WHAT I KNEW I DIDN’T KNOW

Every man should have a wife, someone to set him straight and make him aware of what he needs.

TLW (The Little Woman) has through the years kept me informed, up to date and in the loop in my own personal affairs. Usually I’d be the last to know what is going on in my own business, but TLW minds it very well.

Being how I’m on a health kick, I told TLW of my intentions to start a new regimen of good health and clean eating. I am going to start to eat oatmeal, and not that quick 1-minute cooking or instant junk, but good hearty nutritious oatmeal.

Of course TLW always views my health plans with some kind of skepticism, but never says anything discouraging.

“Well, I think I’ll start eating oatmeal in the morning, I’ve been eating too many eggs and buttered rolls, I’m starting to feel guilty about the whole thing.”

“Good idea.”

“Yup, just plain old oatmeal, the kind you cook on a stove.”

“Get yourself some almond slivers or something to add flavor, too.”

“I thought I’d add cinnamon to it.”

“No, you don’t like cinnamon.”

“Huh! I thought I liked cinnamon?”

“Nope, you don’t like it.”

“All these years I’ve been fooling myself!”

“I’m telling you, you DON’T like cinnamon.”

The next day I take out a box of Irish Oatmeal and read the directions, and cook up a bowl that would make Ebenezer Scrooge jealous. With her back turned to me, I carefully slip in the cinnamon I don’t like, once again, fooling myself.

Boy, I wish I liked cinnamon, it taste so good!

WATERED DOWN AND NOWHERE TO GO!

It seems I was born too late. Years ago, before TV and radio, before the Internet and Facebook or Tweeter, before the Surgeon General had such sway, lives were 100%.

Then something changed, I got married and suddenly people were telling me what I had better do. For instance: you drank your milk, all of it, why because it was good for you, then suddenly, whole milk was as bad as a shot of whiskey in the morning, you had to water down to only 1%!

Grannies regular diet!

Cheese, a source of something or other was suddenly no-good for you, whole cheese anyway, now you have to get Alpine Lace or whatever, and for what? Cholesterol became a household word, along with fatty acids and don’t touch red meat? Forgetaboutit!

My grandmother would eat steak, whole cheese and drink red wine if she felt like it, and lived to 97 years of age! Would she have lived longer eating the watered down products of today. She always had a pork chop, salami and pepperoni here and there, and she knew how to use them.

Some mighty good sandwich fixings came out of that place

Growing up in Brooklyn, on a Sunday night after the day was near done, Dad would send my older sister Tessie and me (much older) out to a corner deli on Somers Street and Rockaway Avenue for cold cuts, which were immediately placed in Dad’s capable hands where he constructed some of the greatest sandwiches ever made!

Today you need to buy turkey, and it has to be white meat to go with one slice of Alpine Lace on whole wheat bread and mustard. Good God!

Grandma's bags were always packed!

So for the past many years I have high blood pressure, diabetes and high cholesterol, eating watered down products, while grandma met her maker carrying an eggplant parmesan hero under her arm!

Granny was my hero and has one in her pocketbook

Mom is almost 96, and recently I did a quick check of her refrigerator, it looked like an overflow for Costco, filled to the brim with epicurean 100% good old fashion, so called no good for you stuff! She is almost 96 years old.

I’ve seen the practitioners of good health, the runners and the dieters, the people who look gaunt and skeletal, and I think they could use a good meal.

My body is Italian, with parts from Italy carried over by my ancestors: it needs Italian food. Not low-fat mozzarella cheese or ricotta that came from the tap in the kitchen. It needs a good pepperoni that speaks to me and says: “Bring some air freshener with you when you go! And for crying out loud, brush your teeth again!

So, I will go to all my dead long living relatives and tell them they didn’t die correctly, they should have dieted first. After all: If they had lived, they’d be alive today!

PLOW THIS!

Being I am such a nice guy, I won’t tell you what I called him, suffice it to say it wasn’t nice, but he did have it coming and worse.

I’m talking about this moron who is plowing my street. The jackass has gone down four times already to plow the same snow, recreate a snow bank in my driveway and is a stinking idiot. It seems, I dig my driveway out and he comes back and plows it back in. So I venture out once more and dig, so Mr. Jackass can come barreling down once again, just missing my mailbox to plow me in again.

THREE TIMES, this low life has done that and I get the hint now, they don’t want me to use the plowed road at any cost.

My question is a simple one: Why in the name of God and all things good, do you plow a road so people can get out, yet you plow them in at the same time so they can’t get out??? What am I missing here?

Do you know what it is like for a guy my age to shovel wet heavy snow? It takes time, work and a toll on the body, and Mr. Winter-Plow, a certified smuck continues to make me nuts, to the point that if I get a heart attack, I am going to die on his truck next to him and freak him out, maybe ruin his day. You say: “Won’t you ruin your own day, DelBloggolo?”

I say it is worth it, he will think about me when he deliberately plows the next person in. Then I will haunt him all season long!

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

As they say: “A rose is a rose is a rose” or “A rose by any other name would smell the same.” Don’t believe it.

I have Power of Attorney for my mom since she can’t sign her name. I pay all her bills and anything that requires her signature I take care of. I hate doing it but it needs to be that way.

Recently, my sister Fran was out from the land of nutmeg and was staying at mom’s house. There was an issue with the cesspool and the cesspool company came and fixed it temporarily, and they left the bill that was paid by check with a initialized check.

As I went through the mom’s Bills, I came across this one bill, from Outback, for the sum of $352 and wondered why they went to the restaurant and spent that much money for 4 people, and in fact, what were they doing spending Mom’s money?

I got on the phone and called my older sister Tessie (much older) and inquired about the dinner, and how much did they eat. My older sister Tess (much older) was confused by my question.

“What restaurant???”

“Outback”

“Outback! I haven’t been to Outback in years!”

“Then why do I have this check made out to Outback???”

In the background, TLW (The Little Woman) is shouting at me.

“JOE! The check was made out to the cesspool company called OUTBACK!”

The cesspool company is named Outback, and the restaurant is named Outback, is one a supplier to the other, or are they delivering????

I DON’T KNOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?

Recently, TLW (The Little Woman) offered me two choices of entertainment for a short vacation to Myrtle Beach we are going on. One was for a Do Wop show and one for a magic show. For the short amount of time we will be there, I figure one or the other, I like magic, especially when people I don’t like disappear and I do love Rock N’ Roll.

Offering me her I-pad, I look at the short clip for the Do Wop and say: “I don’t know, what do you prefer? This is marriage politics at its finest, a lesson to those young newly weds and about to be married about the art of marital politics.

Being the victim of four sisters growing up, I soon learned that it wasn’t going to be about me, but those little princesses that flew over my head during my younger years! Being married has not caused me to falter, miss a beat or misstep. The only attitude is not to have a preference when it comes to TLW, let her have whatever she wants. This philosophy does fall short however when there is a stick of pepperoni or donuts involved.

From my standpoint, it really doesn’t matter what I want, nothing is that important that I need to have my way all the time, and I found out that sometimes TLW does do the very same thing. Not surprised, nor unexpected. My sacrifices are based on being contented in life with TLW.

However there are times when it gets a little dicey, for instance when we are driving and coming to a fork in the road.

Me: “Which way do I go?”

TLW: “I don’t know, which way do you want to go”

Another favorite is: We are planning to go out for dinner and I don’t have a preference, and neither does she.

Me: “Chinese?”

TLW: “Or do you want Italian?”

Me: “Uhhh…”

TLW: :Or do you want to try a steak house?”

Me: “Well…”

TLW: “There’s that NEW place in East Islip…”

Me: “Uh…”

TLW: “You want Chinese, we’ll go Chinese!”

Of course, vacations are not immune to choice and sacrifice. When we sightsee, usually we have an idea about what to see, just not what to see first! This can delay the start of the day, which includes where we go for breakfast, let alone lunch or dinner.

Fortunately, when I asked her to marry me, we didn’t have this problem, but that was the last time we didn’t!

IF FEBRUARY IS HERE, IS CHRISTMAS FAR BEHIND?

It seems that the older I get, the faster time goes. I remember going to bed early on New Year’s Eve, thinking I’d leave the night to the amateurs, and here we are in February already! You take a breath and think: Ah, the holidays are over, and all of a sudden they are pushing Valentine’s Day on you! God forbid we get a rest, no, let’s get on with Easter, and throw a birthday or four in there too.

Is that reunion planned for the spring taking up some thought?  How about an anniversary, Are you ready, because you have a Memorial Day Bar-b-q to go to?   Of course, the 4^th of July will impede on your vacation plans as will the high school graduation party!

My goodness, it’s the end of your vacation and you come home in August and what do you see? Why Christmas decorations of course, as the retailers take out the stuff they just put away, leaving you thinking: What happened to Halloween and Thanksgiving? Oh, it will be there, it’s just that they like to get a head start on the Holidays that make the most.

You wonder if it is too early to buy Christmas Cards and what about Holiday Cards for all your non-Jesus friends? At any rate, the cards can wait until after Thanksgiving, when you will have plenty of time to write them.

You suddenly realize you are sick of eating from Thanksgiving and the thought of the Holidays is getting a little nauseating, and did those cards come from in the mail yet? And stamps, I need stamps, and time to write out the cards once I do my gift shopping.  THE TREE! I have to put up the tree and all the stuff that goes with it! Wait a minute, did I leave any time for baking, and I do need more liquor for the guest that may show up.  

In the frenzy of four short weeks, you have managed all that and there you sit on Christmas Eve, sharing the holiday with the non-Jesus heathens and other family members. You wonder: will she/he like the present I gave for tomorrow? Will the food taste OK, and did I give the garbage men, the newspaper guy and the postman enough that I don’t have to go around the corner and down the block to get my stuff?

So there you have it-2014, and you think, Ah! The holidays are over! See above. For me, I’m going out right now and shop for Christmas, which will be one thing out of the way for 2014 and the ‘Holidays’!

Merry Christmas! Oops! Happy Holidays: to my Non-Jesus friends.

BEING CHASE, HONEST AND PURE

As I left the Handy Pantry and went to my car, the gallon of one per cent milk and two buttered rolls in my hand, I was about to open my car door when I noticed something on the ground, under the icy slush of the early morning 19 degree weather.

There sat a bluish rectangular blur, and as I looked closer realized it was someone’s credit card.

Extracting it from the frozen slush, I read it as a Chase Freedom card. The card was due to expire in 2015 and looked brand new. I thought first to go back into the store and ask, but thought better of it, not sure there was a way to verify from the shady characters there were in the store that one wasn’t a thief and would claim it.

Getting home I went to God’s assistant, TLW (The Little Woman) who happens to work at a wanna-be-bank and knows something about this.

“I would call Chase and tell them you found a credit card.”

Of course, she doesn’t understand the value of a reward for finding something like a credit card.

As TLW leaves for work, I start to look up the owner and find him on the Internet. I call and no one answers. What should I do?

I decide to either cut the card up or call Chase Bank and tell them I found the card. I could go out and book a cruise to Europe or buy a new laptop, but decide instead to be honest. Mom would be so proud! I call the local bank.

“Chase Bank, Margaret speaking, how may I help you?

“I found this credit card in a parking lot.”

Can you drop it off at the bank?

“No, you will have to pick it up.”

“Well we can’t do that.”

“Then I will cut the card up and not worry about it.

Sounding annoyed she ask me what the account number is, and I tell her.

“Well what next?” I ask.

“We’ll cancel the card and issue a new one.”

SO, I DON’T HAVE TO GO OUT OF MY WAY AFTER ALL!

Why couldn’t that dingbat tell me that at the beginning?

Well, no reward, but no one took advantage of the owner, and that is good!

WHERE ARE THEY ALL COMING FROM?

The world is too crowded! There are too many people on the roads, in the supermarkets, post offices and barbershops, slowing all the progress down being made with smart phones and I-pads. Seems a shame too, since we now spend even more time on our electronic devices waiting our turn to move.

Even on Long Island, where there has been a reported rash of bank robberies, over 21 since January 1^st, the bank robbers have to get in line or move to another bank!

In the supermarkets, people with more than 40 items are on the 12 items or less lines, with their tunnel vision, as they don’t dare to look at whoever is behind them.

There is a report, and I don’t know how true it is about this event that occurred last spring down in Alabama. It seems there was this Baptist church, and the two thousand members church was filled to overflowing capacity one Sunday morning. The preacher was ready to start the sermon when two men, dressed in long black coats and black hats entered thru the rear of the church.

One of the two men walked to the middle of the church while the other stayed at the back of the church. They both then reached under their coats and withdrew automatic weapons.

The one in the middle announced, "Everyone willing to take a bullet for Jesus stay in your seats!"

Naturally, the pews emptied, followed by the choir. The deacons ran out the door, followed by the choir director and the assistant pastor.

After a few moments, there were about twenty people left sitting in the church. The preacher was holding steady in the pulpit.

The men put their weapons away and said, gently, to the preacher, "All right, pastor, the hypocrites are gone now. You may begin the service."

Let’s face it, if it says ‘Free’ on it, so is everybody on it. You go into COSTCO, and you can’t move, the sample carts are over-flowing with tasters, who are not going to buy the product, but will come back for seconds. I remember once being in Costco with TLW (The Little Woman). When I go there, I always wear a baseball cap. Why? Because then I can go to the sample cart, wearing my cap with the peak forward, then disguise myself for seconds with the peak backwards. Yes, I’ve done that.

If you go to a shopping center in the middle of the day, you can’t find a parking spot, the library parking is a joke and even in the cemetery, you can’t drive without negotiating through the roads. In fact, there is no space left to bury anyone.

THIS TOO WILL PASS

Standing in the lobby of the Bellhaven Center for Rehabilitation, the people arrived one by one via ambulance. Young men and women guide the pallets into the building through the sliding entrance door and their charges all look confused as they view their home for the first time. The vast ceiling with the columns that reach high, the lighting and wallpaper, all greet you with a grandness found in a French palace or gambling casino.

Soon it was mom’s turn to arrive and we immediately jumped up to follow as she was led to her new home. My sister, Henry and I follow, we marvel at the wallpaper, the molding, the floors, all done by a person with a sense of aesthetics, creating a somewhat elegant environment for people who are checking out of life, Bellhaven being their last stop.

No matter how beautiful the place may be, no matter how kind and understanding the professional staff, they cannot replace the independence and freedom of movement we all have at one time. Instead we find the chains of old age, the rules of infirmity restricting and punishing because of living so long.

Mom is told that her move is to rehabilitation, but she knows as well as we do, this is it, this is final there is no more. Her life will now be one of someone who intrudes into her personal business, her hygiene, her whole being. She will lie in a bed for most of her days, and will sleep most of what is left of her life, her body no longer able to withstand the rigors of even simple life.

I will go, I will visit often and reassure her though she is not home, but is not forgotten. I won’t speak for my siblings: they will make their own plans and own goodbyes. The life that gave me life will have me there hopefully when it ends, I owe her that for so many reasons.

TAKING STOCK OF WHAT I DON’T SEE

Living is getting harder!

Thank goodness my glasses aren’t too heavy, I’m constantly taking them off to read the fine print. It seems even a Reader’s Digest large print magazine seems to be in fine print to me!

Have you ever tried to read a over the counter medication, the print is so small, I have to take off my glasses, bring the damned thing up to my eyeballs and squint, while moving the bottle in and out until I can read it. Don’t these morons who set the type realize old people are trying to read their warnings?

OK, so I’ll get over it and so I go read the newspaper.  Reading the newspaper has now become a challenge as well. Last Sunday in Newsday they reproduced six political one-panel cartoons. TRY TO READ THE CAPTIONS! To fit these six cartoons in the page, they shrunk them, making the captions unreadable! HOW DUMB IS THAT?

So you say: “Calm down Del Bloggolo, it’s not the end of the world!” Oh no? I put the newspaper down and turn on the TV, AH! College basketball is on and the game is ongoing, AND they put up the score: RIGHT UNDER A STUPID PROMOTIONAL GRAPHIC! What’s the score???? They finally take away the promo and immediately, if not sooner, go to a commercial, leaving me wondering what the score is.

I switch to the History channel, and wouldn’t you know it, an interesting program, filled with intrigue, I won’t see it because they just went to a commercial break, which will last at least 6 minutes!

I’m driving, and I see this interesting sign come up, but I can’t read it yet, but will very soon-BUT SOME DAMNED TRUCK GETS BETWEEN ME AND THE SIGN AND WE PASS IT TOGETHER!

I hate trucks. Always have and always will. Recently I was in a hurry to get to the hospital to visit mom, I turn onto a local road, and what do I see ahead of me, an 18-wheeler, dragging along at 4 mph from his heavy load, and 15 cars trailing. He stops for a red light, we all do. Who do you think will stop a second time for that light, because the pant load driver of the friggen truck will take 20 minutes to shift into the next gear, leaving me to wait for another red light as he moves slowly on? SURPRISE, it’s me!

Of course if I have to listen to something particularly interesting, and they come to the main point, some jackass will make a noise, scrape a chair or say something and I completely miss it. Not enough good fortune for you? The bases are loaded, the game on the line, the pitch is about to come and: R-I-N-G, R-I-N-G, R-I-N-G! It’s the stupid phone! “This is your second and final notice to take advantage of this low-interest credit card rate” the S.O.B’s!

THEY COME IN THREES!

“Hairy Mary

Full of grape,

I’m on bent knee”

An old Del Bloggolo childhood prayer from parochial school.

All my life I’ve had unhappy run-ins with nuns. I started way back in 1^st Grade when I checked out a girl across the school yard, amazed by how she could skip rope and NOT show her panties. A nun came down the pike like a Mack truck and crashed into me, my head spinning well into the year 2000!

Of course there was the time I went to a ceremony of some sort at my sister’s church and the nun, a rather mean old witch if I do say so myself, gave instructions:  ”Absolutely NO flash cameras were allowed during the ceremony!” Having a movie camera and not using a light, I figured she didn’t mean me. In my viewfinder was the ugliest, meanest, ornery kisser looking at me yelling: “I SAID NO CAMERAS!”

And of course there was the time at a fund-raiser for the Sisters of Halifax, teachers of TLW (The Little Woman) and her sibs in high school. What I was doing there was beyond me, but there I was amid all these people that had tags on that read: SETON HALL, CLASS OF_, and the barer filled in the year he or she graduated. I decided to wear one that said: Bellport High School on it. As we were leaving the event that evening, TLW and her sister decided to stop off at the little girls room while I waited in the vestibule. A nun comes over and strikes up a conversation with me. Reading my nametag she asks where I went to high school, and I mention the obvious and then state that I did go to Catholic school as a child. You’d think I quit while ahead? Think again, because I then tell her the nuns in those days were much meaner than they are today. She gives me the once over and walks away, leaving me standing there, awkwardly!

Which gets me into today’s topic: nuns. Yes, those religious ladies that walk silently, hands clasps into their sleeves, sensible shoes and: “Don’t tread on me or I’ll kick your ass” on their faces.

As I sit slouched in my chair across from mom in her hospital bed, I glance into the hall and see three ladies, dressed in civies but looking like the doomsday representatives from Hell. As is their want, they travel in threes, and don’t make noise until they are ready to smack you. When they are, they change into their ‘habits’, black with black shoes and veil and long rosary beads that are as thick as grape fruits and hurt.

Tessie, my oldest sister (much older) and I tense up, and old habit since elementary school (There’s that word again, ‘habit’!)

“Del Bloggolo?”

Me: “Yyyyess?”

“We’re with Palliative care. Is this your mom?”

Me: “Yyyyess.”

We’re here to find out what mom’s wants when she leaves the hospital.”

Shaking mom’s hand and stroking her forehead, the lady says: “WHAT do YOU want when you leave?”

Mom: “GET ME OUTTA HERE!”

“Well, once you are well enough, we will be taking you into rehab, and we will work very hard to make things better for you, but first you have to get your strength back.”

Mom: “Ok, but THEN get me outta here, I want to go home!”

Looking at Tessie my oldest sister (much older) and me she says: “Come with us, we need to talk.”

Leading us into this small conference room, they sit us down and begin to destroy my whole concept of what nuns are, being nice, calm and three of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met! They are killing me.

IT’S COLD

I love the winter. I love it because it isn’t the heat and humidity of summer. I like nights that don’t require air conditioning and days that don’t cause you to move slowly because you can work up a sweat: breathing!

But as much as I love the cold, I hate the snow, and it is what makes me crazy.

The other day I was planning to go somewhere after a major snowstorm and I had to think like an Eskimo, throwing a shovel in my car and dressing twice, with double layers. I remember as a kid growing up in Brooklyn and going to school on a cold morning, Mom would make me wear leggings, scarf and hat, gloves and double underwear. Then there were the boots that went on over the six pairs of socks and shoes, which took twenty minutes a foot to put on, all this cold protection for me over a blue tie and white shirt with Aberdeen paints and jacket.  

As I descended the two flights of stairs like a zombie, unable to even bend my knees, the after thought of the farina I had to eat repeating on me, I hit the cold air and slowly made the trip to Stone Avenue, up to McDougal to Broadway, under the train tracks the clamored and clickety-clacked overhead to Aberdeen Street and Our Lady of Lourdes school, while my cheeks froze.

A sacrificial altar if you didn't know your catechism lesson!

In sub-zero temperatures it seemed, I had to wait for the school bell to ring so I could assemble on a line and march into the building, where the steam from the radiators hit you and you knew you were in a place that meant business.

Getting up to my classroom, I would collapse into my seat, my face smarting from the cold and stood to salute the flag and say a prayer, finally sitting down where I was ready to fall asleep.

Falling asleep in the classroom was the last option you took, as the teacher, Ms. Langon would begin by preying on her first-graders over the catechism lesson that was drilled into me by dear old mom the afternoon before. Believe me, it was a long day for a 6 year old.

I HEAR IT ALL THE TIME.

Did you ever meet someone for the first time and get a sense that for some strange reason, they instantly like you? Me neither. Only kidding!

While in the hospital yesterday, my older sister Tessie (much older)  and me had some business to attend to with a head nurse.

Reaching to shake my hand she gave me this sunny, happy face, introducing herself and making the intros pleasant.

After the business was completed and it was time to say goodbye, she grabbed my hand and arm around the bicep and said: “WOW! You look just like my uncle. You have a double in this world! You are a dead ringer for him! He’s my favorite uncle!”

Me and her uncle

Many years ago, while exiting a subway station at street level, this woman came up to me and said: “Oh my God, Tony Bennett!” This was in the ‘60s and he was very popular at the time. He used to comb his hair like me, and wore sweaters like I did.  I could never see it, but she seemed to.

I left my heart in the refrigerator

Then in the ‘70s, I was working in the city and was ordering typography for this job. I was in the process of hiring a typography shop and interviewing this one company. The representative was shown into my office, stopped in his tracks and looked confused. I invited him to sit down when he says: “Is this some kind of joke, Charles?” Now we were both confused, since I was all along using Joe, and we were not on a first name basis yet.

“Did Danny put you up tp this to bust my chops?”

Still confused I said nothing, then he looked at my desk and saw a picture of TLW (The Little Woman) and my daughter and realized he was looking at Charlie’s double. Apologizing profusely we had a great laugh and he invited me down to his shop to meet Charlie. He didn’t get my business.

WHEN IT’S COLD AND GREY

Writing this blogue everyday, it is meant to be but a diary to some degree about my life experiences, memories and a record of events in the world as they transpired. January 28 is one of these days that hold deep and lasting memories for me, significance beyond the ordinary.

I look out the window, and all I see is snow that covers the grounds, sits on tree branches and over the roofs of buildings. Smoke from fired chimneys curling high into the sky, only remind me of the cold facts that are. It gives me a feeling of cold reality that I face today. Mom is losing her physical freedom, condemned because she is almost 96, and her body can’t keep up with her mind. That is not all I it gives me, it gives me a deep and lasting reminder of what was and what could have been.

It was 33 years ago, that I crossed the cemetery and walked the snowy path toward my little son’s grave, on a cold snow covered day, and said one last goodbye to his physical being. I don’t remember more that the bright sun, the iciness and the fact that I couldn’t see much, because it is hard to see through tear-filled eyes. I remember making tracks in the icy snow-covered ground, the crunching of the snow as I stepped toward the crowd that gathered around the resting place. I remember holding my wife and seeing the faces that shrouded themselves in the solemnity of the moment.

One life has had so much: a youth, marriage, children, great and grand children: days of laughter and of good times and bad… life. Yet the other life had nothing but illness and death, and this is what I compare on this day.

And so today I make a comparison of the two lives, one for an old life that holds truths, memories and one life that had so little time. I wonder why that must be so, I wonder why some of us live and some of us don’t. Then I remember what I have always told myself: that one hundred years from now, no one individual will either care or wish to remember. That is the greater part of life, not to dwell on what was but to move forward to what will be.

JUST ASK

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Visiting Mom at her hospital bed is tough. She has a hard time seeing and hearing. Old age has taken its toll. With me for this visit is my older sister Tessie (much older) and she is sitting at the foot of mom’s bed, while I occupy a chair next to mom.

Tessie: “Did you sleep well last night Mom?”

Mom: “WHAT?”

Me: “She said I look MUCH younger than her!”

Tessie: “How are you eating?’

Mom: “WHAT?”

Me: “She says she is jealous of how much better looking I am!”

Tessie: “He’s really getting annoying now!”

Mom: “WHAT?”

Me: “She says she wishes she had my brains too.”

Tessie: “Did Henry come to visit yet?”

Mom: “WHAT?”

“She says she wants all the money in the will to go to me because I deserve it more than her.”

Tessie my older sister (much older) decides to move her chair close to mom.

Tessie: “Ma, don’t pay attention to him.”

Mom: “I never do.”

!

There is this deep dislike for me because I turned out prettier than the girls. I had natural curly hair, my own room growing up, and of course just a sweetheart, and that’s from mom, the girls aren’t too happy either.

THE COOKIE MONSTER WATCHES!!!

The other day I went to my mom’s house to supervise the installation of a new cesspool. I also had the clean team coming so I was spending the day there it seemed. As the time wore on, I got a little hungry and went looking for something to eat.

At first I was a little hesitant and felt maybe I shouldn’t be doing that, then thought about it and decided that it was mom’s house, my mother, and this house is where I married from, why not?

I looked in the frig and nothing got my attention except for some olives, but no, that wasn’t what I wanted. Then it hit me, cookies, yes cookies would do it! So I started looking in closets, opening drawers and standing tiptoe to see, and something was happening. I was getting these strange vibes like someone was looking at me, watching me, and ready to bear down on me.

I was suffering from the old malady of mine, stealing cookies from mom’s cupboard! I was also feeling guilty, and maybe feeling I was ready to be discovered once more, just like the old days! What if I found a unopened box? How would I handle that? I could use the trick I once used where I carefully slit the glue away without tearing anything and gluing the box back intact. But what if I really liked the cookies, would I eat too many and mom would be wise? Suddenly I could picture the wooden spoon coming down on my head, leaving the echoing sound I hate when wood hits wood, and my retreating to the old bedroom, that is no longer a bed room, but her den.

But hey, what should I be afraid of, she is almost 96 years old, what could she really do to me? Then there is the question of guilt, whole, unadulterated guilt: the kind mom lays on me when she was too tired to chase me.

I guess I’m too tired myself to do this anymore, she won! I didn’t find any cookies and I didn’t want to anymore. So I went to mom and confessed, and she said: “Don’t be silly, if I have any cookies, have them!”

Dam, I hate this aging process, I’m never sure anymore!

MATEO AND ME

Went to my mother’s bank to make some changes and adjustments regarding her account, being how I have Power of Attorney, since she can no longer write her name or see too well.

The drive-by tellers come to your parking spot

I enter the bank, go over to this lovely teller who helps me and as we finish I ask about on-line banking. She calls over a gentleman who works for the bank named Mateo, we shake hands and I go over to his desk.

You are greeted very warmly at TWBB&TC by the employees!

After a wonderful session on the joys of on-line banking, we finish up and I say:

“You know, my wife works for the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co.!”

“Oh, what does she do?”

At TWBB&TC they take your banking seriously!

“She works on the platform.”

“She does what I do?”

“Yes, if you call this working.”

“Hehehe… would you like to know about some of our services Mr. Del Bloggolo?”

“WHAT? I have to live with that woman Mateo!”

“We have excellent customer services beside on-line banking.”

“You see Mateo, that is the difference. At the Wanna-Be-Bank & Truss Co., I am a member: that means that Mrs. Del Bloggolo has to treat me nice, even at home. She never will know when I’m just ‘Hey you’ or honored Mr. Member!”

“Oh?”

“Yes Mateo, it is the ONLY thing I have left in life I can enjoy. Please don’t offer me a deal I can’t refuse.”

WHAT GOES AROUND: COMES AROUND!

Life is funny, it is so unpredictable, and sadly so sometimes.

As I visited Mom, one of the things I find myself doing is feeding her. I take the time to cut her food and be patient with feeding her. Her arms can’t do it anymore: her hands can’t be there to care for herself. So God sometimes gives me the job.

At first I thought: Should I be doing this? Then I realized I should have asked to do it. I should have pushed everything aside and told everyone to stand back, I have to do this. I have to serve mom, take care that she eats and eats well. I have to wipe her chin, clean her mouth, feed her and do all the things she did for me so long ago.

When I come to visit her, often she is asleep and I have to gently nudge her, call her and when she awakens, she sees me and a smile crosses her lips. So many years ago, when I decide to join the world, I gave her the nudge and with great pain that every mother feels, she lovingly gave bird to her child. Then when she was done suffering the pain of delivery, she worried, worked and prayed about me, like she did for all her children. In days when her own health was poor, she stood her ground to see her babies were fed, that they were safe and cared for.

When it was time to let us go and marry or go off to school, she didn’t stop loving us, she prayed more and had faith that what she raised would survive.

So there I stand, in the service of Mom, when she needs us most. We will try to preserve her dignity, her honor always in front of us, for she gave her all for us to be there for her when she needed us the most.

It is a difficult time for me to see mom so worn out, so sick and frail, and knowing that she needs help to survive. But I love the fact that at least in her suffering, that I can come in and help her, feed her and advocate for her, and above all, make her smile, even if it is a little.

So life continues and the roles reverse themselves. From caring for me, I care for her. I thank God for this honor.

FROM A SOAR’S EAR

Visiting Mom at the hospital is tough at times. She is sleepy and will drift off, although when she is awake, I manage to make her laugh. Usually it is just myself, so you can imagine how easy it is for her to drift off, I even drift off on myself.

Yesterday I had a huge surprise, as I entered the MICU there standing outside my mother’s bedroom was my niece Annmarie! Annmarie is the daughter of one of my younger sisters and a proud mother of 2 beautiful children.

As we entered the room, and talked for a while, what to my great

delight happens but my niece Laurie Ann appeared! Two of my beautiful nieces paying a visit to my mom, and I had the benefit of being there. Laurie is the first child to make me an uncle, a title I cherish because the people are so special that do that. I have many nieces and nephews that allow me to call myself Uncle Joe, and they are all wonderful people, there are many achievements that they have scored and all like Laurie and Annmarie have beautiful children along with really great guys and nephews with wonderfully great wives they married. I’m sure if Mom would count her blessings, she could start at that point.

Sometimes we don’t really count our blessings fully. Maybe we look too closely at what is immediately in front of our eyes, but might miss some spots in our hearts. I love all my sisters, and after that visit by Annmarie and Laurie Ann, I realized blessings go beyond my big nose and sit deeply in my heart and soul, counting my children and nieces and nephews. They are all outgrowths of the family history, products of those I love and it makes me so damned proud when I see them.

I guess I’m a lucky uncle.