World War II that came from North Carolina.

The ship is massive, the guns can fire a 5-foot projectile that must weight hundreds of pounds 22 miles and that is where the concept of Rock and Roll must come from. Touring the inner workings of the ship on a 93+-degree day with high humidity and NO air-conditioning, the self-tour can be a challenge, descending and climbing 9 decks, going inside turrets adding to the fun. I did get to sit in the Captain’s chair and see what he did on the high seas.

And so it has been a great vacation.

Soon: I get my “Gitar” and other things to eat.

FAUX FUN

This has been one of the better vacations I have taken in a long while. The South Carolina hospitality here in Myrtle Beach really extends itself from the friendly people to the food and entertainment. If that is not enough, you can always go north into Wilmington, North Carolina and continue the good times.

The Hopsewee Plantation, situated Georgetown, SC is a very rear gem, one that started out my visit to Myrtle Beach on a very high note. It is the only plantation standing that is not restored, but maintained, not renovated but repaired, and the only plantation that is still on its original footprint.

The home has had many owners, and throughout the years each owner has kept the integrity of the plantation, as told to us by the most beautiful guide I have ever met, who in her mid to late eighty’s still gives guided tours and as she hobbles on a cane because of a bad knee, gives you the full Nelson in tours.

As the tour ended, it was early afternoon, around noon to be exact and we noticed that there is also on this gracious property the River Oak Cottage, where visitors will enjoy an elegant Tea in the English tradition with flavorful Southern inspiration., where TLW (The Little Woman) and I visited and decided to stay and have lunch. The ambiance as well as the food, with the background music in this beautifully appointed sunroom made for a special hour. Old-fashioned teacups and sauces, white linen napkins and class, class, class abounded. The owner came over to visit and ask where we were from and made us feel welcomed.

Soon… Faux Legends that do it right and the Big Shots.

MIGHTY OAKS AND FAMILIARITY

Every family has at least one, a mighty oak: that stands tall through the years, showing strength and endurance. But sometimes these mighty oaks are short or small only in stature, but not in heart.

Two such mighty oaks lived once in my family, on both sides. They were of course my two grandmothers, who endured hardships yet were great teachers to their children. Moms mother Mary: Born in this country, losing her mother at infancy lived under a tyrant of a step-mother, withstood great hardships for her three young children as her husband, my grandfather left her one day. With no job, and three kids to feed she had to find work in the mid-twenties, living alone and with some help from her brother Lou she managed to scrape by teaching her daughters the differences between right and wrong, raising three ladies of special note.

At one point Mary had to go into the hospital for a nervous breakdown and her flock was scattered among religious institutions and relatives, a heart wrenching time for any mother. She died at the age of 46 from stomach ulcers or stomach cancer, make your choice, the results were still the same.

Frances was Dads mother, and the one I knew personally. She was a strong woman with a strong heart and mind, who was afraid of nothing. Coming to America at a young age of 15, by herself, she braved the language barrier and the prejudice of America at the turn of the century and built a family, business and following. She lost my grandfather to Spanish Influenza and married his best friend. Ralph adored grandma and did whatever she told him to do. She sewed buttons on coats after working all day in a factory to earn extra money. She was a phenomenal cook who was so good she could put ingredients together and they kind of cooked themselves. That’s cooking. She also owned a restaurant and vegetable and fruit stand and an apartment building. Given an education, she would have been a pioneer in industry. She was very active in her church and made countless boat and plane trips to Italy on the behalf of orphans from the war. In Naples somewhere is an orphanage named after her.

Of course there is another oak who still grows every day, and by the time I am gone, her legendary life will be complete. Yes, I speak of TLW (The Little Woman), who has had to endure me for far too long.

 

Just the other day we went out for breakfast, trying out a new dinner. It was after 7:00 am and as we approached the dinner TLW said they may not be open!

Nah, said I, they have to be open at this hour. She insisted and said: "Well you go in and if you do get in I’ll get out of the car and follow you."

I get out of the car and open the door and go in. The waitress comes over to me and says: “How many” and I say: “One please” and she seats me. I sit and moments later TLW comes in and walks over while the waitress points to me and says you are with him? I start making these funny faces to deny I even know her and the waitress mouths to me: “She’s your wife.” And a mighty oak indeed she is!

LIFES TWISTS AND TURNS

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Many years ago, Mom would make a dish that I did not particularly like. It was beef stew, and the thought of eating stew was like staying in the apartment on a Saturday morning while my friends were outside having a good time.

Ma. What’s for dinner?

Stew.

Awww, why stew?

You don’t have to eat it you know, but don’t go looking for something to eat when you are hungry later. You eat what I give you or too bad.

Under great protest and strain, and the fear of having to wait for breakfast in the morning, my least favorite meal, I sat and ate the stew. What I disliked about the stew was Mom made it in a red sauce with green peas. It was the peas more than anything that I disliked. Once I started to eat, everything tasted good, including the bread and butter that went with it. To lessen the disappointment of the dish, Dad would pour me a little wine, and if he poured me one more, I would have really looked forward to stew.

the Sauce of my troubles

I had to drive #1 Son to the airport so he could fly home to California after having spent the day in NYC, many years ago. It meant driving from the south shore through some unknown neighborhoods on the way to LaGuardia. The thought of going through these neighborhoods did not thrill me, and I made sure my windows were up and the doors locked. A funny thing started to happen as we passed through the neighborhood, a certain excitement was present, an atmosphere of happiness and joy, infectious and inviting. Music was playing, people were out shopping and enjoying the beautiful day and I rolled down my windows and enjoyed the celebration of life. It was a special moment: it killed my sense of prejudice toward a wonderful group of people. It made me realize, my prejudice was keeping me from love and enjoyment.

I see where the gay rights issues are coming to a head. People are realizing that people are people, that hate has no place in this world. Many years ago a wonderful man by the name of Jim worked for me in my job in NYC. He was gay and I knew it, but never brought up the subject, because it just didn’t matter to me. He did his job, worked harder than the rest of the crew and was morally and good person. He was honest, likeable and funny at times, always sharp and positive. But his best trait was his loyalty: he was very loyal to me and sometimes would go out of his way to make my job easier. Finally one day I took him out to lunch for his birthday and he revealed his ‘secret’ to me. I was confused and was waiting for him to tell me something I didn’t know. He said that he never admitted it because he was afraid that I wouldn’t hire him let alone let him keep his job. When I told him I always suspected it, that it had no place in the mix of things I saw a grown man cry! He like so many others, died from aids, and there sits a question, would he have if society was more understanding of the human spirit and need for love, any kind of love, that gay people had to be driven underground to find it? Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t sit upon a throne in heaven or am known as God or Abba.

Like Mom’s stew, and the green peas, the Confederate flag has always made me wonder how it could still fly. This is the symbol of rebellion that tore this nation apart, although it represented a way of life, also represented oppression and the subjugation of human beings, no better or worse than me or you for that matter. To me it was on a par with the swastika, a symbol of oppression and dominance of humanity by a corrupted sense of superiority to our fellow man.

Today in my humble abode, TLW (The Little Woman) makes stew, in a brown sauce and no green peas, with bread and butter, and life is good although I would pay anything to taste Mom’s stew one more time.

Say a prayer for a beautiful young lady who is in the midst of health crises, and for her husband and parents that they may bare up to this difficult challenge.

Thank you.

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TURNING 70

Jimmy Swaggart is a good example

The hardest thing to do is get older. It takes a lot of living and bumps and bruises, I should know, I’m old. I became old officially this July 6 at 1:30 pm. As legend has it the doctor had me by my ankles, smacked my ass and said to Mom: “Here’s another boy for Uncle Sam!” I don’t know what he meant but I think he was saying another life to sacrifice in someone else’s war.

As it comes to sacrifices, I have done my part in both time and money, not to mention energy, especially for my kids. There you do such things in joy, they get what they need and you provide it. But there is another kind of sacrifice that I don’t understand, the call to arms. Why are some people in this country so willing to send off the young to die, is the bravado that strong?

Old men from both sides of the ocean pick a fight with each other and make war, one they personally will not fight, and so they send your sons and grandsons off to fight it. Even the young women get off their patriotic rocks and fight now. I love this country, but this country is made up of the future: the young should never be so arbitrarily sent off to war. Forget the cost, you will pay for it, the old men have fat paychecks and nice pensions.

Many years ago Dad was watching TV on our new color console by Magnavox, just a few days old and as he was watching I happened to pass the living room and one of my sisters changed the channel on him. It upset me and so I changed it back to his channel, thus beginning the outbreak of hostilities. It was a four front war for me (four sisters) who all ganged up on me at once, and when it was over, there was no Dad anywhere to be seen, he was down in the basement watching the old Black and white set, I was bleeding from scratches and my shirt breast pocket was ripped and my glasses broken! That is what war always gets you, most cost and destruction.

After 70 years I’ve become cynical of everything ever told to me and taught. I’ve become suspicious of politicians, they should be changed as often as a babies diaper, and for the same reason, the church has left me no reason to think they can govern my spiritual life when they can’t master their own, and even the old morality they taught me in school is under a dark and heavy cloud.

Change s good as long as we grow from it. The days of persecuting homosexual love is over, now we are all free to love who we want. The self-anointed will have to deal with it best they can, until someone in their family decides: “Yes, gay marriage is what I want.”

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

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Everyone knew Tony. He was a devoted son, hard-working father and husband, usually with a wry sense of humor. He could play tricks on my mom as well as his children. He was after all: Dad.

He couldn’t wear a tie for more than 3 minutes, and usually when he left for a wedding or special occasion, his tie was loosened enough to look like he worked all night. When you took him into a church, you never wanted to sit next to him, because he got restless, spread his legs out and shifted his eyes to the movements of the parishioners, being a few seconds behind every one else. He was Tony.

But God forbid, you needed help, anything, he was there. Many a time he would recruit me and off we’d go to do some chore for an older person or a widow who couldn’t afford to get something done, Tony did it out of the goodness of his heart.

Pay Tony with a cup of coffee and he was paid, no money needed, and he already had his satisfaction of doing something for someone.

A family man? There was no greater family man than Dad, gathering up his kids and family and anyone who needed a family holiday, and on Christmas Eve, his favorite holiday, he was in Heaven, and surrounded by all that meant the most to him. There was not one grandchild that didn’t love Grandpa, and he loved tham all the same, especially his first-born grandchild. Every month for a year we had to have a cake and sing Happy Birthday to her.

Tony was well organized, he ran a shipping department with his innovations that got his company shipping out on schedule, organized the stock room and supervised a crew of both full and part time workers. They all loved him, and he loved them back. But that was to say: Today is Sunday, so today is Sunday. Just a simple man, not too complicated, he loved life too much to bother with drama.

He lived and died for his Mets, always a rooter of the underdogs, no matter how much of a dog the underdog was. He loved his sister Angie, and she loved him too, calling when she was living in Florida and he was on his death-bed, they talked and I knew then he could now let go.

His mother died just six months after, attended his funeral and his wife died 22 years later one day to the exact date. Mom passed on June 11, and Dad on June 12.

But Tony was also a teacher. I was his only student and usually the most important lesson was to be happy, work harder than anyone else and be charitable. That was Tony, and that is his legacy.

Peace Dad. I hope that where you are there is no pain, no sorrow and joyous sunlight to warm your loving heart and compliment your disposition, because although you are gone for many years now, that it all still lives on.

Love: your only son.