MOM

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It seems I keep coming back to Mom lately. It is because I am amazed about her constitution and how brave she is. She doesn’t wish to die, but she is not afraid.

As she lies there in the bed, the remnants of the previous hours seem to punctuate the room with harsh reminders of how much she is losing the battle but holding a brave front in the face of certainty, a certainty of finality. There are creams, and medications, pads and drinks with straws, there is very little else, except a comb and maybe rubber gloves.

I look into her eyes and see a vacancy where once there was attention and voice.

All my life as a little boy, I had this fear that one day I would lose my mom, and how horrific it would feel. I remember her telling me how she lost her mother, how cold she felt and as she described how she watched as a young woman as they lowered the casket of Mary her mother into the ground one October day, I tried to relate and feel that pain. I was too young to fully comprehend it, and every time I smell flowers, I get that funereal feel that gives me a sense of sadness, and fear of the unknown.

My wish for her is to die. I know now that will be the result no matter what, and her quality of life as they say is nil, non-existent. It would be selfish of me to wish otherwise, as I watch her not move or be able to enjoy anything. Oh, she is waiting to die, like a commuter waiting for a train, sitting alone in the station looking down the track for her ride.

Something curious is happening to me, I understand the process of dying better, with a healthy attitude and realize the state is not scary after all, but just another act in the drama we call life. It is the final act, and it should have a happy ending, one in a way like Mom’s, with dignity, love and people who care for her and want only the best for her. She is fortunate in that she is in no pain, just lying there waiting, her mind sharp as ever and in some instances better than mine. But that has always been the case, as she corrected and taught me. And yes, even in death she will teach me one more valuable lesson, how to die with dignity.

“Death,” Rainer Maria Rilke

Before us great Death stands
Our fate held close within his quiet hands.
When with proud joy we lift Life’s red wine
To drink deep of the mystic shining cup
And ecstasy through all our being leaps—
Death bows his head and weeps.

THANK YOU MOM,

Cicero once said:

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. - Cicero

And so Mom’s life was a guiding light to her children. One that led us to do what we needed to do: helped us to become adults and do always what she would want us to do and be. To this day that is true.

Her life was a life of pain and sorry as child and young woman, the pain she suffered is too painful, separated from her two sisters and mother as her mom had a mental breakdown and she had to live in a Catholic home run by nuns for us to speak of and it seems the only joy she had was in her 5 children. We lived our lives with her values laid out before us, and her face, set squarely in front of every move we ever made. If we accomplished anything with self-pride, she reminded us that pride must be handled quietly, without fanfare.

But Mom was filled with laughter, no matter how hard life was for her, she enjoyed a laugh. As she laid in her deathbed I often teased her until she did laugh. Every morning, in her state of rigidness, she lied waiting for my arrival and I would pull up a chair and begin.

She was very receptive to laughter, although she was shy as one can be. She could laugh at herself, and at life in general. I found her laughter to be something I always enjoyed hearing. Many years ago, working for a large company, with a lot of responsibilities, I would after lunch, close my door for an hour and just plan my next moves would be, write letters and memos and read. It was NOT to be uninterrupted time. The rule was NOT to disturb me. There was a woman who sat outside my office in the support staff who would laugh at times, and her laughter sounded like Mom’s. I would close my eyes and think of her and smile.

The memories I hold are to many and too beautiful for me to relate her in this small space of time, she was a great mother, and a model mother, something that comes and brands your memories with love.

As she was in her comatose state at the end, I leaned close to her ear and told her I love her, that she made me better than I could ever be otherwise, and I thanked her for her being, her lessons and her love, but most of all, my life.

Good-bye Mom, I am sorry for every moment of aggravation I brought you, for every time you had to chase me and correct me. I am glad that you did what you needed to do to care for me, love me for what I am and I promise you, those lessons will be studied hard and remembered.

IL BACIO

The Kiss 

Every evening when TLW (The Little Woman) returns from the Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Company, she and I greet each other with a peck on the lips. This is customary and unless she is mad at me for something, an everyday occurrence.

In this routine we developed from watching Father Knows Best, or maybe Leave It To Beaver, the practice is done so that I am used to the taste of her lipstick (Midnight Madness), and so I think nothing of it. One night it all changed!

Coming into the door, the look of a bored member of the working force, TLW marched into the kitchen and looking at the mail gave me the rudimentary kiss on the lips, which tasted like I kissed the muffler of a Mercedes Benz, after fueling up with diesel oil.

Me: “What did you do, put kerosene on your lips!?”

TLW: “Yes, I’m trying to poison you.” (From watching the Honeymooners)

Me: “Oh, I thought so,”

TLW: “Any calls today?”

Me; “Just one from Poison Control Center, checking up on me.” (The Honeymooners have marathons sometimes)

After 43 years of marriage, you get 43 years of sarcasm, without really trying. It seems that when couples grow older, they tend to expect that trust is always in the works, that anything less is to be treated with that old balm: Sarcasm. I remember both my in-laws and my parents both treating each other to sarcasm, it is an expressive way to stay married without rancor or insult: you take it on the chin and if you are still standing, give it back.

Mom used to chase Dad with her wooden spoon and Dad would run, usually around the table until Mom got tired, we laughing in the background and Dad with a silly grin on his face, while Mom was just feeling good about things as Dad fled.

I recall once many years ago my grandma Frances was combing my hair as I stood on a chair, and Dad saying something sarcastic to Grandma that got him a shoe tossed right on his head. I thought it funny, and Mom was delighted when I told her about it.

I never knew Grandma was that skillful!

WHAT’S IN YOUR HOUSEHOLD?

Last week on the same day, Mom got in the mail 2 letters: both were from the US Census, with a warning of arrest if she didn’t open and respond to one of them! One letter stated a questionnaire was coming and one WAS the questionnaire.

Now I think it odd that the Census Bureau would send out something in 2014 instead of 2020, but then my speculation would be 20/20 hindsight.

My first inclination was to avoid answering except for the threat on the outer envelope stating “Under penalty of law” if I failed to answer. Of course, Mom would go to jail, and then they would have to feed and house her, and finish the Medicaid application. That intrigued me a bit. Then there was the request that she fill out the questionnaire on line. Mom doesn’t own a computer and knows nothing about them, since she is 96 years old, can’t use either hand and can’t stand up. Jail sure was on the horizon for Mom.

As I read the instructions, it stated that the questionnaire would take about 40 minutes. 40 minutes is a long time, too much time for me, since I have to check my Facebook page and e-mails. Not answering was becoming a possibility, except for one thing: I was curious what they could possibly want in that questionnaire.

When you go on line you need to have an ID number that is in the notice they sent and a pin number they give you. This is because the site keeps knocking you off every 15 minutes, so you have to re-enter everything and pickup where you left off.

The questions were about who lives in the household, how much they make and if they own any property that the government should know about, along with if they are citizens, and what national origin they are. In other words, the government was snooping. They claim that it is for future planning for new bridges, and roads, that need to be built in Bellport and how much corn they should grow for the growing population. They have the fertilizer in the questionnaire, so they must be planting already!

I answered the questionnaire, and now am waiting for the Census police to arrest Mom. I think she may go quietly to jail, but don’t bet on it, I still suspect she is hiding a wooden spoon under the covers in her bed, waiting for the opportunity to surprise me, and maybe the government.

ON THE NERVOUS EDGE

I had gotten home and put on the TV to watch a baseball game on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Having visited Mom and then picking up my daughter Ellen from her home in Shoreham/Wading River, I sat in my chair and chatted with TLW (The Little Woman) and made my daughter laugh, while watching the game with the other eye.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and on the other end was my niece Laurie, telling me in a somber voice she was with her mom Tess my older sister (much older) visiting my Mom’s house and Tessie had told her to call me and that they were visiting Mom and Mom is coughing and can’t stop. I was told that Anna the live-in caretaker of Mom had called Hospice as I told her to do if she ever ran into a problem, and could I please come right down.

Arriving I am greeted by my sister Tessie and ask some questions, and go into Mom’s room. She is with Anna who is trying to comfort Mom, as Mom has a look of concern on her face, coughing and trying to make it productive. I take over from Anna and sit with Mom, trying to console and comfort her as best I can.

“Why won’t this stop?” she asks, as I take a tissue and wipe her mouth. She coughs some more and … “It didn’t last this long the last time.” She pleads.

Her eyes look up at me as I rub her shoulder, trying to reassure her that it will stop. She looks like she is at the final hour of her life. Her body has pretty much stopped working, with no use of her hands or movement in them, her feet and body as a whole.

“I can hear the gurgle in my chest, it feels like a weight is on me, making me very tired!” she tells me. The reality is that we are waiting for the inevitable, and think this may be the time. “I am so tired” she says between coughs. “When will that nurse get here?” she begs, and I have no answer, only to rub her shoulder.

As I wipe her mouth, I notice that she is not productive, everything is clear, and this has me wondering what is really happening. Her surface temperature of her skin is cool, she is complaining that she is hot, and I can’t figure this out. I wondered if the strokes she had played a part in the disarray of her sensors, from her brain to her body? Is everything off kilter?

The phone rings and I answer it, it is the nurse, and she is asking me questions. I tell her the cough is persistent and non-productive, she says the cough is good. After a half hour she arrives and Mom’s cough immediately stops! She looks terrific! We all look: stupid!

The nurse, a cheery sort, reassures us that she is ok, giving her a quick once over and makes her announcement.

“Pollen!” she announces. That old nemeses pollen is the culprit. Not only that the air-conditioner should be in use on a 69 degree day! Yes, the air-conditioner, and by the way, close the windows, she shouldn’t get any fresh air. Yes, Pollen.

DON’T LET IT BYTE YOU

We live in a crazy dishonest world. Why I say that is in recent conversations with people I find out that they are all running scared of their personal lives being breached. It seems we have committed ourselves to an electronic era that seems to seep into our lives, and silently steals away our identity if we are not careful.

Before the invention of Al Gore’s Internet, the only electronic crime that could be committed was using a telephone, that was attached to the wall and sat in a cradle, IT never went anywhere. You could maybe misrepresent yourself, disguise your voice and pretend to be someone else, and it might have worked. Today all that has changed, today there are too many ways to lose your ID to some unscrupulous individual or individuals.

From a single phone we went to car phones then cordless and finally, they sit in you pocket small enough to type with, take pictures with and communicate on Facebook with. They play music; can identify products and probably dozens of other things. Did I mention they also act as a phone?

So now I own a smart phone, an I-pad, a laptop, regular computer and somehow I just know something new is coming down the pike. What this means is protection is needed from the crooks.

So I joined Facebook back in 2010, and that requires a password, as does each of my devices, as does some of the other sites I visit to buy things like Amazon, and the inner workings of certain servers I attend, and programs I own, all demanding passwords, and not the one you use for something else! Now if you are on Yahoo, that can be tricky, as there is I-cloud to dance around as well as using my business account on all these different devices and sites. Confusing?

TLW (The Little Woman) has resorted to buying books for each of us to record all our passwords in, which is a big help as long as I am home. If we go away say to Burbank, we need to bring that book with us. Confusing?

I think what we should do is have a closet like place where there is a public telephone in it, and you can even call it: “Public Telephone”, maybe on street corners or in say drug stores where if you are out, you can for a small charge make a call, thus eliminating the need for precautions such as changing and then remembering passwords, expensive cell phones and monthly charges. Not only that, but the nescience of why you choose a password for a particular device is gone. Just think, that little annoyance of texting while driving dangers are eliminated, AND, you don’t get any text messages!

Thank God

This ranting is brought to you by: Al Gore’s Internet.

REBUILDING THE PAST

“Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry.”
― Dr. Seuss

As I sit here today, Mom lies in her prison on a hospital bed. The only things that move are the lips that taught and nurtured 5 children, and the eyes that follow me in my ramblings. Her eyes now act as her hands once did, smiling, laughing and disapproving as she follows what I say. She usually asks me what I planned for my day, and then will take me down a road of conversation of her choosing. I try to stay on that path: as that is the only thing left in her life that she can control.

What she likes to talk to me about is old times, the things that she recalls and made her happy, the things that made her my mom. Now when I walk in her presence, it is with a special reverence for who she still is, in spite of her incapacitation. We don’t discuss today’s world, today’s world is her pain and suffering, instead, she feels I remember a lot and can relate better times, when she felt pain, and joy, laughed and cried, felt the cold and heat and had a dream for tomorrow. We talk about people we knew, places we were and events that occurred with those people and places.

She knows what is happening: she knows that the time is almost gone, maybe even borrowed. I try to make that time with me pleasant as possible. She looks for me to come and sit by her side, and gives me a weak but sincere greeting. It makes me feel good about myself. I feel that maybe I didn’t disappoint her throughout my life: maybe I did do something that she even is proud of me for.

I usually pull up the chair that is next to her last place on Earth, the chair I first placed there, and I always open with teasing her about something. She squeezes her eyes tight and laughs, and I am whole again. Someday I won’t ever feel that again, someday that will be taken away from me forever. When I say goodbye, there is a sadness in her eyes and looks away, I feel the guilt of leaving.

If there is one thing I wish for her, it is that she have a happy death, and maybe it will give peace to her mind and it will cease to torture me as I watch in helplessness a woman who can only lay there, almost in a comatose state of physical existence and wonder why this is happening to her, as she does. My older sister and I have felt the brunt of the anguish, know the pain that Mom is suffering because she can only lie there, the sadness that fills that room even on the sunniest of days.

Somehow I have learned that there is a joy in the finality of death.  That we cease to suffer when suffering is the only thing offered to us, and death is the relief we seek.

May 31, 2014

Good bye may be forever, farewell but a salute to the end, but in my heart your memory will always stay.

I love you Mom.

NO WALK ON THE BEACH

--> It was 70 years ago, on a quiet French coast in Normandy, cold and overcast that man awakened the Devil, knocked on his door and announced: “We are here”. Most of the world enslaved under the heels of the tyrants of Germany and Japan, made them begin to truly feel the wrath of free men from across the sea.

It troubles me every year to think that we have a thing in this country called: “Memorial Day weekend sales and/or celebrations,” it seems like we should take the person we all so loved dearly, and on the anniversary of their death go out and have a good time, forgetting them entirely. Just think of it as Good Friday if you are Christian, and even there it is commercialized.

I often wondered how it must have felt to be in on that invasion, heading to a foreign shore I may have never been to before, facing the prospects of dying on a sandy beach, or mutilated before I even touched the ground. I wonder how hard my heart can pump, how well I could even think at that point, getting closer to the shore. I wonder how those brave Americans felt who did step on the beaches and saw their fellow soldier killed instantly, the water colored red, and exposed to somebody who is out of sight that with a good aim: will send me into the hereafter.

To me sacrifice is giving what I need to someone else for a good reason, be it life or freedom, freedom of choices or of fear, of worship or just to go and come in my life as I please. That is what these many American, Canadian and British troops did that fate filled June morning so long ago. I often think that a big chunk of their young lives was taken away to face the Devil himself.

Today, as we watch the passing of that great generation, the men and women who responded to the calls of duty pass away before us, we need to grasp this day in particular, hold it to our hearts and thank the Almighty that they stood in the way of tyranny so that we have this freedom we practice today. May God bless them all and reward them for His work, and being His hand.

Although written about World War I, This beautiful tribute by a Canadian physician: Canadian physician Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae illustrates so well what we must all hear.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

PRIORITIES

I know I’m getting old when my priorities change so drastically.

Since Mom has no use of her hands, and can’t sign anything anymore, she gave me the ability to sign checks for her and pay her bills.  With this responsibility, I decided to have all her bills forwarded to me at my home. This makes it less complicated and I don’t need a daily run to her mailbox 10 miles away everyday.

Now everything is running smoothly when one day last week I get my mail, and mixed in it is Mom’s. This goes on everyday, no big deal as they say. In the pile are two 8x10 catalogues, one from Lobster Gram, and one from Victoria’s Secret!

“YOU DIRTY OLD MAN!” That’s what you’re thinking, no?

Why am I having a Victoria’s Secret coming to my door?

It’s not mine: it is addressed to a 96-year old lady! Why would they send Mom a catalogue? As TLW (The Little Woman) surmised, they see her as a change of address and the list buyer sold her name to Victoria’s Secret. Sounds right.

Now here is the problem, when I took in the two catalogues, which one did I open first? LOBSTER GRAM! Yes, this OLD fart opened Lobster Gram first!

When I was in my 30’s and 40’s and probably my 50’s, I would have read the Victoria’s Secret in a New York minute, as the Princess of Foxwood Points (Pat Wippert) says, just for the articles.

And what went through my mind, thinking Mom was getting such a catalogue, my 96-year old Mom, with a boy toy? I kept erasing the images as they continued to pop up endlessly, al revolting and I’m still having flashbacks.

As Mom used to tell me: “KEEP YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT!” She did.

WHEN THE IRS WRITES…

I read!

Since Mom is incapacitated, I have taken over for her as power of attorney, which means that just about everywhere she needs her signature, I can legally sign for her. (As if you didn’t know this.)

All her mail is directed to my home now, and I pay her bills as I get them, I can do all her banking etc, a little more readily having everything come to me.

One day two weeks ago I got a letter from the IRS for Mom.

I had made out her taxes and here is this letter from the friendly folks from the IRS. It said: “Important: please open immediately”

I put the letter down on the desk and just look at it. I wonder what it is they want, I eye it cautiously as if it were a snake. Slowly I lift it up.

I pray: “Dear Lord” No sense in getting Him mad at me from the start.

“I promise to return all loose change when TLW (The Little Woman) sends me out to get a container of milk if this letter isn’t sending me to jail!”

I can’t imagine anything being wrong, but ignorance of the law is no defense.

I shakily open it and begin to read. Once again it is directed to Mom, asking her for the sake of verification of her identity to answer some questions by either a toll free number or the website they offer at the top of the page. It’s a Friday, I have an icebreaker to go to and I decide to put it off until Monday.

All weekend I fret about it, worry I did something stupid and now Mom will pay for it. If they send her to jail, they will have to provide 24/7 care, then I can release the live-in help we hired for her care. It’s starting to look good again in some odd way. I dismiss that thought and on Tuesday since Monday was a holiday, open the letter once more, get out her copy of her tax return and go online.

I think: “there is at least one question I can’t answer, I just know it, and I’ll have to go to their office with Mom’s tax-returns from going back to at least 1936, all of them and the receipts!

The questions are all easy, simple and direct, and I quickly finish them and they in turn say they can now process her returns. (Whew!)

Four days of worry for nothing!

I THINK BETTER WITH MY SHOES ON

If there is one way to describe me it is: ‘a strange character’. This description was first used in 1956 when I asked the question: What did the bald man say when he got a comb for his birthday? Then I answered my own question: “What!!! A lousy comb?” At first Mom laughed a little then reflected on it, mumbling something about the hospital: switching babies and her having this strange sharacter.

Every morning when I get up, I head for my chair with coffee in hand and open up my lap top and proceed to write this blogue, sometimes the topic is clear in my head and most of the time foggy like everything else. I usually have left my shoes on the floor next to my chair where they sit from the night before.

As I open my electronic lap warmer, and stare at the blank page, sometimes I can’t get started, and pause, look around, see my shoes and put them on. Then I start to type, one sentence coming after another, in a rhythmic flow almost. The shoes help me feel at ease.

Years ago when I worked, I kept getting this dream about me getting up from my desk to walk the halls to a meeting, and as I walk, I check my papers and notice I’m not wearing pants! I think this rises from a deep seeded need to wear pants in public. As I walk I pass these offices with people in them, feeling weird and embarrassed that someone will notice, then entering the meeting I walk to my accustomed seat and I wake up from the dream and sure enough, I’m not wearing pants!

If I go out and have slippers on, I can’t go out, won’t drive in sandals and the only place I wear shorts is a store or around the house. Strange I know.

Well, time for another cup of coffee, I think I’ll put on my shoes and get one.

Yes, I wearing pants.

  

HOW HIGH CAN SHE GO?

She's got a way about her
I don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her
She's got a way of pleasin'
I don't know why it is, but there doesn't have to be a reason anyway

She's got a smile that heals me
I don't know why it is, but I have to laugh when she reveals me
And she's got a way of talkin'
Don't know why it is, but it lifts me up when we are walkin' anywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down, inspires me without a sound
She touches me and I get turned around

She's got a way of showin'
How I make her feel and I find the strength to keep on goin'
And she's got a light around her
And everywhere she goes, million dreams of love surround her everywhere

She comes to me when I'm feelin' down, inspires me without a sound
She touches me, I get turned around

She's got a smile that heals me
I don't know why it is, but I have to laugh when she reveals me
And she's got a way about her
I don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her anyway

Songwriters
JOEL, BILLY

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

La Principessa

Every Sunday TLW (The Little Woman) and me try to have ‘Facetime” with la Principessa: Darby Shea, my gorgeous granddaughter. She gurgles, dribbles, drools and can on occasion spit up. God she is so cute!

But while I ooohhh and aaahhh, there is an amazing transformation going on. TLW gets hold of the I-pad and starts to talk to Miss Darby. Now she doesn’t use baby words, or silly names to convey her conversation, no instead something else happens. Her voice goes up three octaves, and can maintain the falsetto throughout the whole time!

Have you ever seen a happier Daddy?

She is not the only one to do that too. Her father does it, and I’m sure I must do it too. Of course Moms and grandmothers should get a free pass on this.

I get first bite of her cheeks!

What is it about adults that we do that kind of thing? Is it because we think babies respond better if you raise the pitch of your voice? Is it supposed to be a kinder voice? I always thought that soft low voices were better for babies to respond to, you don’t startle them and it calms them.

My mother used to talk in a soft low voice to me when I was a teenager, right before the wooden spoon, but never the high octave voice.

My new granddaughter is the image of her grandfather I said to TLW. Never mind, she said: just so long as she’s healthy.

Actually she s the image of her parents, I see both in la Principessa, thank God.

But that voice thing, just sayin’.

IT’S NEVER TO LATE TO SAY HELLO!

As far as 50^th reunions go, it was a smashing success. The food was fabulous, the DJ great, and the celebrants happy. The Sunset Harbour in East Patchogue had done a magnificent job, and my committee was very pleased.

People from the past came alive in my mind once again in their presence, shocking to see who they were under their skins from the pounding of old age, and some never left the looks they owned in high school. As for me, I was finally finding relief from worry: as now the only thing left to do was enjoy the day.

The centerpieces looked great, the hats were all distributed and the drinks were cheap, and I was ready to crash. Being the chair of the committee and having to take the fall if it died, my concern was not to disappoint the committee, who had worked so hard, and who worried like I did.

Of course my buddy Ken Geiger from the old days invited me out to dance to the hysterics of the group as we slide across the dance floor, wondering who was leading!

I tried to visit every table to thank them for coming and making the day a big success, having drawn laughs and one wild applaud for some of my statements in my opening speech to the class and guests.

And so, as I was saying goodbye, I came across one classmate, a nice lady who I didn’t realize was here and stopped, said ‘Hello’, then ‘Goodbye’! It was that kind of day!

ICEBREAKER SHOCKERS

If you don’t know already, an ‘Icebreaker’ is an informal get together before a more formal event, usually a cocktail party of some sort, like a preliminary first event.

50 years is a long time, and in those many years we all change, some for the better and some not so. But looking at the positive side of things is always positive. Redundancy is my forte.

A  gathering of classmates from our high school graduating class, some meeting for the first time in 50 years, was rather an interesting time for me, seeing people in a almost semi-focused view, not sure if it is them or not, you cautiously approach them and ask timidly if they are who they should be. Most of the time I got it right!

George, Mario and Ken, with some drunk who drifted by!

Seeing someone for that first time leaves you with a strange going on in the eye of your mind. First you get over the shock, then the reality sets in that it IS the person and the questions flow, then the memories, and then the good byes, as you drift off to the next semi-stranger.

Being in a large crowded room, packed with tables and chairs, moving about and saying hello to old friends while holding your drink gets to be fun, almost a sport.

My old buddy Ken, never changed

Some people become caricatures of themselves, sporting new accents and behaviors your don’t remember them having, and then you realize it is a product of 50 years of living, 50 years of growing and 50 years of being away from influences that once affected their lives.

Some of us are still in the old neighborhood so to speak, sounding and looking the same, not changing at all, and those are my kind of people because I always knew them. The newer version of people I saw at the icebreaker took me by surprise and I needed to get re-acquainted and used to, which is like finding new friends. (Everything old is new again!)

"SUNSHINE ON MY SHOULDERS"

-->

“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
If I had a day that I could give you, I'd give to you the day just like today.
If I had a song that I could sing for you, I'd sing a song to make you feel this way.”

Everyone should have a little sunshine in their life. Me? Mine is a few thousand miles away in the most beautiful little angel I ever met: La Principessa, Darby Shea Del Broccolo. Being her grandfather and holding this precious child makes me feel that life has some really pleasant events to share and live for. Suddenly I am a new man, engulfed with a love for such a beautiful little creature of God, borne out of love and conceived so the world will be a better place.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
If I had a tale that I could tell you, I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile.
If I had a wish that I could wish for you, I'd make a wish for sunshine for all the while.

Recently I had the privilege to spend some time with La Principessa, and introduce myself to her. She is nothing short of amazing, and the wonderful thing is she has captured this old man’s heart. I can’t stop thinking about her, her sweet smile, her dainty hands and feet, her alertness and curiosity, truly the child of two very smart people. La Principessa and I took walks around the house, as she nearly stood over my shoulder, her head turning this way and that, twisting to the sunlight, looking curiously and happily, as I sung to her a little tune. All her innocence, all her beauty and all her magic, was just for Grandpa, and it is something I will never forget!

“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high. Sunshine almost always:“

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AND A HAPPY BIRTHDAY 

TO A GREAT DAD, GRANDFATHER

AND OVERALL GOOD GUY…

ROGER HYDE!

Roger is the other side of the family equation for La Principessa Darby Shea! A really great Granddad, and father to TLC (The Lovely Courtney), kudos Roger for a beautiful daughter and granddaughter. See you in Disneyland again?

WAIT A MINUTE …

Or more.

It seems that lately all I do is wait. I go to Doctor Strangeglove and I wait 2 hours over my appointment time. The people stroll in or in some cases limp in with knapsacks filled with water and provisions for the long haul. Every appointment, every time, runs late. I once tried to get the first appointment of the day, and he was leaving his office from the night before! The reason he is always behind is he is such a good doctor, and has saved my life once.

My mechanic is another one, and probably makes as much money as the good doctor. Make an appointment two days in advance, and he still calls me to tell me he hasn’t gotten to my car yet! Of course the longer I wait the more expensive I imagine it to be, but the man is an honest mechanic, and has never cheated me in almost 40 years. Maybe he is worth the wait.

Then lately (pardon the pun) there is jetBlew, who made me not only wait interminably, but even added hours onto my flight time, both going and coming! I hate waiting.

Once many years ago, I went to an ophthalmologist who kept me waiting 2 hours! For some reason I was steaming mad and told him off, that my time was just as valuable as his, and that her should respect my time if he expects me to follow his calendar. He meekly apologized and it was then that I realized that he wasn’t the fault: his good abilities made him late he did his job well.

Of course there is always the checkout lines at the supermarket to cheer me up. I might even give up on-line banking for a chance to get annoyed on a teller line.

I guess I have to learn to pick my spots.

BLUER YET STILL

Life is not hard enough. No, we need to suffer as much as we can, and will, so long as we depend on others.

We had just spent most of a week in lovely Burbank California, visiting with La Principessa, the crown jewel of all things Del Bloggolo. After the horrific ride in with jetBlew, whose slogan is: “Late, Later. Cancelled” promised to send me a cancellation notice if the flight was cancelled, and instead told us at the airport and we waited for another flight 6 hours later for another destination, notified us that our return home flight may be cancelled as well.

La Principessa

To our great surprise, as we sat in Burbank (Bob Hope) Airport, the flight was on time! It was leaving at 6:00 pm for what is a 6-hour flight! However…

Because of climatic conditions, we will have to fly to Las Vegas to land and refuel, this is because it is 100 degrees out, the runway is short, and a brewing storm in the NY area has made JFK alert us that we can not land there without enough fuel to be diverted to another airport. This will add another hour and three quarters to the flight! Oh good! Sit in the dark in a silver tube for almost 8 hours, with no food, coffee or anything but stiff legs, active bladders and dumbass male flight attendant hitting into me running up the aisle for some PITA up front as I am dozing off to sleep, being awakened and shocked and never going back to sleep at the same time.

Someone has to pay for this, and who better than my sister, who just happens to be a flight attendant for jetBlew: who’s slogan is: “Late, Later. Cancelled” I’m sure she will lend a sympathetic ear to my misery and atone for it with a nice gift salami or pork chops and no hard feelings!

HOW I WISH

HOW I WISH

The sun sets everyday, and everyday someone leaves this earth.

Sometimes we physically leave, and sometimes we just forget where we are, or worse: who we are.

Somewhere on this earth a child will pass into the hereafter and somewhere else an old person will live out his/her life. One will be met with unbearable and unacceptable tragic acceptance and one: we defer to old age and accept it.

Life in itself is not easy, sometimes we fall and need help to stand once again, and sometimes help, no matter how powerful can ever really raise us.

I visited my mom on her deathbed and showed her pictures of her newly born great granddaughter, and she was happy, asking me questions and smiling. Today she doesn’t remember my visit and wonders when I will come. Soon she will not remember me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4ga_M5Zdn4&feature=kp

The sun will raise everyday, and everyday someone is born, it is the rules of nature, and the things we expect. Life is not for those who mourn but those who are bourn to embrace all that is and all that can be. As William Shakespeare once said:

“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.

Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.

And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

How I wish that all of us could leave this world in dignity, without pain and perhaps with only happy memories, and knowing that that last thing we feel is love, it is the peaceful way to pass into the beyond.

BACK AGAIN!

Returning back to the emergency walk in clinic, my forefinger still raw from slicing it, I am called in once again after the world has gone in first. This time I have TLW (The Little Woman) with me along with #1 Son, since we will have lunch afterwards.

After a few days of walking around with this lump on my finger, I am really looking forward to getting rid of the big bandage and easing into something more comfortable. Besides, I’m tired of looking like I’m about to make a point.

Entering the scene of the stitching, and those needles that still make my hair stand on end, I wait for the nurse to show up finally to remove the bandage. Entering she greets me with a Spanish accent and a sweet smile and begins the process of removing the gauze, cutting with a scissor, as TLW witnesses the production as she did the Grand Canyon, with her eyes closed. http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/search?q=Grand+Canyon

I flip TLW an occasional finger, not the bird, but the forefinger to try to remind her that she missed the Grand Canyon. She looks the other way and squeezes her eyes tightly shut.

As the nurse goes to take off the last layer of thin gauze, it is rock solid and can’t take it off without ripping the scabs ad causing more bleeding. We will have to soak it! This means another hour of pointless waiting with my finger stuck in the air. Sometimes I wish it were my middle finger the way I am feeling.

Once again the nurse returns, now I am getting hungry, antsy and annoyed. She surveys the situation and announces we have to soak some more! Another twenty minutes goes by and finally, I force off the gauze and she slides it off. This has been the visit Hell. If it weren’t for La Principessa (Darby Shea my granddaughter) who happens to be at Mommy and Me with TLC (The Lovely Courtney) this trip has been murder, cancelled flights, long waits in the airport and walk in clinics and of course a lesson in slicing and dicing.

What else could go wrong?

TOMORROW: WHAT AGAIN?