WE WAIT

A couple of times a week I try to visit my brother-in-law John, who is suffering from both lung cancer pulmonary fibrosis. I try to visit when it is convenient for them so as to not put a burden on the family. Visiting someone who is ill is not so difficult to do especially when you love him/her: yet visiting is difficult, because you do love the person.

Always there for everyone

We all have dealt with someone sick, someone in need of a light to their dark day, someone to know that as they depart from this world, they will be missed and that is because they are loved. My brother-in-law is one of these people who when he became apparent that he and my sister were going to marry, instantly became family, instantly was one of us. We need John, we need him from an emotional sense, from a loving need, and from the joy he helped spread these many years.

Over the years we have shared a lot of laughs and argued things that were not important, we shared meals together and he brought some of his Polish culture to our lives. For instance, because of him I have invented the Polish Big Mac, which is Kielbasa on pumpernickel with white and red horseradish piled neatly on top. This amazing combination can clear out a stuffy nose, drain your sinuses and hours later remind you that you ate it.

He has embraced our culture, and was universally loved and respected by the whole family, starting with Grandma Frances. In fact, the only one who doesn’t get along with him is his wife, my older sister Tessie: much older, who is always telling him what to do for his own good. Being a married man he is use to living vicariously anyway.

John has an amazing spirit. He is mostly in a good mood, loves singing and we love when he doesn’t. My Dad loved him, and to show it would call him a cheap Polack.  This was a sign that Dad was comfortable with him and could tease him. John took it all in stride and would rather be called frugal. It does sound classier.

During his day, he could play a round of golf or two, then head out to the softball field where he would pitch a no-hitter, then go fishing and maybe clam off his boat in the Great South Bay, all in one day, come home and bar-b-q for his family and guests.

When people needed him, he was there, never said no, and in spite of my Dad giving him the business because his daughter wasn’t living in a palace, was very generous to everyone but himself.

So now he sits with an oxygen tube under his nostrils and covered with a blanket looks for visitors to come to see him. That was something he would do for sick people. I was in the hospital three times, once from a car accident, once because I had a blood infection and once for the heart operation, and each time he came, with a vanilla sundae and sat with me and I ate my ice cream while we joked around. He made life good again.

Recently a friend of mine from my high school days said something very profound. We were discussing a fellow classmate who has stage 4 cancer, and he said: “You know Joe, when you look at it, all the time we spend on this Earth, it is so insignificant compared to the time that was before we came on Earth, and all the time that will pass after we leave it!”

With his beautiful family

I have to agree with him, it is, but John made his time significant, he raised his children without a handout, without thinking twice about helping others, without any hatred toward another human being. He treated the elderly with respect and worried about everyone. His time here is quality time: his example was perfect, as friend, father, husband and brother-in-law.

One of the things that strike me is that he is stubborn, not always doing what he is told until he sees the reason for doing it. As a result when he does, he lessens the burden on my sister. He worries about her, always has. Once they spent a month down in Venice, Florida, and my sister was getting lonely down there. She called me to come down and stay for a week and I did, it made her happy, but it made John even happier, thanking me for the visit. He didn’t need me, his wife did, and that made a difference for him.

I worry about her, how she is handling things, how she is feeling, coping, and keeping her wits, knowing she has a heavy load. And so I go to try to cheer them up, make them both laugh, feel good about the day and take their collective minds off of reality. She, like everyone in our family loves to laugh, so that is what I like to do best, make them laugh.

Some day we will all wait for our time. Who will be there for us if we stumble, who will care? When we are gone, who will notice or miss us? Will there be someone for our family, and worst still, will they say something nice about us AFTER we are gone? I know I’m not the only one who has said nice things about John.

I MAY BE OLD…

But my mind is old too!

TLW

The other day TLW (The Little Woman) and I were talking about some friends and things of the past that we did together. She couldn’t remember one event in particular and I did.

“No, I can’t say I remember that!”

“Oh sure, don’t you remember, they stayed over that night?”

“No, no I can’t say I do. Where did they sleep?”

“Well she slept in our bed with you and he slept in the living room with me, and the kids got the bedrooms.”

This was about 35 years ago, and I added:

“I remember making breakfast that morning. Remember, I made Thomas’s English Muffins with cheese and tomato that I broiled in the oven so the kids would eat?”

Suddenly her face lights up and she starts laughing at me-

When I was alive

“No I don’t remember but I know you would!”

Gee, you’d think she would be happy that I still have my memory, and not slipping into “Old timer’s disease” as Dad would say, meaning Alzheimer’s.

I have been accused of remembering what I ate the day I was born, like I’m some kind of food junkie that remembers every meal he ever ate! That is impossible and I deny it: maybe most meals but not ‘Every’ meal.

The reason I remember these things is they are associated with something else, usually the event that occurred. It is natural for me to remember that way because being raised in a simple family life, things and events centered around family, we sat together at the end of the day and discussed what our lives were like at the dinner table. When I married TLW, she and I did the same thing with our kids, her coming from a similar happy home life.

Thursday Night Pasta

Of course eating was not the significant event for Irish families like it was for Italians, no we ate more elaborate meals, cooking was an identity for an Italian mother, and she always took pride in it. Irish cooking in those days was more simple and basic. Nothing wrong with pot roast or roast beef and mashed potatoes especially on a cold winter Sunday afternoon.

However, meals were like a marker in a sense, every night of the week you knew what you would get, Sunday afternoon was pasta and meat and salad with pastries, Monday was either chicken or beef soup, Tuesday was pasta, Wednesday was chicken, or shrimp or scallops or veal and maybe lamb chops, Thursday was pasta with peas or some other pasta dish other than meat sauce and meatless Fridays, because we were Catholic ate pizza, and Saturday night was steak, on an open gas fueled stove. 

By the way, the couple that stayed over that night 35 years ago, for dinner we had pizza, home made!

AYE, AYE, EYE!

Well the time came for me to see my eye specialist, Dr. Seemore. Dr. Seemore is a strange bird, wears the same suit, a dark powdered blue suit with dark tie that he wears all day long, strutting and looking important. He is a pain in my butt, and has been since 2007.

Dr. Seemore

Dr. Seemore specializes in diabetes and is a stickler for numbers and following rules. Every time I come out of his office, I get an earful of what I should do.

Dr. Strangeglove, my regular doctor sent me to Dr. Seemore on a referral from him. In all the years I’ve been going to Seemore he hasn’t changed. Strangeglove doesn’t tell me anything unless I ask. Seemore asks and I don’t know. Once I told Seemore the truth and that was the end of it, never again, I got this lecture that went on for 30 minutes.

But if you lie to him: his lectures are not that long.

“What’s you A1C number?” says Seemore.

“6.3”

“Very good! You seem to be doing everything right. But doing everything right doesn’t guarantee success. You know the holidays are coming, which means you have to be careful. If someone tries to give you food, you should say: “No thank you, I’m a diabetic!” The diabetes will kill you, see you in nine months, have happy holidays.”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic”? I’m going to say that? Me? With food?!

I can just picture it now:

Tess, my older sister (much older) will say: “Hey, fat head, have some more shrimp!”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic!”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a jerk!”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic!”

“How about some lobster and spaghetti?”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic!”

“How about some nice cannoli?”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic!”

“How about I go upside your head with the pasta pot?”

“No thank you, I’m a diabetic!”

You can substitute turkey for lobster and spaghetti and follow up with a turkey roasting pan upside my head.

Dr. Sunshine Seemore has no bedside manner: in fact he wants me to have no tableside manners! If you want to kill my holiday, say there is nothing to eat.

My suspicion is Dr. Seemore is not married, hates Italians who like to eat, and women will have no part of him. Little children wear a replica of his face for Halloween, and he put his mother in a home.

Honest.

CHEATING ON MY WIFE

Doesn't get any better!

Most men who cheat on their wives do so with other women, not me, I use freshly made meatballs! I’ve written about my love of meatballs before on this blogue, and every now and then the need to steal one happens. http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/search?q=meatballs

When my daughter comes home for a visit on a Sunday, she loves pasta, so that is what we eat. But the pasta is not complete for her unless she has meatballs too! The last time she was home I made a sauce with meat in it, but not meatballs, and Ellen was looking for the meatballs. 

This week TLW (The Little Woman) made sauce and then made meatballs separately to put into the sauce/gravy (who cares, really). They were sitting on the stove cooling off looking awfully good, and TLW was sitting too close in view as I passed the stove, so there was no way I could sneak one. Now I could just go over there and take one, even ask her for one, and she would say yes, go ahead, but it just isn’t any fun that way.

For years before I was married and able to reach the top of the table, I would swipe a meatball on dear old Mom, and 9 out of 10 times get away with it. It’s that 10^th time though, the wrath of an angry motherhood, the sharp tongued lecture about dishonesty and stealing, and of course the wooden spoon, all led to a sport-like atmosphere, as I continued to run the risk of being caught. An exposed plate of meatballs made my blood run, the thrill of taking a chance for a meatball powered my Sundays, the risk was worth the possibilities of getting caught.

May God forgive me!

Stealing meatballs is a mortal sin and I am going to Hell, (Commandment 8, sec. a, line 23: Meatballs) but what the Hell, there ain’t no meatballs in Heaven, so it’s now or never! You can sit down under normal circumstances and eat a meatball, but you might think of something else, but with meatballs, you savor the taste, enjoy the planning of how to procure one, and it is all meatball from the smell to the taste to the final bite!

There are few things in life I need. I can buy most of what I really want or need, and there is no joy in that, but covet another man’s meatball, well now that is different.

DO I STICK OUT MY CHEST TOO MUCH?

The phone rang disturbing me from my deep concentration of a Notre Dame football game, and the caller ID was saying it was from the Brookhaven Memorial Hospital. (They are funny that way, remembering everyone who died there!)

I pick up the phone (Remember when you said ‘receiver’?)

“Ello?”

A recording goes into a spiel.

“This is Brookhaven Memorial Hospital calling to remind you that you have an appointment for a mammography at 10:AM on Monday, October 8, 2012. Please do not take…_” there were a whole bunch of instructions that followed and I wrote down when I suddenly realized there was something wrong here!

I hadn’t made an appointment for Monday other than the eye doctor, who was keeping an eye on my eyesight, and secondly, I have NEVER had problems with my mammas before!

Suddenly it occurred to me that my 94 year-old mother talked about some kind of appointment about that a little while ago.

“If you cannot meet the scheduled appointment, please call back to arrange a new one with our scheduling department at: (phone number) Thank you!”

I call the number and get another recorded response to “press uno para Englise y dose para Espanol.”

I press uno and get another request by a female robot to press for the scheduling department. They are not home until normal business hours of 9 to 5 Monday thru Friday.

“Hello? Listen, you guys are trying to test me for a mammogram. I’ve never had one before although I’ve had a telegram once, an audiogram and even a graham cracker, but never a mammogram! I think you want my mother, really. Call her during normal business hours 9 AM to 5 PM Monday through Friday.” I leave her phone number and hang up.

I call Mom.

“Hello Joseph.” We are on formal terms.

She has caller ID too.

“Hi Ma, how you feeling?”

“I’m feeling just fine, what do you want, you’re NOT moving back so go make up with Ellen”

“Ma, I’ll see you Monday when I go for my mammogram!”

“Did Ellen leave you alone with the phone again? How many times did I tell you NOT to play with the phone when no one is home?”

“No Ma, the hospital called me instead of you today about a mammogram.”

“Me! I don’t have an appointment for a mammogram!”

Just then TLW (The Little Woman” walks in listening to my conversation with a strange look on her face. (The same look she had on our honeymoon.)

“Oh! OK Mom, then I wonder what this is all about?”

TLW: “What’s going on?”

“Oh, those morons at the hospital were trying to schedule a mammogram for me on Monday!”

“THAT WAS FOR ME!”

“OOPS!”

HER NAME WAS MARY

Now that the holidays are coming upon us, it got me thinking about some of the people that have shaped my life and that of my children, nieces and nephews. I think about how lucky I was to have them, and to be part of a line that was filled with unsung heroes.  In this long line of heroes are people that I have never met, and wish I had. There is my grandfather Joseph, my Dad’s father and my grandmother Mary, my Mom’s mother.

There is so much we take for granted that we forget the sacrifices that were made by our ancestors, the crippling jobs the immigrants had to take to support the families and the pain and suffering of an unenlightened world trusted upon them, a world so very different than today’s.

 

I see the young children all about me now, recently born heirs of a history that speaks valor, sacrifice and above all tradition that defines these toddlers of today.

I am writing today about my maternal grandmother, a women of great strength and dedication to her children, a woman who suffered so dearly and gave so much that I feel I have to get the word out there for all to hear, for all to know who she was and what her life really meant to her descendants. I have never met her, but I know I love her and thank her for all she endured and did not only for herself and her children, both indirectly, and directly for me.

She was a simple woman, born in this country in 1898 in Manhattan on 19^th Street. Her immigrant father was a tailor from Italy and by trade. Her mother likewise an immigrant from Italy, died when Mary Truppe was 4 years old from childbirth and so she lived with a mean stepmother when her father remarried. The stepmother was a fairy-tale stepmother; so evil she would be harsh to the children when her husband wasn’t home, but when he returned she was a loving caring mother.

She was one of four children, a brother Louie and another brother Joe who died at 20 years of age and the youngest: Jenny the baby who died in the late 40’s. Her brother Louie passed on some time ago in the late 30’s or early 40’s.

She married in 1917 to Vittorio Tria, a carpenter by trade and a ladies man at heart, an immigrant from Italy. A story goes that he was working one day on a job, sawing a piece of wood when an attractive young lady went by, causing him to saw off part of his thumb! They had three children together: Olympia (my mother), Theresa and Marietta. It was a tumultuous marriage that didn’t last long, and when Marietta was three months old, he left the house and they soon divorced. He would never see his children again.

Mary took on the responsibility of raising her three girls herself, in a flat on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, until she could no longer do it by herself, became sick and the two older children were put into a foster home run by Catholic nuns while the youngest went to live with relatives.

The 20’s were tough on Italian immigrants and immigrant women without husbands or fathers even tougher. Mary was in a hospital recovering from a mental breakdown, and this was leaving a lasting impression on her children. It would be a number of years before they would all be reunited, and be one family again.

The 20’s turned to the 30’s and life went on. Mom would relate to me stories of her childhood, but only of her home life. Being raised in a Catholic Home for children run by nuns, she was living under the strict supervision of nuns, in all that time building a strong relationship with God, love of a family life and faith that tomorrow would be better.

She remembers being in a school yard watching Lindberg flying off to Paris cross Atlantic in the Spirit of Saint Louis one day on his historic journey. She remembers stories about her childhood so sweet and innocent, yet so in many ways: profound. Her youngest sister Marietta getting up in the morning as a young child, putting on the radio, as the National Anthem was being played, making my grandmother put her hand on her heart out of respect for the flag.

But there were stories about Mary that make my want to cry from her pain, deliverance from a cruel world and be grateful that her children had it better. Her middle daughter married against her mother’s wishes, and out of spite didn’t invite her own mother to her wedding on her wedding day, my poor grandmother watching from the window that could over look the church steps from her house on Atlantic Avenue near Our Lady Of Loretto Church on Sackman Street, the first Italian/American church built by Italian craftsmen in this country, standing a lone figure as her daughter entered the church.

To feed her children she worked in a factory, and did homework to supplement where she could. But she raised her children when she was finally healed from a depression, by her herself, fighting for child support she never got. I guess every family has its shame as well as its heroes.

Mary loved my Dad. Dad would visit when he was dating Mom, and my grandmother would be entertained by his antics, and a story goes she was asleep on her kitchen chair one evening after a long and trying day when Dad showed up to visit. Seeing her sitting there on that kitchen chair asleep with her arms folded, he drew a picture of her in that pose, with a pot under the chair!

She would sing to her children as they grew up, all the old love songs from the radio, the popular hits and her children would sing them later on in life. Mom to this day laughs at everything that makes her happy. She learned to have a sense of joy from Mary her mother, to laugh and be as happy as possible in this stinking lousy world at times. But there is never a happy ending.

In 1944 Grandma Mary had developed ulcers and cancer of the stomach. She never met all her grandchildren or great grandchildren but one, my sister. She died with a reconciled daughter and my mother married just a few years and one daughter about to get married when her fiancé returned from the war.

 

Many years ago, when I was between 4 and 10 years of age, every October my mother would take me with her to St. John’s cemetery in Queens. There on a gravestone is clearly marked ‘Mary Tria’, and the ground would be covered with leaves from the trees, the still warm sunlight would shine in my eyes as Mom would start to gently sob. Not understanding at first, I would gently squeeze her hand and wish we would leave. I would look out and see the borough of Queens in the distance and want to walk the streets, see people passing me by, maybe going on the bus that took us to the cemetery and be anywhere but where I was, this lonely solemn place and my mom not crying. It was October that she died, the 17^th to be precise, and every fall Mom would get a little sad and so do I as I remember.

Ave Maria.

TO SLEEP, PER CHANCE TO DREAM… EN ESPANOL!

It never fails; it just gets more interesting, every year.

TLW owns the remote in my house. After 8:00 pm whatever she wants to watch she can, and does. But sometimes things don’t always work out, sometimes I have to roll with the punches, or should I say the channel changing.

Having a death-grip on the steering wheel is usually what happens when you teach someone to drive, and it is the first habit I tried to break my sons of when they learned. I think they got that from TLW (The Little Woman), who happens to still employ that on the remote control.

Now she is very kind and will ask if there is anything I want to watch before she makes a selection, then if there isn’t, she starts to go through the channels on the channel guide until she hits something she likes. Usually she lands on CSI, or some murder/forensic caper that she seems to favor. This of course worries me as too many times it’s about a husband who gets his. Sleeping with one eye open is a damper on my sleep, as is wishing for a canary or monkey to test my food before I eat it. Be that as it may be, I have to deal with something else now.

As she spins through the TV guide, she has at times fallen asleep in the midst of her TV show selections and that is where the problems start.

The other night, as she took title to the remote once again, I went on my laptop to write and really wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. On occasion I would glance up and see soccer game on, with Spanish announcers, but didn’t think anything of it, although TLW is NOT a sports fan. As the evening worn on, the game went on. Suddenly I hear:

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!

Carumba, what was that? I thought.

I look over at TLW and she is fast asleep, holding onto the remote tightly, and I decided to go to bed and read. I get up to the bedroom when she trails up behind me, looking sleepy.

“So, who won?”

There was no need to go on, the death look was staring me in the face, near the mid-night hour, I definitely slept with one eye open.

LA VITA E’ BELLA

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And why not? Every year in Early November the agency, my agency and my daughter’s home Suffolk AHRC has a fundraiser called the Candlelight Ball. It is an evening of music, dancing, fine foods and great joy, as we raise funds for the continuation of our agency with as little help from the government as possible.

Board members come in gowns or tuxedos, and staff and parents and siblings join us, as we celebrate the years of work we have all put into making the agency prosper, grow and help those we serve.

But there is another group of people that come also, the people we serve. They dress up, wear makeup and join us in the celebration. It is this special group of guys and dolls that always steal my heart and the show itself. It is a day that they know they are not alone, that someone in this world loves them and wants them to know it.

A real sense of importance comes over them as they sit at their table, enjoy the night’s festivities and get to dance and show off on their own. They will take their sweetheart and go onto the dance floor, and dance, swaying to the music, and smiling like they have never smiled before.

There are many that go to the DJ or band and stand to listen to all the music and express themselves in dance. I will visit their tables and sit and talk for a while, and feel like I wish I could belong to this camaraderie of happy people and they invite me to their world. It is beautiful. Simple life at its most pleasant, good loving people that I love and admire, with no pretense they exists. They don’t know the importance of protocol, but they do know the importance of love and sharing it.

One of life’s greatest tragedies is visited upon them, and I look in frustration as they try to make their lot better. They are not angry, I am, they blame no one, I blame the luck of birth, they love everyone, and I love them.

I will dress up for the ball this year, not for the formality of it all, not for the protocol, not for myself, but in deep honor and respect for those I serve, my people.

I’M NO MONKEY, BUT IT SUITS ME FINE!

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So I gather my favorite suit with tie and dressed for the 60^th Anniversary Celebration and 29^th Annual Employee Recognition Night, of the Wanna-Be-Bank  & Truss Co., the gala affair being held at the popular local catering hall: Villa Lumbago’s.

TLW, Tatiana and Cristina

TLW (The Little Woman) was getting recognition for working there for ten years at the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co., so I too for the first time was invited to attend along with other spouses.

The Branch 'Mamma' Theresa

At this auspicious occasion was a number of people that I mentioned before, and included TLW’s immediate boss Cynthia and her boss the Branch Momma: Theresa, who asked that NO dancing on the tables would occur this evening like years past, we were not to embarrass her, and: “Ellen, make sure you keep a tight leash on what’s his name, unless he is making a deposit AND has the money in his hand to back it up!” Tough woman!

Cynthia 15 years

It promised to be a celebrity filled evening, and it was, except they all had better things to do. There was however, Mr. Gallon, the big enchilada, Mr. Halfgallon, second in command, and V.P.’s scattered throughout the room. Mr. Gallon gave an emotional appeal and stirring speech about being quiet when people are up on the podium, while being in the shadows!

The Princess Pat of Foxwood Points was in attendance and was not feeling well. She was feeling dizzy, and THIS time we think we can blame it on flying from a recent trip she took.

The booze line was VERY long, and as I left my house and got into the car,the line started and I realized it was! I can explain that, the booze was free. The Bow tie Man came with the lovely Danielle, Mr. Fix-it with the lovely Corinne, and Princess Pat with the lovely Bill, who out of pity brought me substance of bread and water on the booze line while I aged waiting to place a drink order!

Lois (Toots II) Lenny (Bow Tie Man) and Danielle

At the tables there were conversations about the L-50 loans and of course the popular L-28, along with the philosophy of educated consumers and embezzlement possibilities. Toots II (Lois), stated she was going on vacation next week, and TLW said she is always going on vacation, in which I said: “Lois, you CAN’T retire in January, you will miss all the vacations!” It’s true you know.

Doug (Mr. Fix-it) Corinne, Princess Pat and Bill

In actuality it was a very nice affair, the people seemed to be very happy and the company really does appreciate those that work for it, a great cocktail hour and dinner with drinks. There was a champagne toast and we were allowed to take home the glasses, but not the silverware.

It is very successful as a credit union and very well run by those in charge. I think after this Blogue however, they may not appreciate me though.

COMING OUT OF MOTHBALLS

As I write this I am thinking about the fact that tonight is the big night for the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co. Tonight is “Employee Recognition Night”. This is a night where after looking into a computer all year long and at the members who come in to ask for loans, mortgages and loose change, employees get to see who works next to them.

trouble makers all

For the first time in history, the spouses are invited to partake in the celebration, and help out the employees recognize whom they work with. This is good and allows the spouse to draw a better mental picture of who the main characters are in their spouses wanna-be-banker lives.

Princess Pat, Toot II and TLW

I happen to know a few of the workers, such as TLW’s (The Little Woman’s) look-a-like Toots II, Bow-Tie Lenny and Pat, the Princess of Foxwood Points along with Mr. Fix-it Doug. As a result of this I get to know their spouses, and we can then commiserate when they talk wanna-be-banking.

Me, TLW, Corrine and Mr. Fix-it

Danielle with Bow Tie Man

It has gotten to the point that we now discuss the “educated choices” of the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co. and the L-50 and my favorite the L-26 loans with other spouses. You have to be up on these things or they will leave you in the dust.

Lois aka Toots II

I will have to be on my best behavior since Toots II AKA Lois is retiring in January and may not care anymore and give me a noggy on my head as a member and kick the door out as she leaves.

Then there are the other wanna-be-bankers who will be in attendance, wondering what TLW saw in me. TLW will worry about my wandering away from her and talking to the big enchilada if I get close enough. She WILL of course have her hand cupped the whole time incase she has to place it over my mouth.

Bill, Princess Pat, Toots II and TLW

The dinner will be held this year at Mamma Lumbago’s, so they will be getting the best of food, while the Boss gives his speech. I will try to figure out what he is talking about for the first 5 minutes of wanna-be bank speak, then I will drift off wondering if those are her real teeth, that is a toupee’ or they are married to each other. Had the boss given a speech about the current playoff or NFL season, I would probably still do the same thing. I’m not really a bad person, it just si that when I have too much time on my hands I can fall off the Earth.

So I will take my suit out of mothballs and put on a pair of socks other than white and wear a tie while looking for that dress shirt once again.

Pray for me.

AS I PERUSE

It seems the closer we get to the election, the more vocal we become, the more passionate our arguments in the social media, the radio and TV and in our daily discourse.

I’ve listened to both sides and read also what they have to say, and frankly think neither one deserves to be elected. Romney likes to tell me things in a general sense, like I have to stay tuned to find out what it is he will do and how it will happen, only if I vote for him. He will make promises that I don’t know how he will pay for, execute and know for sure he has an answer to.

Obama has already made his promises and failed to deliver anything of substance that is agreeably helping this economy or the foreign stage. He wants to “continue” what he has started and frankly that scares me even more. Flowery eloquence doesn’t create jobs or put people back to work. Maybe we do need change now!

I see people who hate the Liberals and hate the Conservatives and find it distressing they don’t cede points and think. There are times when I’m a liberal and times when I’m a conservative. No man running today will agree whole-heartedly with me because I make up my own mind on issues. I am independent and have always been that way, but yet people have assumed I am one way or another.

I truly believe there is no one in this country that can honestly say they are for a philosophy, 100%. How could you be? With the changes in this society at a daily basis, the way the economy fluctuates and the pressing need of the hungry, homeless and existing poor, how can you want to deny anyone happiness. Because you may have a Liberal feel for the economy, is the foreign policy not important too? Can we actually agree 100% with both foreign and domestic issues and put ourselves squarely in one camp or another?

But then we have these wild spenders in Congress with fat salaries that will take my money and waste it. Large expenditures on weapon systems that we don’t need, encouraging people to go on government subsidies to pay for their lives, and not feel the shame of it all when they can help themselves. Not all poor need help, some need kicks in their collective asses to get out and do something for themselves.

Then there is blame for the conditions of today. I don’t give a rat’s ass for who is to blame, I do care about who is going to fix it! That is important, that is what we should be screaming about. If we could demonstrate as the electorate that presenting the issues clearly and precisely, without rancor or finger pointing will get you elected, most of the problems in this country could be fixed. Why, because the idiots in Congress across the aisle from each other and the White House would learn to compromise and work out solutions. That would be a novelty!

So I’m no Democrat, no Republican, neither Liberal nor Conservative, I am concerned. I look at recent history and I wonder if the two party system has really served democracy well. If we embrace an ideology that is rigid and not flexible, we are dictating to each other that leave no room to listen because the din is so loud.

UH OH!

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TLW (The Little Woman) works for the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company, and is very aware of the services it provides. It is good for a Wanna-Be-Bank, and I would encourage you to use one yourself. Banking is more personal, and checking is cheaper and they pay attention to your issues and money. Plus you may be lucky enough to get TLW or Toots II, her cohort in Wanna-Be-Bank issues.

Every day TLW reads the newspapers and checks all the ads from the different Wanna-Be-Banks who compete with hers, and comments out loud about the offers and services and then finds issues with the honesty of the ads.

TLW: “What the…?”

Me: “Huh?”

“Oh, never mind”

“What???”

“Oh I was just reading an ad by the Bethpage Wanna-Be-A-Bank and they claim no foreign fees at the ATM.”

“Well, they only give you American dollars, who wants pesos?”

“Noooo you big dum… They are talking about hidden fees for using someone else’s ATM. When you belong to the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company, and you use the Bethpage Wanna-Be-A-Bank ATM, you are charged for the privilege, by the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company.”

“Wow! Wanna-Be-Banking is sure confusing!”

“Yes, they shouldn’t charge a member of their own wanna-be bank! That is a foreign fee that they kind of hide.”

“I’m appalled, here you teach little 2^nd graders about Jesus and then your Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company is charging hidden fees and hiding it!”

“But we don’t charge if you use the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company as a member, just when you use some other Wanna-Be-bank, not the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company.”

“Wait a minute, I’m confused!”

“Oh, never mind.”

“Just tell me, if I use the ATM at the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company, they don’t charge me for doing so! But if I use the Bethpage Wanna-Be-A-Bank, the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Company charges me a fee?!”

“There you go, now you are getting it”

“Getting what?”

“On my nerves.”

WHAT IS THIS?

It has been all over the media lately, the nutritional kick to get kids to eat healthier. That is what they are trying, and all ready there is fall-out!

The school under the master plan of Michele O’Bama, the little Irish lass in the White House who has taken up the gauntlet to let the kids look, well gaunt.

'WHERE'S THE BEEF?"

It seems smaller portions and less fat are the buzzwords as the kids try to study, do their gym classes and smoke pot on an empty stomach! Some estimates are that the school lunches are 1/3 less in volume than last year, and of that 1/3 more garbage is being collected from the lunch trash cans.

So one kid to supplement his lunch had to brown bag it, bringing a ham and cheese sandwich, cookies and chips, and you have to wonder how he could possible have room for a beer or two in his brown bag?

When I was in elementary school in East Patchogue, NY, Mrs. Rose my first 4^th grade teacher before she traded me to Mrs. James classroom for a ream of paper and a valium to be named later, took us for lunch in the cafeteria. This was my first day at school after moving from Brooklyn where I could go home everyday for lunch. I got on a line and saw all this plastic food and took a brown plastic tray, a fork and moved along the food line. They were serving ravioli that day and I though: “Wow! Ravioli! That’s a treat!” I was used to Mom’s ravioli that was a treat and then I bit into the ravioli the school was giving away and it was awful! It tasted like it came from a can, a garbage can!

WELL NOURISHED A NEVER HAD A PLAY DATE!

They didn’t think twice about serving us hamburgers and potato chips with maybe limp carrots and applesauce. It was a 1950’s version of a nutritional diet for children. I am still alive, because I brown bagged it everyday. Lunch was a quarter and Mom was too cheap to give me the quarter. After the church incident a year before, (an unfortunate occurrence that had to do with some money for the collection plate and donuts, with yours truly) she was afraid any money I got my hands on would be re-invested into something to eat that I liked.

MOM KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING!

The media never concerned itself with children’s nutrition so long as the kids were quiet and out of the way in the 1950’s. The only thing you heard about was a Polio shot that would hurt.

Today all the kids for the most part are over-weight, suffering from inertia, and hand death grip from holding their I-phones with a dazed looks in their eyes from the screen they stare into all day.

When we were kids, we went outside and played, talked to our friends and some of us didn’t even have a TV in the house, or maybe even a telephone. It was a few years before we got a TV in Brooklyn, and NEVER had a phone!

I’m still trying to get over the concept of a “Play date.”

MY NERVES

You would think that getting out of the door at 7:15 in the morning to go to Toyota to service my car would be an easy, quiet thing, but that would be assuming things go well for me.

I took the car in and they signed me in immediately and went to work on the car, directing me to the waiting room where they said they would come and get me when they were finished. Taking my Kindle Fire, I found a nice quiet spot in the room to read and relax and think about lunch.

No sooner had I sit down, there is a sudden overhead noise that kicks in and will go on for the duration of my stay in the waiting room. I sounded like an airplane warming up its engines and it kind of penetrates one’s skull.

I open my Kindle and try to ignore the noise, however: that soon ended when someone put on the TV, which contributed to the background noise and made it more distracting since you couldn’t hear or understand what was being said on the TV. I just tried to make the noises tune out somehow while reading, but it was hard.

But that was not the end! No, a family with two children came in! Who the hell plans an outing for the family at Toyota service departments? The mother was on the cell phone while daddy was talking to the service desk. The two little darlings were busy too, fighting with each other, then the son, the youngest of the group, decided to whine and annoy the mother, which in turn annoyed me. But whining is no good unless you can also pick a fight with your oldest sister and scream, making loud noises while the mother continued her animated phone call.

In came dad, in his shorts and flip-flops and a cup of Starbucks in his mitt, plopping down in the front row to watch the TV, oblivious to the two brats.

How can you bring little kids to a place where they shouldn’t be in the first place? Then it is 7:30 in the morning, these kids are rearing to go, not the most placid time to have them loose on society.

I imagined the many ways to do away with the children, different forms of disposal that you could if you plan a little, but I also imagined the best method to make the parents disappear: just shoot them.

Hello

-->Goodbye!

IT WASN’T ‘EMMY’NENT!

Well, I had it all figured out, it would occupy the space I had reserved on my mantle when I built a fireplace for it for my Noble Peace Prize, and I was planning to make a traveling case for it when I left the house everyday, but it is not meant to be this year. I’m talking of course about the Emmy #1 Son should have won but did not.

Life goes on and we must adjust, and I will try to understand that those (%^$#@^(&% in Hollywood don’t know what they are doing.

The thing that really makes me angry is for the second time in two years, it is the last award given out, and for the last two years in a row I waited through about 3 hours of lame jokes, had they hired the writers of The Big Bang Theory to write them, they would have been entertaining!

In spite of the fact that the writers are the best writers to come out of the world since the Ten Commandments, they were once again denied!

But life goes on and we must adjust, and I will try to understand that those (%^$#@^(&% in Hollywood don’t know what they are doing.

Of course #1 Son had a beautiful escort again to the awards (his wife Courtney), and so he should be grateful he won someone special, which is more than a statue, but his equal in all things except she is prettier.

I harbor no bitterness, and neither does TLW (The Little Woman) who said: “To think I changed his diapers once!” (Believe me, those words were cleaned up!)

I remember when he was just a tyke, came to work with me and was carrying on conversations with grownups like he was an old man. I remember people saying to him; “Try to explain to your Daddy…”

We are not disappointed. We are very happy that he had this wonderful opportunity, to write for a great show, to work with some really great people that I know personally, and to have a wonderful gal at his side. That is all the reward he needs.

But life goes on and we must adjust, and I will try to understand that those (%^$#@^(&% in Hollywood don’t know what they are doing.