THE OLD DAYS

I’ve been getting a lot of emails that refer to the old days and the terms that were used long ago in the 50’s and 60’s. If you tried to refer to these terms with the younger generation, they may not understand what you are talking about.

I was in a conversation with a nephew of mine recently and we were talking about keyboards and software. I had to ask if he knew what a typewriter was, and was afraid to hear what he might have to say. I recall a typewriter being something of a luxury tool, one that Mom owned and kept hidden away from her brats. That was the 50’s hardware, and the software was the ribbon that you tried to get a third go around from before you spent some money on a new one.


Autos in our day were more interesting, we could manipulate them, and make them into another image other than what the manufacturer intended. You could “Chop and channel” or add: “fender skirts” or even put in a “Continental kit” to give the car new direction and flavor. Today’s cars are not altered like they were in the old days.

Of course there was such things as dimmer switches that were located at the floor board near the break, or clutches and even decorative “steering or necker knobs” to accentuate the interior of the car.

Today’s cars are too sterile, too hi-tech to fool with, unless you are a geek.

Even our language has evolved into a streamlined vocabulary of certain words and phrases, made so we don’t need to be vocal artists and paint pictures with words. I wonder where the poets will come from tomorrow.



PLASTIC AND CHROME

I recall when we jumped out of the 40’s and into the 50’s the age of plastic and chrome. I recall my folks replacing our porcelain topped wooden table with a draw and the wooden chairs for a plastic and chrome table and chairs. The chairs were heavily padded and didn’t last more than 5 years. The flavor and beauty of the wood and porcelain were lost forever! Instead we traded wood for plastic that eventually cracked, discolored and the stuffing puffing out.

Cars became automatic and so the art of stick shift began to disappear from our present day reality. Running boards made a slight comeback but for the most part are gone.

In one email I received it mentioned: “Coast to coast” and we thought “Oh wow! They are televising something from San Francisco, coast to coast!” Today we televise from the moon! Not even “world-wide impresses us any more.

Many of us never went on a plane until we married, some us never went on family vacations until our husbands or wives planned one. Everyone seemed too poor to go on anything but a bus or subway, and never overnight.

A new car? A new car was something you saw in color in a magazine ad, or in black and white on TV, hardly ever in person.

And the streets we grew up on, seemed so much larger than they appear to us today!

But are there any real good old days? Yes, there are now, and they belong to the younger generation. I hate to say this, but ours were better, more creative, and certainly more interesting.

TAKE ME OUT OF THE BALLGAME

I got a call one day from my brother-in-law Dennis, TLW’s (The Little Woman’s) younger brother, inviting me to go to a ballgame with him and my nephew Matt. Being a die-hard Mets fan (I die a little bit after each game) I said: “Yes!”

We agreed to meet at Citi Field ballpark in front of the stadium by the big ‘Home Run’ Apple at 5:30 pm. Arriving at the ballpark I find a parking lot and pull in, rolling down my window to pay.

“That will be $19.00, please.”

“HOW MUCH!”

“That will be $19.00, please.”

“But I’m not paying for the guy behind me, just my car.”

“That will be $19.00, please.”

Things are changing; you’d think they would wear a mask if they want to hold you up. I know that things are bad financially for the owners of the Mets with the Bernie Madoff suit, but don’t try to balance your books in one day!

After some shock treatment, I proceeded to park and went to meet everyone at the big apple, where I watch untold numbers pose for picture taking. It is a wonderful thing to watch people make fools of themselves, kind of makes me feel I’m not alone.

I must say the neighborhood does draw a bad element, mostly people from Philadelphia in their Philadelphia Phillies jerseys, some posing in front of the apple and holding their throats in a choking fashion. Funny, how the Mets always lose in the late innings, the apple does take on more meaning when it does come to choking!

Today ballparks are very expensive, a soda is $4.50, and a frank over $6 and beer requires proof of age and a second mortgage, not to mention the cost of admission. I was going to buy a souvenir after the game, but my upset stomach and disgust with the team was enough to bring home from the game.

It was a nice night to watch a ballgame, unfortunately only the Phillies showed up to play, the Mets came for the buffet after the game and their paychecks. My brother-in-law looked relaxed and laid back, and my nephew Matt looked like he was having such a good time, I almost reminded him he was watching the Mets, but didn’t want to spoil his mood.

For years the Mets fans would complain about their old ballpark, Shea Stadium being so drab and uninteresting, so when they decided to build a new playground, thy had the architect do it blind-folded, creating some very interesting and meaningless configurations for the playing field.

If you are tired of life, wish to punish yourself, or just don’t like to have any money, then I suggest you try a Mets game at Citi Field, you’ll be sad you went.

A BITCH IS ABOUT TO BE HONORED!

Every now and then I break my promise. Every now and then something sickens me and makes me angry. This is the kind of “Change” many Americans voted for in the last presidential election!



"A leader can give up anything - except final responsibility."
John C. Maxwell



Barbara Walters comments on Jane Fonda: "She can lead her present life the way she wants and perhaps SHE can forget
the past, but we DO NOT have to stand by without comment to see that she is:
"honored" as a "Woman of the Century".
I remember this well, Never Forgive A Traitor."

For those of you too young to remember, Hanoi Jane is a bad person and did
 some terrible things during the Vietnam war. Things that cannot be
forgiven!!!!

 For those who served and/or died... NEVER FORGIVE A TRAITOR. SHE REALLY WAS A TRAITOR!!

 and now OBAMA wants to honor her......!!!!
 In Memory of LT. C. Thomsen Wieland who spent 100 days at the Hanoi Hilton
.

IF YOU NEVER FORWARDED ANYTHING IN YOUR LIFE, FORWARD THIS BLOG SO THAT EVERYONE WILL KNOW!!!!!!

She really is a traitor.



A TRAITOR IS ABOUT TO BE HONORED

KEEP THIS MOVING ACROSS AMERICA.



This is for all the kids born in the 70's and after who do not remember, and
 didn't have to bear the burden that our fathers, mothers and older brothers 
and sisters had to bear.. 

Jane Fonda is being honored as one of the '100 Women of the Century.' BARBARA WALTERS WRITES: "

Unfortunately, many have forgotten and still countless others have never
 known how Ms. Fonda betrayed not only the idea of our country, but specific
 men who served and sacrificed during Vietnam

."

The first part of this is from an F-4E pilot. The pilot's name is Jerry Driscoll.
 In 1968, the former Commandant of the USAF Survival School was a POW in Ho
 Lo Prison the ' Hanoi Hilton.'
 Dragged from a stinking cesspit of a cell, cleaned, fed, and dressed in
 clean PJ's, he was ordered to describe for a visiting American 'Peace
 Activist' the 'lenient and humane treatment' he'd received.
 He spat at Ms. Fonda, was clubbed, and was dragged away. During the
 subsequent beating, he fell forward on to the camp Commandant's feet, which
 sent that officer berserk.
 In 1978, the Air Force Colonel still suffered from double vision (which
 permanently ended his flying career) from the Commandant's frenzied
 application of a wooden baton.


From 1963-65, Col. Larry Carrigan was in the 47FW/DO (F-4E's). He spent 6
 years in the Hanoi Hilton',,, the first three of which his family only
 knew he was 'missing in action'. His wife lived on faith that he was still alive.
 His group, too, got the cleaned-up, fed and clothed routine in preparation
 for a 'peace delegation' visit.
 They, however, had time and devised a plan to get word to the world that
 they were alive and still survived. Each man secreted a tiny piece of paper,
> with his Social Security Number on it , in the palm of his hand.
 When paraded before Ms. Fonda and a cameraman, she walked the line, shaking
; each man's hand and asking little encouraging snippets like: 'Aren't you
 sorry you bombed babies?' and 'Are you grateful for the humane treatment
 from your benevolent captors?' Believing this HAD to be an act, they each
 palmed her their sliver of paper.

She took them all without missing a beat.. At the end of the line and once
 the camera stopped rolling, to the shocked disbelief of the POWs, she turned 
to the officer in charge and handed him all the little pieces of paper..

 Three men died from the subsequent beatings. Colonel Carrigan was almost number four but he survived, which is the only reason we know of her actions
that day.


I was a civilian economic development advisor in Vietnam, and was captured
 by the North Vietnamese communists in South Vietnam in 1968, and held
> prisoner for over 5 years.
 I spent 27 months in solitary confinement; one year in a cage in Cambodia;
 and one year in a 'black box' in Hanoi . My North Vietnamese captors
 deliberately poisoned and murdered a female missionary, a nurse in a
 leprosarium in Banme Thuot, South Vietnam, whom I buried in the jungle
> near the Cambodian border. At one time, I weighed only about 90 lbs. (My
 normal weight is 170 lbs).

We were Jane Fonda's war criminals...



When Jane Fonda was in Hanoi , I was asked by the camp communist political officer if I would be willing to meet with her..
 I said yes, for I wanted to tell her about the real treatment we POW's
 received... and how different it was from the treatment purported by the
 North Vietnamese, and parroted by her as 'humane and lenient..'
 Because of this, I spent three days on a rocky floor on my knees, with my
 arms outstretched with a large steel weight placed on my hands, and beaten
 with a bamboo cane.
 I had the opportunity to meet with Jane Fonda soon after I was released. I
> asked her if she would be willing to debate me on TV. She never did answer
 me.
 These first-hand experiences do not exemplify someone who should be honored
 as part of '100 Years of Great Women.' Lest we forget....' 100 Years of
 Great Women' should never include a traitor whose hands are covered with the
 blood of so many patriots.
 There are few things I have strong visceral reactions to, but Hanoi Jane's
 participation in blatant treason, is one of them. Please take the time to
 forward to as many people as you possibly can. It will eventually end up on
 her computer and she needs to know that we will never forget.

RONALD D. SAMPSON, CMSgt,

USAF 716 Maintenance Squadron,

Chief of Maintenance DSN: 875-6431
COMM: 883-6343


PLEASE HELP BY SENDING THIS BLOG ADDRESS TO EVERYONE IN YOUR ADDRESS BOOK.

IF ENOUGH PEOPLE SEE THIS MAYBE HER STATUS WILL CHANGE*

GETTING OLD IS HARD TO DO

Dining out is now becoming a matter of criterion that has to be met for me to have a good meal. The categories include: Taste, originality (too much is bad), price, service, (Asking me if everything is alright too many times, interrupting my conversation is a real killer), size of tables and noise level all play into the final analysis as to whether or not I like the place. Portions are not so important as I get older!

There are two things I like to avoid in a restaurant: whinny little brats that scream, cry or carry on, and large groups. The large groups NEED to laugh out loud, making sure that everyone hears them. Unfortunately, it is usually a woman in the group who does that.



The other night, I was in a quaint little restaurant, going on someone’s recommendation. Two things happened, 1) I had the blandest dish on the menu, while TLW (The Little Woman) had a truly delicious dish, and B) a gaggle of women, about 5 sat and made such a racket that it was distracting. Although the restaurant was very inviting, the ability to control the din makes it unlikely I will ever go there again.

At this particular restaurant, TLW asked me how my food was, and I told her I was not happy. She immediately stuck her fork in and ‘tested’ my observation! Scooping up as much as a fork could hold.



“Hmmm, taste like there is some prosciutto in it!” said TLW.

“No, no prosciutto, if there was it would have had some taste.”

In goes her fork once more, scooping and piling.

“Hmmm, maybe not.”

“But it sure is bland!”

Out comes her fork once more, it is starting to look like a shovel, and tests it again.

“You want to taste A rigatoni?”

I have discovered that fancy doesn’t always guarantee good, that sometimes the ownership trips on their service and high pricing. Every now and then, I go to Port Jefferson, and walk along the shopping area and will stop for a little clams or shrimp, from a crowded, noisy counter with a few tables, paper napkins and everyone in shorts or dressed casually. The best food, the best atmosphere and times are usually had in places like those. I don’t want that when I pay over $120 for a meal for two however! In other words, the price I pay has a direct correlation to the ambiance.
Going into a Nathan’s for a hot dog or a clam bar for some clams, and Mamma Lombardi’s for a fancy meal all have their place in my moods. A diner is nice in some circumstances, like when I crave a charbroiled cooked hamburger, or a nice tuna on toasted rye, but all have expectations and usually live up to it.

So after all these years of dining in one establishment or another, I am becoming a pain-in-the ass! Getting old is hard to do

BEFORE THERE WERE WOMEN…

There is baseball.

As I took my daily stroll one night, two young boys about 7 or 8 were on a lawn, in their Little League baseball uniforms, tossing the ball to each other. Another love affair had started and it took me back to my youth, and my sons.



The uniforms looked fresh on the kids, and the look of pure concentration was etched deeply into the smooth young faces that wore the uniform. From their looks, I knew it was a ‘warm-up’ before they were off to play a game, maybe their first game of the season.

I recall the excitement myself, with my blue Bellport Bank uniform, Mom having it clean and ready for me, playing catch to warm-up before we were off to the cemetery grounds on Station Road to play ball. I had made the ‘Majors’ for the Bellport Little League, not the farm team, a great source of pride. Not only that, I was the starting second baseman, due mainly to my aggressiveness and fearless approach to a grounder, no matter how hard it was hit toward me.



Then there was #1 Son, I’ll call Anthony, who had the same game face the little leaguers wore. His mouth and lips pinched together as he raised his foot to toss the ball. The ball field was a hallowed sacred grounds: for ‘Anthony,’ mimicking the big-leaguers from TV, the toss, the catch, his idol in his minds eye, being reenacted through the beauty of what is Little League.

Ah baseball, she was every little boy’s love affair, the freshly chalked foul lines, the smell of leather that pervaded the field, the coach with his ball cap on and his clipboard in his hand, all of us eager to take the field and play our hearts out.

The games came usually at twilight, and lasted only 6 innings; enough to witness the gloom of evening once the last out was made. The anticipation of ice cream, and some poor dad’s windshield needing to go to the auto pane shop for a repair from a fouled ball that inevitably found his windshield!

And the next day, oh the next day! Reliving the 2 or 3 at-bats, the chances in the field, the batting average for the day, all cemented in memory that would live on.

I am grateful to those that took the time to organize the Little Leagues, the football and basketball team leagues; they gave my sons a sense of purpose, of belonging and healthy safe things to do. The organizers need more credit issued to them in the sense that we recognize what they really mean to children, especially young and impressionable boys.

THE HOOD

Every morning and afternoon or evening, I take a walk for reasons that are obvious: guilt. Walking is supposed to be good for you, so you do it and I’ll take a nap. I walk around the block once, about 10 minutes time, and if you do that twice a day, that fills the daily minimum requirements for annoyance, according to my doctor. As I walk, I notice things about my neighbors that the early morning dew reveals!

“It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?...”

For instance, there are the garbage days, those days everyone puts out their trashcans the night before, and some of them have the residue of life, peeking out of the can. Such things as old furniture, mattresses (Stained so bad I could tell the original color) and old toys, a sign that the kids are growing up, also seem to tell a story.

“It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood,
A neighborly day for a beauty.
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?...”

Then there is recycle day, when on alternate Wednesdays you put out your newspapers and old mail, or bottles and cans. You know what kind of week they had by the number of liquor bottles or dead soldiers are sitting in the red cans. Some tea drinkers live near by, but I try not to talk to them, they give the rest of us a bad name, it’s kind of sobering! But the number of bottles is very revealing, it tells how many children live there, and as the bottles turn to beer cans, how many teenagers live there, usually, a six pack a kid.

“I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.”

One of the things I love to do in my walks is look at the different lawns and landscaping. In my neighborhood, there is a big reliance on big colored blocks. It makes people feel good to build these little walls of block and then put in flowers and shrubs. I think the block was originally created as a retainer wall for mounds of dirt, but some of my neighbors use them as roofless blockhouses for look. One neighbor built what I call Fort McHenry. Grey block, about 5 high in front of the house, encircling flowers, and little American flags dotted around the perimeter of the wall! I can’t figure out why.

“So, let's make the most of this beautiful day.
Since we're together we might as well say:
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
Won't you be my neighbor?
Won't you please,
Won't you please?
Please won't you be my neighbor?”

I miss Mr. Rogers, he wrote a great song, my niece Laurie Ann and I grew up on that song!

Won't You Be My Neighbor
By Fred M. Rogers
© 1967

MTWTFSS?

Once you reach a certain age, you notice that the world is unsupervised, unregulated, and unknown! Furinstance. I have a pillbox for every day of the week. Every week like a ritual, I take pills from the different pill bottles and stick them into the little daily compartments marked for each day of the week. You would think this is a good way to stay organized, medicated and have a clue as to which day of the week it is.

My calendar has the days of each week, starting in January, and ending in December, all 52, with Sunday as the first day of the week. In the order of days, it starts with Sunday, ALWAYS! My pill dispenser starts with Monday! I can remember the workweek starting on Monday, but never the calendars. What does this have to do with the price of onions? I don’t know if I should start and stop, or stop and start! If it doesn’t seem annoying enough, when do I recognize the week starting, when do I refill the pillbox days, why is the manufacturer of the pillbox screwing up my daily routine? Don’t I have something else to complain about?

Look, I’m a creature of habit: I like order and routine to some degree. If I look at a calendar and it says: Monday, it means MONDAY. That means that I can rest assured that Sunday is in front of it, not at the end of the friggin week!

You must be thinking: “Gee meatball, there must be more important issues in your life to worry about?” Yes there are. Furinstance, there is my car and the gas station. Muhammed, and his brother Mohammad, pump gas at my local fuel up pump at Gas Is Us. Muhammed comes out, or should I say strolls out, cigarette in hand and looks at me. No: “Hullo” or “May I hup hew?” No, he just looks at me. Ok, we both know what we need to do, so I say: “fillerup” why mince words? He sticks the nozzle in the gas tank and disappears. I won’t see him until the next time I come to: “fillerup.” So I sit long after the tank is full, waiting for someone who isn’t smoking or chatting, and happens to be passing by to undo the nozzle and take my money.

Mohammad shows up, sticks his hand out and I feed him money. He removes his wad of bills and counts out my change, hands me the money and says: NOTHING! Not: “Dank hew” or “’Ave a goud day” or even “Poor Osama sure got his, huh?” Nothing.

BEING THE GROOM’S FATHER

Being the groom’s father in a wedding, you are excluded from being a member of the wedding party, you don’t escort anyone down the aisle except the wife, but you do catch some of the costs. The big deal is made on three dresses, the bride’s, the mother of the bride’s, and the groom’s mother. In fact, you are not even supposed to wear the same kind of tux as the wedding party! YOU, are an outcast.

Recently I posted a picture of TLW’s (The Little Woman’s) dress and got many compliments about what it looked like. NO ONE asked me about my tuxedo. Well, it is time to reveal what it looks like.

Now remember, I have to be different, if anything, the only thing I need to match is the price of some bills and TLW’s color of her dress in my tie.

Not gonna happen.

I was thinking, it is July, probably a hot and sweltering day, with a fan in a church that has no air-conditioning, and I sweat easily. I have to be comfortable the whole day, so I have decided to do something about it. I went to Tuxedo’s ‘R Us, and had myself fitted for a special ‘Tux’ just for the occasion!

I must say: I look marvelous!

MAYBE IF I DIE I WILL FEEL BETTER

Last month I went ahead against my better judgment and did something that I shouldn’t have. I worked hard! Yes, I know you are all smart mouthing me right now, but I wish I had listened to my inner self.

Mom doesn’t like the idea that she is ‘getting old’ as she states it, after all she is only 93, and I think I have that same stubbornness in me.

This one Saturday, I decided to take apart a section around my trees in the front yard, that are surrounded by railroad ties, that are thick, heavy and rotting. Inside it and surrounding the trees are pachysandra that my son and his cousin planted many years ago. Getting a small sledgehammer, I knocked out the ties, removed the plantings and then decided to cut the ties in half with a handsaw. I decided I needed the work out and this would be good for me. Dumb.

As I write this, my back is aching, my legs hurt and I have a blister on my hand, over the thumb! If I don’t move, nothing hurts, scratch my nose and goodbye! It took me half a morning and all afternoon to do the job, sawing being the hardest part. Pulling the plants wasn’t exactly a joy either.

I discovered I am not 35 anymore! Crap, I’m not even 65 anymore!

I think I will lie down and hope for a speedy death, if you send flowers, please make sure TLW (The Little Woman) can plant them.

THERE’S A MOUSE… IN THE HOUSE!

The other night, TLW (The Little Woman) informed me that we had a mouse residing in the basement, and that “We” needed to set a trap.

TLW is very liberal with the word ”we”. You see if you turn the
‘W’ in we upside down, it reads ‘ME’!

This unsteady letter formation has been going on for almost 40 years! Seems that TLW addressed her remarks to me that I had to set a trap for the mouse. I said I didn’t have any on me, so she went into the basement and pulled one out to set.

Reading the instructions on how to set this trap, a round black trap that I have set before, she asks if we should get cheese for it.



“NOOO, the mouse is pretty smart, besides the cheese is low fat, they like peanut butter. You have to realize, mice today are better educated, have more sophisticated taste. Besides they will never settle for low fat cheese! Oh, no, silly woman get the PEANUT BUTTER!”

“PEANUT BUTTER, ARE YOU SURE?”

“Of course I’m sure, after all I did kill one the last time!”

Out comes a jar of peanut butter, plain, not chunky. The mice have a most discriminating taste and would not live in a house with just cheese.

“Ewe, the peanut butter just pops out!” said TLW.

“Don’t put so much in, he won’t ask for a doggie bag!”


We examine the trap the way she is putting in the peanut butter, and I wipe it clean put a paper towel under it and we place it.

I go back to the jar of peanut butter and realize: we will not catch the mouse!

The peanut butter is low fat too!

PUTTING IT UP WHERE IT COUNTS

Today’s special blog comes from my business partner, Pam Rae. Pam and I have defined our business plan to start making Russell’s a place were people can have fun and still be helping out others of the Not-for-profits of this world, and places like fire departments and any organization that needs to raise funds. Our hope is in our hearts, and we plan to see it through.

Creating Russell’s Tour & Event Planning has been a labor of love. Two old friends that got together by chance with a similar agenda, decided to put their passions together to do some good for others, putting it up where it counts.

In our decision to build the business, we decided to look at it as a venture to help and give something to this world, that many businesses don’t put in their business plan, to help people with both physical and mental problems with resources in terms of some of the profits we generate. We feel we will take a salary for Russell’s and dedicate the business for not-for-profit agencies and organizations that need help in raising money.

I think we are proud of our company, and we hope to do a lot of business in the future helping people with the many issues that prevail and raise the funds they need. Any profit Russell’s generates will partially go to both The Compassionate Friends and AHRC Suffolk. The participating agencies and/or organizations will add on their profit margin and all that goes to them. These agencies and companies will not invest any money into Russell’s they will only benefit.

We are planning a tribute memorial to Ground Zero and the 9/11 monuments, a crime scene tour and will planning trips to Sedona, Arizona and overseas to France in 2012! There is a Jewish/American Heritage tour scheduled in August, and so much more planned.

We want Russell’s Tour & Event Planning to succeed. We want this because it makes the world a little better and maybe there will be more hope in this unfortunate economy that so bleeds the not-for-profits.

Russell’s is also looking to run events for various organizations, such as memorials, party’s and religious and cultural events to not only commemorate, but to be fund-raisers, taking staff people away from this down time and allowing staff to stay more productive, while Russell’s does all the leg work.

If you know of a company that could benefit from Russell’s involvement, give us a call at: 631-801-2231, or email us at russellsevents@yahoo.com, you won’t be sorry.

Kindly,
Pamela Rae

NOT MUCH HAPPENED TODAY IN HISTORY!

So who cares? You’d think a June day would be filled with a lot of history, The Japanese surrendered on Okinawa, but really, they had to. The rest of the world took a pass on June 21st. Most June 21sts are bright sunny and warm, a great day to make history. No one is getting wet or snowed under, so go out and do SOMETHING!

But no, not anyone but the JAPANESE got out and made history!

I am really disappointed in my fellow Americans. There had to be something to do on June 21, just hanging is not good, we have history books to write, high violence video games to create, even the news casts are quiet. Come on people, I have a blogue to write, and nothing to complain about!

NEXT YEAR I’D LIKE TO SEE SOME KIND OF ACTION, SOME HISTORY MAKING EVENT OCCUR ON JUNE 21ST. If not, I will be making stuff up about you. Yes YOU!

There is a lot that can happen in one day, we just have to go out and concentrate. I for one plan to make a little history next year, I will then write about it and deny it all in a court of law.

BOY, AM I ANGRY!

I have spent a lot of time and effort for nothing. It seems I work hard at something and I get no recognition, but screw up once and I hear about it! As they say in Brooklyn: “Furrgetaboutit!”

Of late I have been walking every morning (something I hate), being careful about what I eat, and taking trouble to realize how much fat I avoid eating. In the process, I have noticed a difference in my weight, and in my clothes, I am on the verge of a new wardrobe. I am so happy with the results I am actually worried my tuxedo won’t fit for the wedding in July.

Early this year I went to my doctor for one of my checkups, and when I weighted in, I had gained a few pounds over the holidays. I was fine, but the doctor did mention it to me. (I really had a snappy comeback, but I didn’t use it because it didn’t come to me until the next day!)

So a few weeks ago I go the doctor, and his crackerjack aid or nurse, escorts me into the inner sanctum to wait some more. She is in her late 30’s or early 40’s, and is much too quick to do things, always in a hurry. She has an attitude (You know the type, they think that without them the office would cease to function) and I once gave it to her on the phone. I step on the scale, and she haphazardly slides the weight without looking at the results, half looking and puts on the chart more weight than I was!

Then to make it even worse, she goes into the examining room and she sticks the thermometer in my mouth while trying to put the plastic safety cover on it. I take it and slip it all on and she says she will be right back. As I sit there, I realize the dumbbell never put it on! I’M SITTING THERE WITH THERMOMETER IN MY MOUTH, AND THERE IS NO READING!

So I decided I have to start giving hell to these people, after all, they are supposed to know better and they don’t do their job properly, because they want the world to know how hard they work, when in fact it is hardly working!

Maybe I’ll tell the witch doctor he needs a new witch nurse.

THERE ARE REASONS WHY

I wrote about Father’s Day yesterday, when it is today. The reason is that today TLW (The Little Woman) and I are married 40 years! Who knew when we got married that day so long ago this day would come so soon!

We have been through a lot together all these years, the crazy economies that existed in our day, the children living their lives, the emotional pain of losing a child to developmental disabilities, and one passing on, all have a large part of the memories.

“I can't remember when you weren't there
When I didn't care for anyone but you
I swear we've been through everything there is
Can't imagine anything we've missed
Can't imagine anything the two of us can't do”

That first apartment, the mice, oh the mice on Munsell Road in East Patchogue. We would watch TV on the couch and hear the trap go off, and I was sent to set up the trap for the next victim, but first dispose of the latest.

“Through the year, you've never let me down
You turned my life around, the sweetest days I've found
I've found with you ... Through the years
I've never been afraid, I've loved the life we've made
And I'm so glad I've stayed, right here with you
Through the years”

I remember that first Christmas very vividly. We were just starting out, we had very little money for ourselves to spend, and like any new couple, we were just trying to establish ourselves. I needed a new watch, mine had stopped months ago, and that morning, when I woke up, and we exchanged gifts, I looked into a stocking she TLW hung, and found my watch, repaired! It is funny how something like that can mean so much.

“I can't remember what I used to do
Who I trusted whom, I listened to before
I swear you've taught me everything I know
Can't imagine needing someone so
But through the years it seems to me
I need you more and more”

It was TLW who has put me on countless guilt trips about my diet. Never once did she make me do anything but make up my own mind about things. She got me to stop taking sugar in my coffee and tea, and I think it may have kept me alive to this day. (You can blame her)

“Through the years, through all the good and bad
I knew how much we had, I've always been so glad
To be with you ... Through the years
It's better everyday, you've kissed my tears away
As long as it's okay, I'll stay with you
Through the years”

When we had our first child, our pride and joy at the time, and discovered she was not living up to our dreams of a normal child, we pulled together, cried a bit, then put our heads together and decided to do what we could for her. It was about her, not us.

“Through the years, when everything went wrong
Together we were strong, I know that I belonged
Right here with you ... Through the years
I never had a doubt, we'd always work things out
I've learned what love's about, by loving you
Through the years”

When one of our children died, we could have broken up at that point, many couples do, but instead we comforted each other, never thought of doing anything else.

“Through the years, you've never let me down
You've turned my life around, the sweetest days I've found
I've found with you ... Through the years
It's better everyday, you've kissed my tears away
As long as it's okay, I'll stay with you
Through the years!”

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY ELLEN, I LOVE YOU.

WHEN YOU MISS SOMEONE

I was looking at some photos of my Dad, and of course I immediately could feel the way I felt when he was alive. There is a certain mood: a certain sense that one feels when we see our parents. That feeling can come to us as we think of them: I guess it is always present.

With Dad it was a sense of expectation from him, and he from me. He was a spark for his daughters, they could do no wrong, and they all loved him. The relationships were all different, but the underlining fact was that he loved them all, and I can tell you very honestly, equally.

He was hard on me: I always had to have a job, always had things to do around the house, and was expected to go to college. There was no opportunity I could pass up, no reason to pass one up, and no complaint could be listed: just work and work some more.

What was he doing? He was making me realize that whatever I did in life, I would be responsible for it. Wherever I went, whomever I associated with, I would bare the consequences: good or bad! What he was saying was: if you have any children, YOU are responsible. If you rob a bank, YOU are responsible, and if you marry and have a family, you better be responsible, and better prepared than you are now kid!

I don’t regret much of my childhood, I wish I had a brother, but four sisters was a wonderful blessing, more money would have been good, but I’ll take the need to work and fend for myself, it taught me many lessons in life, all from the master hand.

Dad was not a linguist, not a wealthy man, he came from the common elements of immigrant parents who did not speak English, and worked very hard to get to where he was, just like other children of Italian, Polish, German and Slavic non-English speaking immigrant families. It was the best of times, and indeed the worst of times, but it was my time, and I think I prospered from life lessons taught by people like my dad, parting his experiences to his son. There were other dads out there, ones that I respected, people who taught by their experiences, their examples, and who I understood to be just like Dad, so there was instant respect.

I hope there is a heaven, and if there is, I know Dad is somewhere up there, fixing some widow’s screen door, or giving some poor person a ride somewhere in his old jalopy, maybe wiping his windshield clean because his blower doesn’t work.

I know that even in heaven, he would shun life’s conveniences of both having and not giving.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY DAD, and THANKS!
Love,
Your only son

Happy Father's day to some really great Dads I know, and grandpa's too. Grandpa Manning, my brother-in-laws, all past and present, my best friend Phil, my neighbors both past on and living, and a great grand dad and dad, Ava's grandpa from the old neighborhood: Jim.

OH, THE AGONY

It happens every morning. #2 Son, Michael has a deep love, a driving dedication, a profound passion for, and complete surrender to: sleep.

He was born 5 minutes later than he should have been, asking for 5 minutes more before exiting the womb.

As I write this, the boy is out cold on the couch in the den, the TV is on loud and he has 5 more minutes before he gets up, this is from the call he got 10 minutes ago. He takes this work seriously!

This reminds me of my lost youth, so long ago. I had an innate sense of time with a built in alarm clock. If I needed to get up at a certain time, not the usual time, then by golly I did, on the dot! Never failed. Mom never called me to get up; never came to the door and yelled: “you got to get up!” No, she yelled: “Clean up this messy room!”

My years of going to college, then the Long Island Railroad were based on schedules, time was important, and I had to allocate the time from the time I got up until I went to bed that night, making for very quick days, timing was everything.

But # 2 Son has us all on schedule to get him up, keep him on time, and ready to cha cha. One morning recently, he thought he had about 40 minutes before he needed to get going, when I found him outside having a cigarette.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, WE LEAVE IN 5 MINUTES!!!” said his proud father.

“What, we got time!!!”

“NO WE DON’T-GO SHOWER”

In that little time he had coffee, finished his cigarette, had a shower and dressed in time for us to get him to work with time to spare! Amazing!

The boy loves to take me to the edge, the very edge! Timing is everything. “Michael, move.” And Michael would shuffle along a little. His pace in life is such that the end of the world will have to wait until he’s ready. He should not walk along the avenues of New York City with its quick paced strollers, he will have footprints on his back in five minutes of his stepping on the pavement!

“HE LOOKS GOOD!”

As I write this it is May 18th, and the news is on the TV. On the screen are three people celebrating their birthdays, one of which is Reggie Jackson, the hitter of home runs and the stirrer of drinks on the NY Yankees. Today Reggie is 65 years old. One of the commentators on the TV says: “Reggie Jackson, 65 today! HE LOOKS GOOD FOR HIS AGE!”

I’m offended!

How is he supposed to look? Reggie is younger than me, so obviously I look like hell.

I am reminded that as I get older I change, due to the aging process, we all change and we all will look older. Getting older is a sign of intelligence and craftiness, meaning we were smart enough to last this long. Yes we drive slower than others younger, we eat earlier, go to bed earlier and probably arise earlier than those younger. We also hurt more, don’t sleep as much during the night and sleep too much during the day. We are the older generation, we do all these things, and we do them well.

Then one day we die, and they lay us out in our pine box with brass handles, gather around us and say: “Gee, he looks good!” Gee, does he? “He looks like himself!” Who is he suppose to look like? I was wondering if I could get a proxy for me? You know a look a-like. Someone who wants to go, maybe a lot of bills and no money, someone who when he goes to meet his maker can get away with it.



How come when we see a 2-year old, we say: “He looks tall for two”, but we NEVER say he looks good for his age? What we look like has no bearing on how we feel or how long we will live. Remember Jack LaLanne, looked terrific until the day he died at the age of 96, and I bet he even looked like himself in his pine box, but the fact remains, he is dead! Maybe he should have taken better care of himself.

What it all means is its in your genes, how long you will live, and how long you will look like you are living.

THE END

As I write this, it is May 21st, the day the world is supposed to end.

It is 6:57 am, and we have until 6:00 pm before things go kaput. There is so much to say, and so little time to say it. I have decided to make my last will and testament on this blogue.

I leave all my worldly possessions to … wait a minute, I don’t have any, TLW, (The Little Woman) has it all!

OK, then what can I say. I have two books out from the library, and frankly I’m surprised that they allowed me to take them out beyond the date! Well at least it saves me a trip to the library.

I was supposed to clean up the pool so they can open it, and I think maybe I should put that aside for one more day, no sense working for tomorrow when there may not be one.

I find it interesting that the TV and newspaper have both put up the extended forecast! They are predicting good weather, so there goes a what promised to be a great week!

Now I’m thinking, lunch will be my last meal. Maybe I should go into the city and have a great time, maybe the ‘Four Seasons’, defy my doctors orders, have a high fat high calorie lunch, with drinks and lots of laughs, but the problem with that is: 1.) I will lose my appetite the closer we get to the end, 2.) I will lose my appetite the closer we get to the end!

So just in case, let me say this: Frankly, I’m sick and tired of all of you and it is about time you knew it. It is always about you, you, you! Well, times up, get over it.

However, if this is all a crock, the world will continue, let me say how really wonderful you really are, really. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Really.

P.S. There may or may not be a blogue tomorrow.

JUST ONE SMALL AMERICAN FLAG

Is all it takes to make me feel good! Just the thought that what it stands for can give me a warm fuzzy feeling all over.

Often I wonder about all the mistakes we have made as a nation, but those mistakes emanate from individuals who do things for expediency, not necessarily for what is right.

As a nation, as a people, this country still does the right thing when it comes to humanity. We don’t look at ourselves as entitled to anything because we are Americans, but we look instead as humans, that is what America is all about. We are the world’s conscience: we are the reason that there is some order in the world. And when we go astray, the populace rises up and demands we correct things, we are after all: Americans.

I see the people who protest in the streets against their governments, who can make effigies of Uncle Sam, who burn our flags and I think, you fools do you know we are a people, not a flag, you can’t beat us, we are the Best In The World, we are Americans. We can overcome any tyranny, any doctrine, any evil that pervades this earth, because we believe in the basic tenet of God, Country and Family. We find our strength in our religions, in our faiths, in our love of God, and the respect that Jew, Christian or whatever will be free to pray however he or she chooses. WE are not afraid of non-believers, we respect their right to not believe, we re Americans!

All of our faith, all of our love comes from that one small American flag, it represents a huge and responsible nation. God blessed America for a reason.

WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?

Since March of 2006, I’ve been writing this blog almost every day! Hard to believe that I did that! The satisfaction of writing, and getting response is really a wonderful experience, but I was wondering.

I don’t make any money for this. I don’t receive once shekel, not a red cent, nothing, not even enough criticism to continue. I am toying with discontinuing the blog, and shutting the lights off when I leave the composing room of Del Bloggolo. It will mean firing my editorial staff, my research staff, everyone!

Five years is a long time. Maybe you have all heard enough of me after five years. Maybe you haven’t heard me in the five years. I still have plenty to say. I just don’t know how much anyone wants to hear from me anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I am doing it not for money, which is obvious, it is for the fun I’ve had for the last 5 years. But there is a sense of diminishing returns, or maybe even being forgotten. So I think, maybe it is time to quit.