SHE DOESN’T HAVE THE RECIPE!!!!!

Many years ago, when we were just married and she still loved me, or at least liked me, TLW (The Little Woman) made a favorite dish of mine, baked macaroni. Now this dish wasn’t just ordinary baked macaroni, no, it had three cheeses, and her magical fingers and hands created a thing of beauty.

The other day I asked TLW where her recipe for her concoction was. My daughter Ellen was coming home for dinner and I wanted to make it for her because I know she would love it, so what the heck, damn the doctors, exercise gurus and health experts, she would have this wonderful creation. So would I after at least 35 years!

“Toots, where is your recipe for that three cheese baked macaroni?”

Looking up into the ceiling like she would somehow find there between the top hat lights and the ceiling fan she announces:

“I don’t have a recipe.”

She doesn’t have a recipe?! What does she mean she doesn’t have a recipe?

“Oh sure you do, you remember, with the Monterey Jack cheese and everything, and the bread crumbs?”

“You’ll have to look it up.”

Look it up??? Look it up! That’s not going to be the same. I’ll never replicate that masterpiece, no way!  I’ll eat it, it may taste good, but in the back of my mind, I’ll be thinking: this doesn’t taste like I remember, no, there is something missing, something is not in this dish that was present so long ago.

Well, another dream gone. That recipe must be somewhere with the French Onion Soup she used to make for me when she still loved me, or at least liked me. I wonder if Lipton makes French Onion soup? Nah, what kind of bread would they use? My daughter and I will have to suffer through whatever I make and call it: “Baked macaroni”, another half-baked idea by yours truly.

So sad.

OLD AGE HAS ITS BENEFITS

Getting older and being considered a senior citizen is an unexpected occurrence that just suddenly happens when you aren’t looking and least expect it.

Take the staircase for instance. Maybe not, maybe the elevator is a better idea. Only a few years ago I could bound up or down the staircase, now I look up first to see if the flight has gotten any longer since the last time it used it, and going downward, I hold on first and look at one step at a time. I used to fly up or down, not even looking.

That has transcended into the car I drive. I’m still an aggressive driver to a degree, just a little more willing to take my time, but don’t waste it in front on me by doing 20 mph in a 55 mph zone! My driving still keeps TLW (The Little Woman) alert and young as she holds on, brakes and sometimes closes her eyes as she sits next to me in the passenger seat, screaming for help. Getting out of the car is now becoming an issue too! Why do they make these cars so low to the ground, you have to get your legs out once you open the door, then get your butt out, no easy task anymore.

“Joe, watch out for that squirrel!”

“What squirrel?”

“The one in the tree across the way in the middle of the park!”

“Yes, dear!”

I have to say I have NEVER, EVER, run over a squirrel with my car while it was still in the tree across the way in the middle of the park! On the same token, TLW has saved in her mind, many a squirrel!

When I was a young man, I could down two steaks or three pork chops easily, with room for potatoes and vegetables and a nice salad, a few beers and dessert afterwards, today, one pork chop just about does it. Sometimes I think the unthinkable: Do I really have to eat? I should be losing weight, I should.

My tolerance for young women was very high once. I used to love young women. Today, they make me crazy, they seem to whine, be self-centered and loud, using language they never used when I was their age! Maybe I’m out of touch. At least I think they are young women, they could be aliens from Mars, since they all have their faces buried deep into their i-phones and i-pads or whatever.

Being that I am older, I could conceivably toss my computer and get away with it because old people don’t know how to use one. I could also and do get away with not using an i-phone or i-pad because I’m too old to bother to get one or learn how to use it. I simply don’t care.

Going shopping for anything is no big deal, when it comes to my wardrobe. I wear whatever I want, who cares. Recently I was going to a wake for someone.

“You going to the wake?”

“Yes, Dear.”

“You’re not going like that, are you!?”

“Not any more, Dear.”

Going to restaurants I used to think about what to eat before I got there. Now, I can say: “Order whatever you want and we can share it. Desserts: are definitely a share.

Getting older has made me more contented with my life. I enjoy the retirement, but not being idle. I still need challenges and find them. For instance, getting dressed in the morning, getting into an old pair of pants, then tossing them away and not think: “I’ll fit into these when I lose weight!” Then there is the question of coordination of clothing. Recently I discovered that checks go just as well with stripes as with no checks, because it still feels comfortable, is available when I reached in the closet, and it is fun looking into the mirror after I’ve dressed myself wondering how I turned out, and will I make anyone’s day with my choices.

Getting out of bed is becoming more challenging, and fun, as I figure out a way to do it. This can take up to half a morning if I let it. Getting my feet off the bed without tangling into the sheets and blankets is the fun part. Not swearing out loud when I can’t, making TLW wish she had married someone with class is part of the fun also.

Years ago, if I took a nap, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, not any more! No, I usually nap to rest up for my trip to the stairway to go to bed. And I do this without waking TLW up while she is resting up to go to bed, too!

Of course once I reach the bed, I have two choices, I can either read or I can sleep. I choose to read, but usually can’t finish the first paragraph that I learn literally in my sleep as I read it over, and over, and over again. Taking five years to read a book is no big deal to me anymore. As a youngster, I used to marvel at how Dad could take a perfect Sunday afternoon and lay out on the couch and nap, now I can do it much better than he could EVER do it. I’m seriously thinking of writing a book on it, except I keeping dozing off.

Well I hope this blogue hasn’t disturbed you.

MR. HOTPANTS!

My life is predicated on having enough bytes and batteries. Since 1991, life has taken on a new meaning. When I brought in my first computer, all my modern day frustrations began in earnest. Programs, printers, Internet etc. and of course there were the hand-held devices, the calculators and appointment books and then the cell phones.

I have like everyone else in this world a digital camera. The camera needs batteries, and after all the devices in my house that need AA batteries, I decided to purchase a charger to recharge all the batteries. Recently I went to an affair and took the camera and extra batteries that were recharged with me so I could record the event.

The other night, I took the recharged batteries I had and put them in my pocket, figuring I would put them in my office studio when I went back up there. I was watching Jeopardy, and it was a pretty tough show, the questions were tougher than usual and required my thinking. This is something I try to avoid if possible since I’m married to  TLW (The Little Woman) who likes to do that for me.

As the show goes along and I sit in my recliner, trying to answer the questions, I start to feel something in my pocket! It feels like it is sticking me at first. I think maybe my car keys are digging into my thigh and so I shift about a bit. The pain a little more intense comes on again and I shift some more. Then things start to feel a little warm and wonder what is going on. Suddenly I am feeling a burning sensation and rise out of my seat and stick my hand next to the pain, then in my pocket. Looking at TLW who is looking at me like I am nuts, I tell her I’m on fire! Reaching into my pants, the batteries were sitting next to each other and burning my leg! How the hell does that happen?

ON THE EDGE

As I sat in the waiting room at the dentist office, the big screen TV was televising the men’s volley ball game between the USA and some Slavic country which I can’ recall. The Slavs were good and giving the USA a good match, as the game went back and forth. The US had won two previous matches so I suspect they were coasting in this particular match. But the game was close and I was paying attention, trying to look casual about the whole thing in front of the other patients so as not to look too hokey. Deep down inside I was not willing to accept the USA to lose even one match, after all, my country’s pride was at stake.

Calmly I sat in the chair, a slight squirm would make itself known and I would quickly calm it down. We would take a lead, I would relax and then just as quickly lose it and I would get edgy.

Back and forth the game went, edgy and calm, my backside raw from the movement on the chair I was occupying. Time was running out and we were tied. One bad shot one way or another and we could lose the match! This was nail-biting time and I was keeping one eye on the screen and one on the door where the nurse would call me.

Suddenly, the USA sent the ball over the net, a Serb or Slav or whatever they are properly called dove for the ball: arms outstretched hands together and just manages to knock the ball straight up, a great recovery. As the ball hung momentarily in the air, I held my breath, was this it? Was this another New York Mets moment? Were my dreams going to go crashing down once again? A body jumps up to meet the ball and pounds it forward toward the Americans, my heart stops beating, as a blur of color streaks over the net in a straight line, is this doom?

Suddenly a hand reaches up, causing the ball to go side ways and down toward an empty space on the floor between the USA defenders, my stomach in my mouth. But as the ball is rapidly descending, a body in the mass slides toward the ball and just gets his arms under it as it skids sideways once again and flies upward at another USA player, who knocks it straight up and looks at it rise. Still another player flies into the picture high in the air, and slams the ball forward and it lands behind the net for the score! Just then the nurse calls my name, as I am jumping up. Fist clenched and almost shouting; “Yes”! I come down to Earth, embarrassed to look behind me at the others in the waiting room, and the nurse has a funny look in her eyes. I look back at her as she leads me into the inner room and say: “Oh!  Don’t mind me, I must have been waiting too long.”

JUST OVER THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE

Back in 1992 when TV was not yet at the reality stage of programming, when imagination ran hand in hand with reality, there was a show called Brooklyn Bridge. It was a show about growing up in 1950’s Brooklyn and it was mainly about two young brothers close in age in a Jewish family.

MARION ROSS

Brooklyn Bridge won a Golden Globe and was nominated for an Emmy Award as for outstanding television series (comedy/musical) in 1992, after its first season. The wonderful actress of Happy Days led the cast: Marion Ross, who played the grandmother.

In the beginning of the show, Art Garfunkel sings the intro music and it is a beautiful reminiscence of my youth, an honest assessment of living in Brooklyn in the mid 1950’s and is rendered so beautifully that it can bring only tears to my eyes.

It takes me back to the days of my grandmother, Grandma Frances, the el, the subways and the playgrounds. Mom tossing money down to me on the street to buy a loaf of bread or a pound of string beans from the vegetable cart, pulled by an old nag who drew a stench and horse flies, but was fascinating to get up close to. The fascination with the Brooklyn Dodgers and the wonderful times spent in the hallways of our apartment buildings waiting out the rain or cold. We didn’t have a lot as children, but did own the best imaginations in the world. It was our imaginations that kept us from trouble, with the simple games of tag, ring-a-leevio and red light, green light. Stoop ball and stick ball occupied our time and taught us to be competitive, handball and punch ball and all these ‘ball’ games played with a Spaldeen, a simple pink rubber ball. And roller skates, every kid had a pair of roller skates, with a leather strap around your ankle, two steel grips on the side of your toes in your shoes and the metal wheels, as we swayed our arms in a rhythm-like motion, gliding and sometimes flying, always feeling the wind in our faces, circling the block for one more time.

There was something very magical about my childhood. It had to do with living in that special place called Brooklyn. You went out early in the morning on non-school days and went home for lunch. Mom would have a big loaf of crusty Italian bread and would fry up some peppers and eggs, that tasted so good, the smell of it frying enticing me up the stairs and speeding up the ascent through the two staircases.

At night, after supper, when Dad got home and we finished our dinner, we would race downstairs once more in the hot summer months and wait for Pete. Pete with his pitched roof Bungalow Bar truck and pencil thin moustache would single us that it was time for an Ice-cream pop, covered in chocolate and when it was finished, chocolate graced the sides of our mouth and fingers, the after taste of the chocolate and ice cream lingering for a delicious while.

As the night got darker, we all gravitated to the lamp-posts, and played tag or ‘Simon Says’ or we got our bottle caps and played skelzie. Then Mom would lean out the window and call. You first pretended you didn’t hear her, then you yelled back “OK” and when she threatened you turned and ran upstairs for the rest of the night.

Hopefully I left you with a thirst for more Brooklyn, then visit the perfect place: http://spaldeendreams.blogspot.com/

Song lyrics to Just Over The Brooklyn Bridge:
A world of its own,
The streets where we played,
The friends on every corner were the best we ever made.
The backyards, and the schoolyards
And the trees that watched us grow,
The days of love when dinner time was all you had to know.
Whenever I think of yesterday,
I close my eyes and see,
That place Just Over The Brooklyn Bridge
That will always be home to me.
It'll always be home to me.

WHAT PRICE FREEDOM?

Many years ago while in high school, I became keenly aware of the political scene and politicians in general. The world was less complicated but just as volatile and dangerous. In America it was simple, you were either a Republican or a Democrat. I remember the vibrant and eloquent speeches of JFK and the stern stone like qualities of Richard M. Nixon.  Being young I was swept away with the exuberance of Kennedy’s youth, his beautiful wife Jackie and the way he spoke of youth and vigor being the tools of tomorrow.

Then as I got a little older, had children and started paying taxes in the real world, some of JFK’s luster wore off, some of the things he said no longer held true for me and I questioned the whole philosophy. And so it went in cycles for me, trying to identify with one party or the other, one philosophy or another. It didn’t make any sense as I realized I was being a party hack and supporting things I didn’t believe in.

I would hear from the left or right, with opinions strong about one particular issue and how they would try to sell me by criticizing Liberals or Conservatives in negative terms and assuming I would agree with them.

Today I have come to realize we in this country are missing the boat. We are labeling ourselves, taking up sides and following blindly, without forethought without a philosophy of our own, because we may have one issue we strongly believe in, and overlook every other issue out there of equal importance.

I have spoken out about many issues and support both liberal and conservative causes. I have decided about thirty years ago not to support any party any more than the other. Why because I disagree as well as agree with both. Some of us want abortion and some of us don’t. Some of us want the death penalty and some of us don’t, some favor gay marriage and some are opposed. Some see a need for more taxation for the rich: some think it stifles growth. All are burning issues and all have generated opinions of great fervor and passion.

There is a thing that comes out every four years: it is the party platform of each of the political parties. It lists all the things they are in favor of. I don’t agree with all the things. I never have and probably never will.

We need to start thinking for ourselves, we need to start creating our own platform, so we know where we stand. We can’t be afraid to list things truthfully, and we can’t afford anymore to follow blindly, when a party platform stands for things we really don’t want. Labels are not helping us think. Perhaps the reason why the candidates this coming election: like they have been for years are so poor is because they are locked into the platform, and not thinking about what is important to the voters. Maybe if we demanded better thinking from the candidates, threw out the party affiliations and said: Look what you say is more important than what party you represent, and if you are elected, what you do will be more important than what you said I will continue to vote for you. No candidate in this world is perfect. If you think that is wrong, I think you are fooling yourself. I have seen too many perfect candidates come apart, from FDR to BO, it is all BS plain and simple. They get on their bandwagon and preach the lies they do and we blindly follow the garbage because they are either: liberal or conservative, not necessarily right or wrong.

All too long I have heard the complaints about the poor quality of politicians and all too long we are the reason they exists. We need to stop acting like sheep and start acting for ourselves when we consider them. We need to stop parroting and buying into everything these phonies say and start demanding the truth: what is wrong, why is it wrong and how do we fix it for everyone. Most importantly, we need politicians that can compromise on issues and not oppose on party grounds, but because someone is wrong morally, and support not because of liberalism or conservatism, but because of what is morally right.

I apologize for this discourse, but I love my country and all of us in it, I want only the best for us all.

WHAT’S GNU?

Many years ago, while working for a major direct marketer, I worked with a lady who was a talented copywriter and good friend. Her name was Ronnie and she had a great core for humor and telling fun stories. I keep in touch with her on the phone, and on occasion have collaborated in business adventures in direct marketing.

One day she came to me and asked me to make her a card for a friend of hers, a gentleman who she hadn’t seen in a few years and said I should draw a picture of a gnu, and put on the card: ‘What’s Gnu?’

Spending the weekend at a 50^th anniversary recently you see all the people from the past, people I haven’t seen in years. Some of them look older, and some about what they looked like years ago. No one got younger or ‘gnuer.’

But what is disturbing was the people that were little kids when I saw them last, older, with children themselves. There are a lot of unaccounted years to speak of! REALLY, WHAT HAPPENED? Where did the time go? Seeing a couple that had little children when I first met them now are celebrating 50 years of marriage! Then I think; MY GOD! In 9 years I’m married 50 years! Is all this possible?

Then I thought about it, and realize that when I have been married 50 years, I will throw a surprise party. That is correct, a surprise party for my guest: they will be surprised as I am that I am having this party, who thought she would live with me for fifty years, they figured a few weeks tops. So this party will be gnus to them.

WELL, WELL, WELL!

Recently I posted a picture of myself on Facebook of me when I was about 6 or 7 I’m guessing. It is a background shot and then you add another shot of yourself to ‘enhance’ the background. If you know me, you know I like to have a laugh because laughs are free.

One of my sisters noticed the background shot and remarked how much it looked like her grandson. I reminded her that ALL my nieces and nephews look like me, beautiful! That I often say it and said she knew, but would I please stop it. Meanness comes in many forms.

Being the only saintly one among my mother’s five children, and the prettiest, I have had to live with their jealousies all my life. As I have repeatedly told them, I can’t help it if I am prettier than they are, what can I do?

Naturally angry women do angry things, jealous women do jealous things, so all my life, especially when I came home from church every morning, they would plot their evil against me, doing the devil’s work so to speak. But I always forgive them, because they can’t help it.

the sisterhood

I fully understand how hard it must be to follow in my footsteps going through school and the community, the constant comparisons they must have had to endure being one of my sibs. The constantly hearing: “You’re a nice kid, but you’re NO JOSEPH!” My heart goes out to them, why, it evens hurts me!

So dear sisters, be brave, I know life has handed you a crushing blow, but bask in the aurora of my glow, the shadow of love, kindness and pretty, after all, I’m your brother!

OWWWW! I WANT MY MOMMY!

Picking a place to go

My advice to you-NEVER and I mean NEVER go to a periodontal for two reasons.

One: They can’t spell ‘dentist’ and

Two: They hurt.

“This is a easy procedure, I will take pictures of your teeth, the doctor will come in and measure each tooth space and a lot of numbers will be read out loud.” So says the ‘dontal’ assistant? She then puts this shield to take the x-rays and you drool, gag and choke, to the point that you want to bite them.

It was easy, for her, all she needed to do was place the bets and hear me scream like a little girl.

“Now we will see if your insurance covers the procedure (more torture) and we will call to make an appointment if approved.”

Why don’t they call first, then count my teeth spaces?

NEVER say "AH" in this chair, it sounds stupid!

With all the doctoring and now the dentist, I look forward to the day when I just stay home. There was even a trip to the barber in between this and that even had its moments! I sat in the chair, the barber slips the cover over me and I lean back and open my mouth wide.

I recall years ago when all I did was go to the barber. No doctor, no dentist all with follow-up appointments. Today they see me coming and they take out their vacation book and start planning! You enter the examining room and the nurse or technician says: “Doctor, your ski trip to Colorado is here!”

Dr. Strangeglove

Next week I go to my general practitioner for my three month physical, this is the one that got the doctor the moniker: Dr. Strangeglove. With this visit and the election coming up, I have to read all the conservative points of view so that I can agree with him and he not otherwise stick me with more needles than necessary! His opening question is: 

“So how we doing today?”

Oh, I don’t know doctor, let’s see, you will get a lot of money for this visit and I will go home and wait for the next visit. I’d say YOU are doing well, and I’m not doing as well. I should have paid more attention to Miss A in biology class and less time in the library napping, I could have been charging people all kinds of princely sums and planning vacations!

MY COUNTRY TIS OF THEE

Lately I have been on Facebook, and I’m wondering what I am doing on it. What I’m finding disturbing is a lot of people are putting stuff up at times that just gets silly in the least.

For instance there are little slogans they pick up for gun control, abortion and gay rights. Issues about which a social network I suppose should concern itself with. But the troubling thing for me is that most of the things posted, are not thought out. There are people that profess their faith, get preachy and try to sell it to others. Then they go ahead and glorify the military, the flag and the attitude that this country is holy, beyond God’s reach even. They assume the position of God and determine that some of us will die and go to hell, regardless what we are really saying.

If you are for peace: why not for gay marriage and gay rights? If you are for abortion, how is it you don’t want the death penalty? If you are for the death penalty, are you for abortion? Must I raise the flag every day and shout out God bless America, or will my paying my taxes and voting be enough? If I wrap myself in the flag, am I condemning everyone else in the world other than Americans? Why are we so preoccupied with proving our religion, our patriotism and our point of view?

Is it not enough that this country has such a great system that we don’t need fear, or hype, or convincing, just our use of law and order, and our own set of values to live without fanfare, without self-righteousness, go to our own church quietly and vote for who we want privately?

I see things on the net that bend the truth, to prove a point that can’t seem to be proven with real fact because they don’t investigate it. I have been a victim myself of taking things for face value and realized I should have taken a closer look. A Viet Nam or Korean war veteran hides from a fireworks display because he is shell-shocked, and we post pictures of Marine Corps or air force or naval ships under a US flag. That jingoism is what made a lot of men dead, a lot of men or should I say young boys go out in harm’s way and come back in body bags, or psychologically crippled or physically ruined for the rest of their lives. And let’s not forget the widows, mothers and children who are part of their lives, are they not harmed for life too?

We need a standing army, we also need trucks to haul freight, neither should be glorified during a peace time, we should be celebrating peace, spending our energies finding lost children and starving families, and let go of the jingoism, it is never any good, and just fuels false pride.

HELLO?

The other morning I was getting dressed when I took my cell phone, and realized I hadn’t turned it on. Not only hadn’t it been turned on, I had messages on it from two weeks ago, that just now became apparent!

I’m not good with my cell phone, and never have been. I actually hate it, hate when it rings or buzzes, or when I have to recharge it. It is by comparison a simple phone, not too complicated, but complicated enough for me to ignore half the things it can do for me. These things were never an issue when a cell phone was not a thing of the present, but seems to be important now.

My other problem is that since I forget to turn the thing on, I get these messages and don’t respond and feel bad. Does the person who called me realize I might have forgotten to turn the damned thing on and am not ignoring them?

Life, with all its modern inventions to make things easier, is complicating my life. Years ago, when you wanted to download info, you went to a library or opened a book or newspaper. I remember as a little kid looking at the Encyclopedia Britannica and being impressed that everything there was to know was in those books, or that you could know what happened today by waiting for the 6:00 pm news on the TV or turning on your radio, now you can see it happening!

And now the latest thing is downloading apps. What the hell is that about? Apps, is that short for apples?

Ok, I was a big supporter of computers, had a talk with my boss many years ago about going to computers, learned a lot of programs and used them all. I got very comfortable using one when all of a sudden, they had laptops and then Ipads and Iphones and Blackberries and downloaded apps and email messages that say they were sent on their I-something or other. Frankly, it’s starting to piss me off!

Even the Little Woman (TLW) has gone electronic on me! I couldn’t talk her into using a computer once, then tried to talk her into getting a laptop for herself. She resisted so I got her one and now she uses it everyday. Then I suggested I buy her a Kindle or Nook and she said: “No, I like a book, the feel of the real thing!’ So she carried the real thing around and so I went out and bought her a Kindle: that is all she uses now. Cell-phones became another issue, wouldn’t think of it, today she calls me everyday on her lunch hour on her cell phone.

AND ANOTHER THING, IS IT CELL PHONE OR CELLPHONE?

50 YEARS!

Fifty years is a long time. It takes me 50 years to get out of bed in the morning. It takes TLW (The Little Woman) that long to get ready! It takes 50 years for me to come out of the toilet sometimes. 50 years is sure a lot of time.

HAPPY 50TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!

Imagine being married for 50 years? That’s how long these two people are married, 50 years! Who are they? They are TLW (The Little Woman)’s sister Maureen and her husband Steve. (She’s in white)

I can’t really recall either of them without the other. It seems that they were meant to be for each other, somehow completing a set. I have known them for over 41 years, and so I can speak with some authority, they set a tone for the family in terms of dedication to each other, love and family values. You could even say they are a good example for all.

Steve is a happy guy, especially for someone who is married for 50 years. That speaks volumes for the union. Always willing to tune your piano, even if you don’t have one, always explaining some thing like an engineer that he is with meticulous detail, and always having his kids come first defines who he is.

Maureen means smile in Gaelic. (I made that up) For those 41 years I’ve known her, she smiles. I think she took after Helen, her mom. Helen could always greet me with a smile, and a laugh, and was easy to kid and talk to. Maureen, dedicated to her grandchildren, she seems to always make all the kids her grandchild, especially since Helen passed on, always remembering my daughter Ellen, a birthday or anniversary, for the 41 years I’ve known her.

They have made a beautiful family with two adult children: Christine and Stephen who have put together a celebration today in their honor.

So Jim and Helen Manning and Ilario and Anne Gilardi are smiling down from heaven this very day for their children, as they sit in the place where Steve and Maureen's marriage was made!

So, as they say in Gaelic: Cinquantesimo anniversario di nozze felice! (They might)

From the editorial staff of DelBloggolo

Tá grá againn duit

Joe & Ellen

OLD FRIENDS GET TOGETHER

Not being an employed member of the Wanna-Be-Bank and Truss Co., I get this sense that maybe I should. The Three Mskateers, TLW (The Little Woman), Toots II (Lois) and the Princess of Foxwoods Points (Pat) assemble on occasion to celebrate their friendship and on occasion include another Wanna-Be-banker, Mr.Fix-it. (Doug)

Recently, the lovely wife of Doug, Corinne, hosted a dinner party and everyone was in attendance, including yours truly, and the Princess of Foxwoods Points husband Bill. The food was excellent and the laughs fast and numerous, as the wine was mellow and soothing. If there is one thing I can say about this crowd, it intends to laugh and joke, poking fun at themselves: telling stories about people that come and go in the course of their day.

It is great to have this kind of friendship: it seems to be one of simple expectations and good times. No hassles, issues or complaints, just good food and fun. Not seeing these people everyday brings freshness to my life since they make me laugh and I feel relaxed. I guess I have adopted these people as my own friends and they have may have adopted me. TLW has an excellent foil in my, and delivers her zingers, while try to recover and zing back, only making things worst for me and funnier by the moment. Then Pat or Bill will join in and before you know it, Lois will pierce the air with an arrow of keen observation, and then I hold my sides in. One thing I know for sure, I can always get a healthy and hearty laugh from Corinne and Doug.

Having peace, laughing and living to laugh, brings a great healing power to a troublesome world. Having people who are great in spirit, simple in demands and complex beauty in their souls makes life wonderful. I look back on all the years I’ve spent meeting new people, and it is like a huge library. Each person becomes a book, with their own story, filled with a good memory or two for me. It is nothing you can buy in a store, nothing, download on your Kindle or see on a TV, but something I hold very important to me, since they took the time to be a friend to me.

So I propose a toast to all of you who read this blogue, the Lois and Pat and Bill’s the Corinne and Doug’s, all my classmates and friends and family, my beautiful sisters who gave me enough memories and love and new friends I have made because of this blogue, thank you for making me laugh, for being there to read and letting me into your lives, you guys are the best!

SINGING IN THE RAIN – NOT

It is Sunday morning, and I sit here writing this as the rain comes down and the morning is grey and dreary. I am supposed to go to a barbeque this afternoon with some really great people and I hope it isn’t washed out.

Yesterday I went to a graduation party for two young ladies in the hood, and it rained and rained hard. It was so bad some nice lady fell off a step she was climbing and banged her head, all because the steps were wet!

I had just finished putting the final chemicals into my pool to bring it up to the correct levels on Friday, had the robot vacuum it and it sparkles, then Saturday with the deluge we had, everything has to now be redone! The rain came down so heavily, I tried to backwash it, but there was nowhere to put the water I pumped out.

Talk about dampness, humidity and heat, let alone grey skies and depressing days, this weekend takes the cake. The graduation party had a large tent that really made it successful as we guests could defy the elements and enjoy a great time with some great neighbors.

I always love to see my neighbors and every now and then I get to meet a new one! The hood is a great place, and the people make it that way.

I’M DEAD… OR AM I?

Well I went through a whole battery of heart related tests, tests to see if I am a candidate for a heart attack, and then spoke with the cardiologist afterward and he tells me he is very concerned. The last tests I took about three years ago indicated an almost 50% blockage of my carotid artery, but at the percentage they don’t do anything about it. After that they start to look at all the procedures. One is meds as I mentioned, one is inserting a stent made of mesh to filter the heart and the third is to cut my throat and clear it out.

So the good doctor says that the artery is now 70% blocked, and he wants to do a ‘CT scan’ to see how this 70% shapes up. He says I am on the verge of an eminent stroke or heart attack, meanwhile he says my heart is very strong.

So off I go to the radiologist and get scanned.

“Call your doctor for the results.”

Two days later I call, they call back and guess what? The blockage is less than 50%! There is no immediate danger of a stroke, no immediate danger of a heart attack, the only immediate danger is I will shoot the cardiologist.

I call TLW (The Little Woman) to tell her the good news.

“I’m breaking my stance and gun control and buying a gun to shoot the Cardiologist, the blockage is less than 50%!”

“Oh good, now I can go back to the normal routine! I don’t have to be nice to you!”

I’m thinking of a big old marbleized steak, a pepperoni teaser, a banana split with all the bells and whistles, and maybe some chocolate to top things off, maybe that will kill me, and take all the pressure off TLW.

THE THREE MS.KETEERS

Princess Pat, Toot II and TLW

Or ‘trouble always comes in threes’ as they say.

The other day I decided I wanted an old-fashioned donut. I didn’t want the same thing for breakfast I usually have, and decided, heart, lungs or whatever: I’m having a donut this morning. Sometimes it could be a crumb bun, sometimes a roll, anything that is bad fir me, I want.

So I pop into the old DelBloggolomobile and head off to a certain donut company called Dunkin’ and pull into the parking lot. I see through the front window someone walking out of the store towards me to her car. It is Princess Pat of Foxwoods Points, one of the members of the Three Ms.Keteers carrying a large coffee. I get out and think: “I’m only going in there for coffee.” The other two members are TLW (The Little Woman) and Toots II.

Where they do the Devil's work

We greet each other and exchange pleasantries.

“Usually my husband Bill sees TLW in a store!”

“See you got a nice big coffee! (That’s my excuse for being there) That’s why I’m here.” (A big lie, but you can’t look bad seemingly buying a coffee and not a donut.)

“They have me working in the Hauppague branch this week!”

“Oh, all the trouble makers are sent elsewhere I guess!”

THAT is a REAL sponge cake!

“I wouldn’t say that.”

TLW comes home and tells me she got an email from Pat, knowing I had met her in the parking lot.

“She said: I hope he WAS buying coffee and not a donut!”

That is the problem, the Three Ms.Keteers all look alike and when it comes to me, think alike!

ITS’ ALL IN THE PLANNING

The other night TLW (The Little Woman) and I were talking about my demise. The cardiologist has to make up his mind which procedure to use to clear a blockage in my carotid arteries. Will he go medication or will he go stent or will he just slit my throat and dig out the blockage.

My feeling is that he should slit my throat, and TLW would like to assist him.

RIP-we wish we could say he was a good man.

“Well, if I die, I die, I’m not going to worry about it.”

“Have you decided how you want to go?”

“Yes, the slit throat has a lot of possibilities and probably will require the most cleaning up, that employs nurses and maintenance men, good for the economy. Besides, if I go I want to come back and haunt people.”

“Oh1 Please don’t haunt me, I’ve been married to you for 41 years!”

“That’s exactly the kind of talk that makes me want to haunt you.”

Of course, since she went back to work, she is not up to the latest daily chores that need to be done, like what day to put me on the curb for collection. My feeling is Monday is such a drag, but there is no collection of any kind, a good day for a party, Tuesday is garbage day, she could droop me over the large black can in a black plastic lawn bag, the can says 152, Wednesday is re-cycle day, bottle and cans, and newspapers, not really a good day for me, Thursday holds the most promise. Thursdays they don’t collect anything, she could lay me out, I don’t have to share the day with any town collections at the curb, she could throw a lawn party, and Friday they can come and collect me. Then you have the whole weekend to get over the fuss.

Planning my funeral will not be easy. First I want a turntable that goes around with a mechanical hand the waves bye-bye. I want a card in my breast pocket that says: “I hate when this happens!” and I want a kneeler that people go to kneel on and I pop up, they stand and I go back down.

My last will and testament was all taken care of years ago, she already has it all, and I leave to my kids advice, don’t ask for anything, you ain’t getting it. To mom, she will get whatever money is in my wallet for a new set of wooden spoons to replace the ones she broke on my head. I’ve already arranged with my phone company to route all the sales calls I’ve been getting directly to my coffin. (I will finally get even with the bastards)

You may think this is not funny, talking like this, but get over it, it is. Besides, when I’m gone, you will have the last laugh since I won’t be getting what I want anyway.

NOW YOU SEE HER, NOW YOU DON’T!

I had to go to a Radiologist the other day and it is an experience when you are new at it. It starts with the valet parking, I kid you not, they park your car for you and they don’t feed you. This is a little disconcerting because when you leave and give the guy your ticket, you leave with an empty stomach!  I’m used to valet parking and then a good time!

Inside they give you the customary 10 pages of forms to fill out while they have lunch and then if someday you return, they will ask you to fill it out again. Each of the ten pages has the same questions, only in a different form, this is to see if you are lying.

Then this technician comes out, introduces herself to you and you follow her into the testing area where she gives you instructions. You sit in this chair and she disappears, where soon another technician arrives and starts the questions, the same questions that are on the 10 pages you just filled out.

They want to stick some more isotopes into my system, this is to see if I will glow in the dark at night and save on electricity during the summer months.

“Now first Mr. DelBloggolo, we will examine your kidneys.”

“Will you leave them in when you do?”

“Haha, yes, if we take them out, your insurance won’t cover it and you need a higher co-pay.”

She sticks a needle into my arm and draws blood, tosses it and then draws a little more, squirts it on a small dish and takes it away. Returning she announces: “Your kidneys are in fine shape. Now, when the isotope is injected into you, your whole body will become hot, you will have a metallic taste in the roof of your mouth and you will feel like you are urinating, which you aren’t! Follow me.”

My inclination is to say NO and ask for my mommy once again: I have no shame, and WILL cry if it hurts.

I go into this big room with a funny looking machine, not unlike one at the cardiologist office, with a sliding bed and I lay down.

“Remain absolutely stiff!” I don’t need her to tell that after what she just told me I would be experiencing.

The process begins, the machine slowly moves a few inches and it makes a noise, they stick something into the port that is hanging out of my arm and I suddenly have the surge of burning sensation that runs through out my body, right down to and including the exit of my butt! (Sorry for the description being so graphic.)

When I open my eyes, it’s another technician! I want to ask how they do that, but I’m thinking maybe it’s the chemicals in my brain.

“You are free to go on your way, Mr. DelBloggolo, we are done here.

I go out, hand my ticket to the valet. He is slow taking it (a sure sign he is looking for a tip) and get in my car, hungry.