There was once a rather creative, clever lady who made Christmas stockings. The stockings were felt applique completely embroidered, beaded, sequined. Each stocking was personalized in gold. They were absolutely beautiful. She made these incredible stockings for her family, for friends' children when they married and their children. Her closest friends and their children, grandchildren ALL had them. One day, her daughter (who had one of the original creations, of course) married. The lady made the most beautiful "Father Christmas" creation! Her new son-in-law and his family were extremely impressed to be sure! For six years, his stocking glowed as it hung next to her daughter's. With the addition of three stockings (children) the mantle in their home glistened with the twinkling of the sequins and beads on their stockings. After six years, the young parents divorced. Mom and the children took the family's Christmas stockings during the move.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was a rather affluent Doctor who had heard about the beautiful handiwork of the family's Christmas stockings. For his son, the lady made an adorable stocking. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the original four letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's six letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his family, patients and friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! Unfortunate circumstances took the Doctor from the little family.
Two years later, the "stocking lady's" daughter remarried. The gentleman was the financial adviser to the doctor. On their first Christmas, he had mentioned that he had heard, but not seen, stories about the beautiful Christmas stockings that the family had. With a little action of a seam ripper, careful manipulation, extra gold thread, the second six letter name on the Father Christmas stocking became the latest spouse and step-dad's four letter totally different name. He was thrilled when he saw the stocking! He was so flattered that she made him his own, gorgeous piece of art! With pride, he bragged about the stocking to his clients, friends. He felt accepted, loved because of the time and thought that went into the creation! The lady's daughter and granddaughter winked and giggled.
Many families have treasured heirlooms, traditions that dance through the years, especially during the Christmas season! We have priceless trinkets, ornaments. We share precious memories, Stocking is worth a mention, a smile, a knowing nod and binds this family. Possibly the third marriage is the charm. However, the lady never leaves home without her seam ripper. The creativity and ability to manipulate with an unending supply of gold thread, can be manifested in any number of names, with any number of letters. The lady, the daughter, the grandchildren know and share the Secret of The Perpetual Christmas Stocking.
Laura Macy Author & Actress
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
FREEZE THAT MOMENT IN TIME
Have you ever been mid-experience and thought, "Wow! I like it here. I feel so good! I don't want this moment to end...ever!" If you are honest with yourself, you might say, "Yeah, I know that feeling! I remember when..." Not to live in the past, of course, recalling contentment, elation, joy of particular "moments in time" can be therapeutic without spending $10,000 an hour for a therapist or the fee to rent a U-Haul for medication when basic discontentment, unhappiness, insecurity, fear set in. We all experience those disappointing feelings. Reaching for that moment in time sooths the burn. Relish that "ahhhhhhhhhhhh" and "yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" to retain the rush when life gets tangled and sticky.
When I was about twelve, or so, I distinctly remember standing at the edge of a swimming pool, built into the vast yard of a relative. Two of three cousins had been in the water with me. The oldest sibling was sitting on a lounge talking with my mother about everything and nothing. It was a beautiful, early summer day. Our families were going to barbecue. Music and laughter surrounded us. I was content, happy and as I looked to the sky, I thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
As an adult, I remember one and only one day that I had nothing that I really HAD to do. Steve and I had just returned from a Honeymoon in Aruba. He was at his New York office while Butterscotch, my cat, and I were home in a beautiful apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. We had breakfast on the terrace on a bright, sunny May morning as we watched the river roll by. Of course, I always read, embroidered, but I didn't HAVE to produce a thing that afternoon. I was content, happy and thought, " This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
One Christmas night, I drove my Grandparents home after a day of family, gifts, feasting. As my Grandmother and I embraced to say goodnight, she filled my senses. I was safe, warm, loved. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I lurked in the hospital one evening. My Grandmother had one too many heart attacks. Where did that moment go between life and death? I wanted her last moment to last forever. I wanted to pull and pull her to stay on my side of that sliver of time. Freeze that moment! Don't move that moment in time from me! Stay Nana, stay! I was distraught, frantic, as she slipped from my grasp. I was upset, alone, sad and thought, "This is the worst day ever! Give me back that moment!"
As Steve and I sat at a Tiki Bar at the Engleside on the beach in Beach Haven on a perfect Saturday afternoon, we watched the ocean roll in and tease us. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I stood with Todd, Tess and Tanner and looked to the sky on Independence Day. As we watched with our arms around each other and oooooed and ahhhhed at the bright splashes in the sky, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
After kissing and hugging my Grandchildren - Todd, Tess, Tanner before they boarded the school bus, watching them wave from the windows. Walking back toward the house with my daughter - she in a robe and cowboy boots and me in my leopard jammies, pink slippers and winter coat, laughing and planning our shared day, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
Think, just think. Have you ever felt the moment so intensely that you want to freeze that moment in time? Sometimes, I want to live in those moments forever - to remain frozen in the peace, in the love of the experience. When I transport my heart to those Moments in Time, I tingle with the joy that I had. I burst with gratitude to God that I had those moments and occasionally demand to know why I couldn't have stayed in their shelter! Therapy isn't in the budget and there is no room in the garage for a massive U-Haul truck of meds. So, I reflect, share.
If you have had those moments, cherish them, although we can never really remain frozen in those Moments of Time!
When I was about twelve, or so, I distinctly remember standing at the edge of a swimming pool, built into the vast yard of a relative. Two of three cousins had been in the water with me. The oldest sibling was sitting on a lounge talking with my mother about everything and nothing. It was a beautiful, early summer day. Our families were going to barbecue. Music and laughter surrounded us. I was content, happy and as I looked to the sky, I thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
As an adult, I remember one and only one day that I had nothing that I really HAD to do. Steve and I had just returned from a Honeymoon in Aruba. He was at his New York office while Butterscotch, my cat, and I were home in a beautiful apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. We had breakfast on the terrace on a bright, sunny May morning as we watched the river roll by. Of course, I always read, embroidered, but I didn't HAVE to produce a thing that afternoon. I was content, happy and thought, " This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
One Christmas night, I drove my Grandparents home after a day of family, gifts, feasting. As my Grandmother and I embraced to say goodnight, she filled my senses. I was safe, warm, loved. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I lurked in the hospital one evening. My Grandmother had one too many heart attacks. Where did that moment go between life and death? I wanted her last moment to last forever. I wanted to pull and pull her to stay on my side of that sliver of time. Freeze that moment! Don't move that moment in time from me! Stay Nana, stay! I was distraught, frantic, as she slipped from my grasp. I was upset, alone, sad and thought, "This is the worst day ever! Give me back that moment!"
As Steve and I sat at a Tiki Bar at the Engleside on the beach in Beach Haven on a perfect Saturday afternoon, we watched the ocean roll in and tease us. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I stood with Todd, Tess and Tanner and looked to the sky on Independence Day. As we watched with our arms around each other and oooooed and ahhhhed at the bright splashes in the sky, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
After kissing and hugging my Grandchildren - Todd, Tess, Tanner before they boarded the school bus, watching them wave from the windows. Walking back toward the house with my daughter - she in a robe and cowboy boots and me in my leopard jammies, pink slippers and winter coat, laughing and planning our shared day, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
Think, just think. Have you ever felt the moment so intensely that you want to freeze that moment in time? Sometimes, I want to live in those moments forever - to remain frozen in the peace, in the love of the experience. When I transport my heart to those Moments in Time, I tingle with the joy that I had. I burst with gratitude to God that I had those moments and occasionally demand to know why I couldn't have stayed in their shelter! Therapy isn't in the budget and there is no room in the garage for a massive U-Haul truck of meds. So, I reflect, share.
If you have had those moments, cherish them, although we can never really remain frozen in those Moments of Time!
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
I'VE GOT THE POWER!!!
!I am a diversified, interesting individual if nothing else. I am creative to the max. I have recently returned from Boot Camp. I know, I know, I hated Physical Educational in school and had 1,000,000 reasons not to go to gym class (unless I was baton twirling during football season, or in the Girls' Athletic Association Show, primarily dancing.) By Boot Camp I mean that I attended the AWAI (American Writers and Artists Institute) four day intensive writing conference. I am a member of the AWAI and while I am distributing my resume, I am a member of the Professional Writers Alliance. In other words, I am a "word smith."
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
FASHIONISTA
I love clothes! I have always been known for vast wardrobes with coordinating accessories. I can be classic, cocktail dressy, special occasion dressy, casual, upscale casual, affluent snob, weekend play, black tie formal, ball formal and even as Darla Darling, The Domestic Diva, I can do all of that in polka dots.
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
Monday, September 24, 2012
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
As an author, trying to promote my book and myself, I am so happy and grateful that You read my Facebook, "Laura Macy, Author" page. I am so excited that you read my Blogs and Tweets! I celebrate all of you, friends and foes who "track" me!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
BABYSITTING A LA ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL
Four weeks ago, my daughter and my three grandchildren moved a considerable distance from me. I had seen the trio and their Mom every day. I followed my daughter to Ohio, at her request, witnessed the birth of all three children, saw them or cared for them every day since the oldest (nine) was born. With the move, I most certainly should have been admitted into a cushy institution to detox and survive the withdrawal disability suffered. The children have spent two of the four weekends with me since they left. They phone once or twice a day to say "Hi!". My distress is easing. Now, I only need a support group and regular "meetings" to keep the caretaker addiction at bay.
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Hi! HOW ARE YOU (OR STRANGER NO MORE!)
I lived in the same town for at least forty years before moving to Ohio (another story, blame Tiffany). My family is one of the original, founding families of our Parish. I went to school, went to church in the same school and church that my children, my sister, my niece and nephew all attended. The State University, from which I graduated, is also in Wayne, New Jersey. I returned to the High School to teach Art for a while!
Over the years, as you can imagine, everyone knows/knew everyone. When starving for company or information, to flaunt a new outfit or hair-do, to see and be seen, everybody who was anyone and all of the somebody want to be's found their way to the "A & P Shopping Center" on the corner of Valley Road and Preakness Avenue. For instance, the owner of the Liquor Store knew how my seasonal wreath business was going because I would send my Father to the Hardware Store to ship form that establishment. The Pharmacist knew that I was on the way to the hospital to have Tiffany before our Parish Priest, because, Steve told the clerk in the A & P when he ran in for a pack of cigarettes while I waited in the car uncomfortably. The owner of the Barber Shop could advise troubled marriages and the Shoemaker was an expert on raising children (also, his prices were better if one brought him a cup of black coffee on hangover mornings with their ailing shoes). The Sweet Shoppe was info central for all generations. The founding fathers of Wayne and the local politicians had a table in the back where they congregated every morning. High School students who were not supposed to be "out" for lunch could depend on the waitress, Joyce, not to "rat" them out when the Principal would occasionally (rare) stroll across Valley Road to "check". When in doubt, you could always find company for a cup of coffee in Dunkin' Donuts. What you didn't learn from the aisles in the A & P, you heard there! The Post Office regulars only had to enter the government establishment and they were informed as to whether they should even bother with their mail that day or not. The hair salon may have used "spoolies", but the older citizens flocked there. At the Fun and Fashion Boutique, the proprietor knew my taste and weaknesses. It would take a split second for me to walk out of there with arms loaded with overflowing shopping bags. By the time the items were in the car, my mother would be waiting for me in my driveway to see my purchases because at least five friends had seen me! I taught the Florist's daughter how to twirl a baton when I coached the PAL Twirlers. The Realtor's son went to school with me and taught my son Karate. I taught many of Wayne's Catholic children their prayers as a teacher in the Religious Ed. program. Eventually, even my son taught the Junior High School Age of Religious Ed. students. Former students would help me load groceries into my car and help me get my children situated after shopping. One of them was from a family who was not only active in our Parish, but was a former Art student of mine. His family owned/owns Valley Amusements (carnival rides and attractions). I ran into the clan and their wares at the Ohio State Fair one year, by the way. There was never a "quick trip" to the , shall we say, Town Square. Allow, perhaps thirty minutes for actual business and at least an hour meeting, greeting, chatting, confiding, sympathizing and solving. When I go home to visit, if we drive, we stop at the shopping center on the way to my Parents' house. By the time I get home, my Mother already knows what I am wearing. If I fly into Newark Airport, the designated "pick up Laura" person cruises through the A & P parking lot, "just in case". It has been said that Wayne is the biggest small town in the world.
AND SO
For the past ten years, I have lived in Ohio. I have considered myself "the new kid on the block" and a "stranger in a strange land". Unless the trio is with me (Todd, Tess, Tanner...many other stories), I basically move around in my own bubble of anonymity. Without them, I have shopped alone, worshipped alone, found my way to salons, spas...alone. Of course, through the Church, Patriotic organizations and the TV Studio, I am not totally isolated. There are social affairs, interactions and the like. However, but for the most part, I feel invisible, quiet. (Okay, over the top?) How quiet can one feel with 8,7,5 year olds around 24/7?
AND THEN
Last week, I had an appointment with Dr. Thuney for some routine blood work. As I entered the office, there sat Dennis. "Hey! Kiddo, what are ya doin' here?" I was shocked. I ran into someone who knew me and I him! We sat and made medical small talk until I was asked to go with a nurse.
From the Doctor's office, I went to daily Mass at noon. After Mass, a woman approached me and said, "Laura! How is Todd's tennis game? I'll bet Tanner is getting so big! Is Tess still dancing?" Kim used to be the baby sitter at the Tennis Club! We had a fifteen minute catch-up chat fest!
From the Church, I ran into the Library to pick up/drop off books. A resident at my apartment complex recognized me! He asked about my bulldozer (yet another story...Villager, you know it) and what I was reading!
I had to make a stop at the Post Office. As I was leaving, there, in line stood Helga! We talked about her son's wedding, her new great-grandchild and one on the way! She was on her way to visit another granddaughter for a birthday! And so the conversation went until someone approached the line. Rick said, "Hey Laura! Hey Helga! What are ya'll don' here? Judy sent me to..." Oh, my gosh! I was conversing with "friends" that I just happened to see at random,! Wow!
As I left the Post Office, a friend phoned. "Hey, kid, what are you doing? Brit (his granddaughter) is visiting from Florida and I thought that you could meet us at Friendly's." With wings on my jalopy, I flew to Friendly's - right down the street. After I slid into the booth, our waitress, Ginger said, "Hi there! I haven't seen you at the Post (VFW) forever! What have you been up to? How is your daughter?"
As I entered my home, after a full, social day, I was elated! The phone rang. It was Suzanne. "You know that Jim and I are getting married in October. Can I count on you to..."
I am not "the new kid on the block" anymore. I am not a "stranger in a strange land" anymore. I see and am seen. I meet and greet everywhere I turn suddenly!
I just can't wait until September when I am going home again to tell everyone at the A & P Shopping Center!
Over the years, as you can imagine, everyone knows/knew everyone. When starving for company or information, to flaunt a new outfit or hair-do, to see and be seen, everybody who was anyone and all of the somebody want to be's found their way to the "A & P Shopping Center" on the corner of Valley Road and Preakness Avenue. For instance, the owner of the Liquor Store knew how my seasonal wreath business was going because I would send my Father to the Hardware Store to ship form that establishment. The Pharmacist knew that I was on the way to the hospital to have Tiffany before our Parish Priest, because, Steve told the clerk in the A & P when he ran in for a pack of cigarettes while I waited in the car uncomfortably. The owner of the Barber Shop could advise troubled marriages and the Shoemaker was an expert on raising children (also, his prices were better if one brought him a cup of black coffee on hangover mornings with their ailing shoes). The Sweet Shoppe was info central for all generations. The founding fathers of Wayne and the local politicians had a table in the back where they congregated every morning. High School students who were not supposed to be "out" for lunch could depend on the waitress, Joyce, not to "rat" them out when the Principal would occasionally (rare) stroll across Valley Road to "check". When in doubt, you could always find company for a cup of coffee in Dunkin' Donuts. What you didn't learn from the aisles in the A & P, you heard there! The Post Office regulars only had to enter the government establishment and they were informed as to whether they should even bother with their mail that day or not. The hair salon may have used "spoolies", but the older citizens flocked there. At the Fun and Fashion Boutique, the proprietor knew my taste and weaknesses. It would take a split second for me to walk out of there with arms loaded with overflowing shopping bags. By the time the items were in the car, my mother would be waiting for me in my driveway to see my purchases because at least five friends had seen me! I taught the Florist's daughter how to twirl a baton when I coached the PAL Twirlers. The Realtor's son went to school with me and taught my son Karate. I taught many of Wayne's Catholic children their prayers as a teacher in the Religious Ed. program. Eventually, even my son taught the Junior High School Age of Religious Ed. students. Former students would help me load groceries into my car and help me get my children situated after shopping. One of them was from a family who was not only active in our Parish, but was a former Art student of mine. His family owned/owns Valley Amusements (carnival rides and attractions). I ran into the clan and their wares at the Ohio State Fair one year, by the way. There was never a "quick trip" to the , shall we say, Town Square. Allow, perhaps thirty minutes for actual business and at least an hour meeting, greeting, chatting, confiding, sympathizing and solving. When I go home to visit, if we drive, we stop at the shopping center on the way to my Parents' house. By the time I get home, my Mother already knows what I am wearing. If I fly into Newark Airport, the designated "pick up Laura" person cruises through the A & P parking lot, "just in case". It has been said that Wayne is the biggest small town in the world.
AND SO
For the past ten years, I have lived in Ohio. I have considered myself "the new kid on the block" and a "stranger in a strange land". Unless the trio is with me (Todd, Tess, Tanner...many other stories), I basically move around in my own bubble of anonymity. Without them, I have shopped alone, worshipped alone, found my way to salons, spas...alone. Of course, through the Church, Patriotic organizations and the TV Studio, I am not totally isolated. There are social affairs, interactions and the like. However, but for the most part, I feel invisible, quiet. (Okay, over the top?) How quiet can one feel with 8,7,5 year olds around 24/7?
AND THEN
Last week, I had an appointment with Dr. Thuney for some routine blood work. As I entered the office, there sat Dennis. "Hey! Kiddo, what are ya doin' here?" I was shocked. I ran into someone who knew me and I him! We sat and made medical small talk until I was asked to go with a nurse.
From the Doctor's office, I went to daily Mass at noon. After Mass, a woman approached me and said, "Laura! How is Todd's tennis game? I'll bet Tanner is getting so big! Is Tess still dancing?" Kim used to be the baby sitter at the Tennis Club! We had a fifteen minute catch-up chat fest!
From the Church, I ran into the Library to pick up/drop off books. A resident at my apartment complex recognized me! He asked about my bulldozer (yet another story...Villager, you know it) and what I was reading!
I had to make a stop at the Post Office. As I was leaving, there, in line stood Helga! We talked about her son's wedding, her new great-grandchild and one on the way! She was on her way to visit another granddaughter for a birthday! And so the conversation went until someone approached the line. Rick said, "Hey Laura! Hey Helga! What are ya'll don' here? Judy sent me to..." Oh, my gosh! I was conversing with "friends" that I just happened to see at random,! Wow!
As I left the Post Office, a friend phoned. "Hey, kid, what are you doing? Brit (his granddaughter) is visiting from Florida and I thought that you could meet us at Friendly's." With wings on my jalopy, I flew to Friendly's - right down the street. After I slid into the booth, our waitress, Ginger said, "Hi there! I haven't seen you at the Post (VFW) forever! What have you been up to? How is your daughter?"
As I entered my home, after a full, social day, I was elated! The phone rang. It was Suzanne. "You know that Jim and I are getting married in October. Can I count on you to..."
I am not "the new kid on the block" anymore. I am not a "stranger in a strange land" anymore. I see and am seen. I meet and greet everywhere I turn suddenly!
I just can't wait until September when I am going home again to tell everyone at the A & P Shopping Center!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
BORN TO BE WILD...(Not so much)
I was checking out my nifty computer earlier today. I checked e-mails, Face book, horoscopes, library lists, map quest, the Ohio State Fair. Nothing was extraordinary, really. I tweeted,I posted, I chatted, I Linked-In. I responded to funnies, nasty-grams. I wept when I brought up my banking screen. Ah, business as usual. And then...two invitations struck me...right in my Cyber-Space.
"Poker Run on Saturday. Breakfast at Am Vets at 10. Ride for Disabled Veterans, dinner and music, dancing at post afterwards. Come join the fun!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 1,000,000 MILES ON A BIKE? I LOVE VETERANS, BUT, CAN I EAT AND WALK?
AND
"Ride for the best Bologna Sandwiches in Ohio...meet behind Dot's Market. 100 miles...Worth it!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 100 MILES FOR A SANDWICH ON THE BACK OF A 'BIKE"? OUCH!!!
God love my friend! Let me back up...
One lonely evening, about three, maybe four years ago, I was sitting in our local Am Vets establishment. I had been making jokes, riddles and funny stories with a friend, who happened to be a "Rider". (He portrayed Darla Darling's (ME) motorcycle riding husband. In one episode, I did take a short ride on the back of the bike with a plant...don't ask). Those are the Veterans with time and buckets of cash to ride Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. Am Vets has "Riders" I am a member of the Auxiliary, by the way, but that is so not what I am writing about! Scot's friend, "Rags" walked in. I froze! I mean that fear overcame me! There stood a 6'3" leather clad, lean, imposing man! Black boots, black leather everything except for his rugged features! Tall, silent, strong. The weenie in me trembled as what was left of my arms and legs melted like warm Jell-O. He sort of glanced my way. The smarty pants, quick mouthed, fast wit ME was struck dumb! We all left at about the same time. Scot a.k.a. "Shooter" and "Rags" left at about the same time that I did. There in the parking lot, not far from my little white car stood two huge Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. EEEEEKS.
Fast forward, time passed. About two years ago, I went to a fund raiser "Hair For Kids" at Am Vets. The trio had participated in a bowling afternoon to contribute funds for wigs for Children Cancer Patients. After raffles, dinner, the children went home with my daughter. "Rags" was there! He had on a designer shirt, nice pants, real shoes! No bandanna, but smart hair cut! Rugged, handsome. Hmmmmm. He was speaking with other "Riders" about real subjects. He conversed about theatre, a CLIO Award, his career, etc. Then the music started! This man could dance!!!! I mean, I hadn't met a dancer like him since my Cousin John and Billy (dance contest partner...mentioned a number of blogs ago). So, he asked me to dance! Oh, but yes!!!! That man could move and never stop! I asked him where he learned to dance like he did (picturing stomping in biker boots). I learned that with about 1,000,000 older sisters, at least that many Bar Mitzvahs, he hadn't a choice but to learn to dance and to learn well!
He had made a comment that if he knew that I needed television cameras to get on a "Bike", he would have signed up for DARLA, years ago! So, we arranged to "go riding" on the following Tuesday. I had taken a spin with "Dan Darling" when we took "La Petite" (our plant) for a ride (comedy show, don't ask). So, this may not be a bad "thing". I stressed about what to wear. Suzanne ( a go-to sort who knows many things and is helpful friend) and I came up with an outfit. I was ready on time (miraculously). We rode gently to what I thought was a rustic, quaint restaurant. (It turns out that it was a Biker Bar...who knew?). The spring and summer were passing! I was invited to participate in a Poker Run (I told Mom that it was a fundraiser for Veterans like a progressive dinner...not on the back of a motorcycle). We rode on motorcycles in a group to various VFW and AMVET posts, wound up miles and miles later with sore bums and starving for dinner. I was told that I was a "natural". It was easy to have me on the back of a "Bike" and so it went.
I was no longer afraid of "Rags", but, I still had a lot of respect for two wheels and a motor on real roads. Okay, I was a little frightened. Scratch that...I was scared, but I could hold on like no body's business! I wore out two sets of Rosary Beads at about that time, as well.
AND THEN
"Hey, Laura! Do you want to see the moving Vietnam Wall? It will be in Sydney this weekend!" Now kids, get this...Sydney is at least a 1 1/2 hour ride by highway. I specifically wouldn't/won't ride a motorcycle on a highway...so, how far? " We'll (Riders & all Vietnam Veterans), have breakfast, ride up, see the wall, spend the day, have dinner later..." Note to self; NEVER, EVER respond as I did again: "Oh, sure! I'll go to early Mass and quickly change before breakfast! Sounds great!" NOT!
That morning, I went to Mass. I hustled to secure my hair, put on a new Biker get up (he used to own a biker store in Florida after winning CLIO, etc), smartly rode about four inches on the Harley for breakfast with the Riders. Ah-ha. Official "road captains" led the formation to the Wall...well, actually, we rode back roads for an hour or so. We rode, attentive to "captains". We rode, backtracked, rode, circled, detoured and after two hours, were officially lost! After stopping at a tiny country store, we learned that we were really lost! Beyond lost...I mean LOST! The only remedy...Interstate Highway 75 North! A highway!!!!! Oh no! Oh no, no,no!!!
We climbed on the Motorcycles. The "Riders" revved their engines. One by one, the Bikes took off. Rags glanced over his shoulder..."I'm sorry kid! You'll be fine. Hold on. Ready?" Off we went! I proceeded to hold on so tightly around his body that I am surprised that he didn't suffer cracked ribs. I am surprised that he could breathe at all. For twenty minutes, we drove up the highway. For twenty minutes, I held on so tightly that my arms were numb! I choked back tears. I prayed as if the local Monastery needed Religious Education.
We arrived at the field of the Wall. One by one, the Riders parked their bikes in a perfect line. Reverently, the Riders removed their bandannas. Silently, they processed to the Wall. Citizens began thanking the men for their service. A murmur could be heard telling stories of loved ones. Rags was swept up in the moment, the emotions, the loss, a different time and place. The men practically held hands as they approached the Wall.
Rather shakily they processed. Rather shakily, I, after I dismounted from the Harley, took a breath. Rather shakily, I took in my surroundings. I broke into a run, found a remote tree...I cried and deposited my breakfast, my dinner from the evening before, and I believe that I was there for so long, I deposited the first Zwieback teething cookie that I ever gummed!
I was bundled and returned via backroads to civilization. We are tremendous friends and he has saved me from myself countless times. However, when he does...we use his truck. Four wheels, seats with backs. Air conditioning. Seat belts. A rugged, cool man knows that I have to ride in a Weenie-mobile...well, at least my seat.
Face it...I was just not BORN TO BE WILD.
"Poker Run on Saturday. Breakfast at Am Vets at 10. Ride for Disabled Veterans, dinner and music, dancing at post afterwards. Come join the fun!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 1,000,000 MILES ON A BIKE? I LOVE VETERANS, BUT, CAN I EAT AND WALK?
AND
"Ride for the best Bologna Sandwiches in Ohio...meet behind Dot's Market. 100 miles...Worth it!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 100 MILES FOR A SANDWICH ON THE BACK OF A 'BIKE"? OUCH!!!
God love my friend! Let me back up...
One lonely evening, about three, maybe four years ago, I was sitting in our local Am Vets establishment. I had been making jokes, riddles and funny stories with a friend, who happened to be a "Rider". (He portrayed Darla Darling's (ME) motorcycle riding husband. In one episode, I did take a short ride on the back of the bike with a plant...don't ask). Those are the Veterans with time and buckets of cash to ride Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. Am Vets has "Riders" I am a member of the Auxiliary, by the way, but that is so not what I am writing about! Scot's friend, "Rags" walked in. I froze! I mean that fear overcame me! There stood a 6'3" leather clad, lean, imposing man! Black boots, black leather everything except for his rugged features! Tall, silent, strong. The weenie in me trembled as what was left of my arms and legs melted like warm Jell-O. He sort of glanced my way. The smarty pants, quick mouthed, fast wit ME was struck dumb! We all left at about the same time. Scot a.k.a. "Shooter" and "Rags" left at about the same time that I did. There in the parking lot, not far from my little white car stood two huge Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. EEEEEKS.
Fast forward, time passed. About two years ago, I went to a fund raiser "Hair For Kids" at Am Vets. The trio had participated in a bowling afternoon to contribute funds for wigs for Children Cancer Patients. After raffles, dinner, the children went home with my daughter. "Rags" was there! He had on a designer shirt, nice pants, real shoes! No bandanna, but smart hair cut! Rugged, handsome. Hmmmmm. He was speaking with other "Riders" about real subjects. He conversed about theatre, a CLIO Award, his career, etc. Then the music started! This man could dance!!!! I mean, I hadn't met a dancer like him since my Cousin John and Billy (dance contest partner...mentioned a number of blogs ago). So, he asked me to dance! Oh, but yes!!!! That man could move and never stop! I asked him where he learned to dance like he did (picturing stomping in biker boots). I learned that with about 1,000,000 older sisters, at least that many Bar Mitzvahs, he hadn't a choice but to learn to dance and to learn well!
He had made a comment that if he knew that I needed television cameras to get on a "Bike", he would have signed up for DARLA, years ago! So, we arranged to "go riding" on the following Tuesday. I had taken a spin with "Dan Darling" when we took "La Petite" (our plant) for a ride (comedy show, don't ask). So, this may not be a bad "thing". I stressed about what to wear. Suzanne ( a go-to sort who knows many things and is helpful friend) and I came up with an outfit. I was ready on time (miraculously). We rode gently to what I thought was a rustic, quaint restaurant. (It turns out that it was a Biker Bar...who knew?). The spring and summer were passing! I was invited to participate in a Poker Run (I told Mom that it was a fundraiser for Veterans like a progressive dinner...not on the back of a motorcycle). We rode on motorcycles in a group to various VFW and AMVET posts, wound up miles and miles later with sore bums and starving for dinner. I was told that I was a "natural". It was easy to have me on the back of a "Bike" and so it went.
I was no longer afraid of "Rags", but, I still had a lot of respect for two wheels and a motor on real roads. Okay, I was a little frightened. Scratch that...I was scared, but I could hold on like no body's business! I wore out two sets of Rosary Beads at about that time, as well.
AND THEN
"Hey, Laura! Do you want to see the moving Vietnam Wall? It will be in Sydney this weekend!" Now kids, get this...Sydney is at least a 1 1/2 hour ride by highway. I specifically wouldn't/won't ride a motorcycle on a highway...so, how far? " We'll (Riders & all Vietnam Veterans), have breakfast, ride up, see the wall, spend the day, have dinner later..." Note to self; NEVER, EVER respond as I did again: "Oh, sure! I'll go to early Mass and quickly change before breakfast! Sounds great!" NOT!
That morning, I went to Mass. I hustled to secure my hair, put on a new Biker get up (he used to own a biker store in Florida after winning CLIO, etc), smartly rode about four inches on the Harley for breakfast with the Riders. Ah-ha. Official "road captains" led the formation to the Wall...well, actually, we rode back roads for an hour or so. We rode, attentive to "captains". We rode, backtracked, rode, circled, detoured and after two hours, were officially lost! After stopping at a tiny country store, we learned that we were really lost! Beyond lost...I mean LOST! The only remedy...Interstate Highway 75 North! A highway!!!!! Oh no! Oh no, no,no!!!
We climbed on the Motorcycles. The "Riders" revved their engines. One by one, the Bikes took off. Rags glanced over his shoulder..."I'm sorry kid! You'll be fine. Hold on. Ready?" Off we went! I proceeded to hold on so tightly around his body that I am surprised that he didn't suffer cracked ribs. I am surprised that he could breathe at all. For twenty minutes, we drove up the highway. For twenty minutes, I held on so tightly that my arms were numb! I choked back tears. I prayed as if the local Monastery needed Religious Education.
We arrived at the field of the Wall. One by one, the Riders parked their bikes in a perfect line. Reverently, the Riders removed their bandannas. Silently, they processed to the Wall. Citizens began thanking the men for their service. A murmur could be heard telling stories of loved ones. Rags was swept up in the moment, the emotions, the loss, a different time and place. The men practically held hands as they approached the Wall.
Rather shakily they processed. Rather shakily, I, after I dismounted from the Harley, took a breath. Rather shakily, I took in my surroundings. I broke into a run, found a remote tree...I cried and deposited my breakfast, my dinner from the evening before, and I believe that I was there for so long, I deposited the first Zwieback teething cookie that I ever gummed!
I was bundled and returned via backroads to civilization. We are tremendous friends and he has saved me from myself countless times. However, when he does...we use his truck. Four wheels, seats with backs. Air conditioning. Seat belts. A rugged, cool man knows that I have to ride in a Weenie-mobile...well, at least my seat.
Face it...I was just not BORN TO BE WILD.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
AHOY! SWASHBUCKLING FUN! PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE!
Whew! What an evening! On the last evening that the trio, Tiff and I were in Orlando, Florida, we took the children to live the Pirate's Life! Really! This was done at THE PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE. The brochure advertising this extravaganza makes two claims: 1."Voted Best Dinner Show Theatre 2010" and 2."If there were an academy award for dinner shows, Pirate's Dinner Adventure would win an Oscar for set design." Both of these claims are modest and understated! Both of these claims are TRUE, TRUE, TRUE!
An evening at the Pirate's Dinner Adventure is amazing! We, as we dined on a generous, tasty meal, saw swordplay, aerial artistry and acrobatics that were dazzling! The stage was a pirate ship. Water surrounded the "ship". The special effects of a sea battle, effects of a storm at sea, pyrotechnics, fantastic rigging were so impressive that one could only ooooooo and ahhhhhhhh for the entire show! There was a traditional intricate story of good vs. evil, romance, family conflict, a Princess, a Pirate Captain, Gypsy captive, treasure, reference to Davy Jones' Locker, ruthless and lovable pirates. The show was interactive. We sat in the "Purple" Pirate's section of the theatre. (There were six color sections, much like Medieval Times). We cheered our pirate, we drank (unsweetened iced tea and diet cola) and sang with our mugs aloft joining in the bawdy drinking song! Children were selected to assist the pirates in their conflicts. Artistry, humor, agility were evident throughout the evening! The audience began to sing along to traditional pirate songs that we all learned in our youth, here and there.
There was no end to the action; no end to the music, causing the audience to become more and more involved in the spectacle before it! The servers (giving excellent service) maintained "character" as pirates enhancing the all- enveloping atmosphere.
Tess and Tanner wore pirate costumes for the evening. Todd wore a Pirate Shirt. After the performance, the Purple Pirate, our pirate, complimented Tanner's jacket and asked Tanner to remain in one particular spot, outside of the dressing room door. The Pirate emerged from his "space" with an autograph for Tanner and Pirate Hats for all three children. An extremely gracious pirate, he was. He took the time to acknowledge the children during his break between performances!
So, readers, if you should venture to Orlando, if you do nothing else for an entertaining dinner, please, please, attend the PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE on Carrier Drive! You will be impressed, well-fed and soooooooooo entertained! Go with a sense of humor, listen closely and watch ever closer than that for a rollicking, fun, incredible evening. You will not be disappointed nor sorry. The only crime would be not attending at all! So swash those buckles and permission to board...THE PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE will fill you with grub and good cheer!
An evening at the Pirate's Dinner Adventure is amazing! We, as we dined on a generous, tasty meal, saw swordplay, aerial artistry and acrobatics that were dazzling! The stage was a pirate ship. Water surrounded the "ship". The special effects of a sea battle, effects of a storm at sea, pyrotechnics, fantastic rigging were so impressive that one could only ooooooo and ahhhhhhhh for the entire show! There was a traditional intricate story of good vs. evil, romance, family conflict, a Princess, a Pirate Captain, Gypsy captive, treasure, reference to Davy Jones' Locker, ruthless and lovable pirates. The show was interactive. We sat in the "Purple" Pirate's section of the theatre. (There were six color sections, much like Medieval Times). We cheered our pirate, we drank (unsweetened iced tea and diet cola) and sang with our mugs aloft joining in the bawdy drinking song! Children were selected to assist the pirates in their conflicts. Artistry, humor, agility were evident throughout the evening! The audience began to sing along to traditional pirate songs that we all learned in our youth, here and there.
There was no end to the action; no end to the music, causing the audience to become more and more involved in the spectacle before it! The servers (giving excellent service) maintained "character" as pirates enhancing the all- enveloping atmosphere.
Tess and Tanner wore pirate costumes for the evening. Todd wore a Pirate Shirt. After the performance, the Purple Pirate, our pirate, complimented Tanner's jacket and asked Tanner to remain in one particular spot, outside of the dressing room door. The Pirate emerged from his "space" with an autograph for Tanner and Pirate Hats for all three children. An extremely gracious pirate, he was. He took the time to acknowledge the children during his break between performances!
So, readers, if you should venture to Orlando, if you do nothing else for an entertaining dinner, please, please, attend the PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE on Carrier Drive! You will be impressed, well-fed and soooooooooo entertained! Go with a sense of humor, listen closely and watch ever closer than that for a rollicking, fun, incredible evening. You will not be disappointed nor sorry. The only crime would be not attending at all! So swash those buckles and permission to board...THE PIRATE'S DINNER ADVENTURE will fill you with grub and good cheer!
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
THE MAGIC KINGDOM!
The trio (Todd, Tess, Tanner) , their Mom (Tiffany) and I spent a day at THE MAGIC KINGDOM of Disney World. It is called the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH! I am here to tell you, that it is!!!!
If we can honestly talk...my finances are a mess. My family is, well, strained (Just ask Steve, Nick, Tiff). But...
From the minute one steps foot on the "turf" of the MAGIC KINGDOM, enormous burdens, grief, unhappiness are dissipated and absorbed in the atmosphere of magic and joy of children and their enchantment with the very essence of joy Mr. Disney strove so diligently to create!
I always marvel and wonder what it would be like to live on MAIN STREET, USA. Do you know that my son's very first ice cream cone was tasted on the corner of Main Street? I could tell and retell stories of my visits to Disney and the milestones which I/we have experienced. But, I won't.
Directly, I will say though...
I am running to "casting" tomorrow to see what it takes to be a doll in IT'S A SMALL WORLD. I know the song! I could be one of the Italian children singing my heart out to visitors! I would be happy, carefree, admired (Okay, I know that my sister was stuck going through twenty-seven times on our first trip...not so admired, after all).
On my application at "casting", my second choice would be to move into the CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. Really! I first saw THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS in 1964 at the New York World's Fair! I thought it was brilliant at the time. I had no idea that it was Walt Disney's "thing". It is the longest running "show" in the history of time with the most performances. I want to move in! I want to just slip into the '40's and feel safe, calm, cared for. Life seems so very serene if I could just stay there. Did you ever want to slip into another dimension? Another time and place? You don't have to tell me. But, be honest with yourself (ves).
Just in case, I have considered a third choice at "casting". I love Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow. I think that being involved in PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN and singing that song..."Yo ho, Yo ho, a Pirate's life for me..." would be great fun and interesting to the max. A little rugged, but, really, another time and place. Another unreal reality! I'm in!
Understand. I don't want to be a smiling "cast member" giving directions, etc. I want to BE IT'S A SMALL WORLD and move in. I want to LIVE IN THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. I want to BE ONE OF THE PIRATES' WENCHES whom you see and with whom you would sing along...
Todd was thrilled that he was asked to take control of the wheel of THE JUNGLE CRUISE boat
in which we rode. The "tour guide" asked him to join her at the helm and he drove that boat for the entire "tour" as she gave her humorous dissertation and tour. He was given credentials to return and command a tour boat again!
Tiffany and the boys went on Splash Mountain while Tess and I ventured to THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. Tiffany and the boys went to collect a Ghost Host to bring home from THE HAUNTED MANSION while Tess and I clapped, stomped and sang at THE COUNTRY BEAR JAMBOREE! I treasure the time sharing experiences, happy ones with the family. Donna, do you remember when some attractions required five tickets? Do you remember the Castle and the teapot we bought with the money that Nana gave us?
Tanner and my father, I believe, are in cahoots! If you recall, I, in my Father's Day Blog mentioned my fear of a ride involving a "stick" to hydraulically lift a plane into the air as it circled a center anchor. I would scream, "Don't touch the stick!" While Tiff took Todd and Tess to THE GRAND PRIX, Tanner and I went to the DUMBO FLYING CIRCUS RIDE. Uh-ha. We climbed into our "Dumbo". The ride began it's circle. Tanner reached over and touched the stick! We were flying high above FANTASYLAND! He laughed and laughed as he made our Dumbo rise and fall! As Meme, I stifled the urge to scream, "Don't touch the stick!" I was not unhappy when we had our feet firmly on the ground!
While Tiff and Tess took one more spin on THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS, Todd, Tanner and I went on a SPACE MISSION with BUZZ LIGHTYEAR! I was told to spin the ship while they blasted bad guys! I am a Space Scout, by the way!
Dinner with Winnie - The- Pooh and Friends was delicious and the characters were so fun, endearing, patient, loving to the children! I found myself complimenting Piglet's outfit and conversing with Tigger about autographs!
The Electric Light Parade prompted the children to wave continuously, giggle, cheer as the brilliantly lit floats and assorted characters passed, waved, tumbled. The floats majestically twinkled.
Fireworks set the sky ablaze with CINDERELLA'S CASTLE as the focal point! The fireworks which for an average evening take three hours to load (for New Year's Eve and The Fourth of July, it takes eight, by the way) were choreographed to music and a story! With the finale of the fireworks, as each sparkling pattern burst, so did the heart of the audience...or at least the Trio and their Mom and Meme!
Departing THE MAGIC KINGDOM is difficult. I wanted to stay forever! We carry with us the Memories, the Joy, the Bond that we shared the Magic together!
Thank you Walt Disney, Mickey, Minnie and all of the supporting cast for continuously reinforcing that it is possible to "wish upon a star and dreams come true"!
If we can honestly talk...my finances are a mess. My family is, well, strained (Just ask Steve, Nick, Tiff). But...
From the minute one steps foot on the "turf" of the MAGIC KINGDOM, enormous burdens, grief, unhappiness are dissipated and absorbed in the atmosphere of magic and joy of children and their enchantment with the very essence of joy Mr. Disney strove so diligently to create!
I always marvel and wonder what it would be like to live on MAIN STREET, USA. Do you know that my son's very first ice cream cone was tasted on the corner of Main Street? I could tell and retell stories of my visits to Disney and the milestones which I/we have experienced. But, I won't.
Directly, I will say though...
I am running to "casting" tomorrow to see what it takes to be a doll in IT'S A SMALL WORLD. I know the song! I could be one of the Italian children singing my heart out to visitors! I would be happy, carefree, admired (Okay, I know that my sister was stuck going through twenty-seven times on our first trip...not so admired, after all).
On my application at "casting", my second choice would be to move into the CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. Really! I first saw THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS in 1964 at the New York World's Fair! I thought it was brilliant at the time. I had no idea that it was Walt Disney's "thing". It is the longest running "show" in the history of time with the most performances. I want to move in! I want to just slip into the '40's and feel safe, calm, cared for. Life seems so very serene if I could just stay there. Did you ever want to slip into another dimension? Another time and place? You don't have to tell me. But, be honest with yourself (ves).
Just in case, I have considered a third choice at "casting". I love Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow. I think that being involved in PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN and singing that song..."Yo ho, Yo ho, a Pirate's life for me..." would be great fun and interesting to the max. A little rugged, but, really, another time and place. Another unreal reality! I'm in!
Understand. I don't want to be a smiling "cast member" giving directions, etc. I want to BE IT'S A SMALL WORLD and move in. I want to LIVE IN THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. I want to BE ONE OF THE PIRATES' WENCHES whom you see and with whom you would sing along...
Todd was thrilled that he was asked to take control of the wheel of THE JUNGLE CRUISE boat
in which we rode. The "tour guide" asked him to join her at the helm and he drove that boat for the entire "tour" as she gave her humorous dissertation and tour. He was given credentials to return and command a tour boat again!
Tiffany and the boys went on Splash Mountain while Tess and I ventured to THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. Tiffany and the boys went to collect a Ghost Host to bring home from THE HAUNTED MANSION while Tess and I clapped, stomped and sang at THE COUNTRY BEAR JAMBOREE! I treasure the time sharing experiences, happy ones with the family. Donna, do you remember when some attractions required five tickets? Do you remember the Castle and the teapot we bought with the money that Nana gave us?
Tanner and my father, I believe, are in cahoots! If you recall, I, in my Father's Day Blog mentioned my fear of a ride involving a "stick" to hydraulically lift a plane into the air as it circled a center anchor. I would scream, "Don't touch the stick!" While Tiff took Todd and Tess to THE GRAND PRIX, Tanner and I went to the DUMBO FLYING CIRCUS RIDE. Uh-ha. We climbed into our "Dumbo". The ride began it's circle. Tanner reached over and touched the stick! We were flying high above FANTASYLAND! He laughed and laughed as he made our Dumbo rise and fall! As Meme, I stifled the urge to scream, "Don't touch the stick!" I was not unhappy when we had our feet firmly on the ground!
While Tiff and Tess took one more spin on THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS, Todd, Tanner and I went on a SPACE MISSION with BUZZ LIGHTYEAR! I was told to spin the ship while they blasted bad guys! I am a Space Scout, by the way!
Dinner with Winnie - The- Pooh and Friends was delicious and the characters were so fun, endearing, patient, loving to the children! I found myself complimenting Piglet's outfit and conversing with Tigger about autographs!
The Electric Light Parade prompted the children to wave continuously, giggle, cheer as the brilliantly lit floats and assorted characters passed, waved, tumbled. The floats majestically twinkled.
Fireworks set the sky ablaze with CINDERELLA'S CASTLE as the focal point! The fireworks which for an average evening take three hours to load (for New Year's Eve and The Fourth of July, it takes eight, by the way) were choreographed to music and a story! With the finale of the fireworks, as each sparkling pattern burst, so did the heart of the audience...or at least the Trio and their Mom and Meme!
Departing THE MAGIC KINGDOM is difficult. I wanted to stay forever! We carry with us the Memories, the Joy, the Bond that we shared the Magic together!
Thank you Walt Disney, Mickey, Minnie and all of the supporting cast for continuously reinforcing that it is possible to "wish upon a star and dreams come true"!
Friday, July 6, 2012
NAPLES, FLORIDA - THE HOME OF THE MEAN
The trio, my daughter and I were invited to spend a week at a friend's home in Naples, Florida. This broke up visits to the Magic of Lake Bueno Vista...four days before, four days after.
The house in which we are staying is absolutely beautiful. I mean movie set beautiful!
The spirit of the residents of Naples, Florida is absolutely mean! I mean, should be illegal nasty mean! All smiles, manners, politeness have been checked and discarded at the borders of this pit of inhumanity! Passing, no one smiles. The service individuals and restaurant servers train thoroughly in attitude and disrespect. The area is not child friendly at all. Apparently, the good people (if they can be called that) were never children. They must have been beamed down from another dimension as stony faced, intolerant adults to this Florida beach resort.
The trio and I went to a Publix Food Store on our first day in residence. They were showered, combed, pressed in Polo and Justice. I was sporting my Harve Bernard and Gucci. As we waited to "check out" the trio stood perfectly still and quietly held on to their candy bars. (One wrong move, they knew...candy gone.) A woman in front of us, in the check out line, wearing what I pegged as St. John, turned and scowled at us and gave a disgusted shake of her head as she passed a dirty look to me! The clerk, checked me out, mumbled the amount due, tossed items to a bagger who slammed the items into bags and plopped them into the cart as if this was a monumental inconvenience. The only decent person we met was a man, multitasking trying to stock freezers and had to run to the seafood counter. He was helpful and smiled!
At restaurants on the beach, it would be better just to pack and not impose on the order takers behind the counters. No pleasantries, no personality, no expression other than boredom.
Absolutely NO ONE is pleasant. NO ONE. I accidentally bumped into a gentleman (I think he was a homo sapien). I quickly smiled and said, "Oh, I am so sorry, excuse me." He growled and frowned. I mean he growled! Really?
Perhaps the Naples dwellers think that by extreme rudeness and nasty attitude, they can keep out the "riff-raff". Well, here you go Naples...
I have been a guest in the White House during the Reagan and both Bush administrations. I (SAG-AFTRA) have appeared in major motion pictures with assorted stars. I am a published author. I am educated,well spoken and a lady. I worship on Sundays, I am active in a patriotic organization. I am enormously close to my family (no kidding, remember the trio?) I love God, my country and Mom!
I have visited Beverly Hills, Phoenix, Chicago, Dallas, Miami Beach, South Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando, all Eastern Coastal States, Manhattan with a flavor of it's own, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio. I have visited Cancun, Grand Cayman, Belize, Honduras. I have stayed in the Bahamas. People couldn't be nicer in each locale. Our country and the islands are wonderful, their people amazingly eager to share their hearts and souls with pride in their geography.
HOW DARE YOU NAPLES,! HOW DARE YOU?
I met three nice senior citizens and two gracious men who helped me get onto a public WIFI system. Evidently, you were kidnapped by Aliens and dropped here accidentally.
I do not envy a Colony of Nasty Pants Men and Stony Faced Women. I do not admire the frost that encrusts this Florida Home of the Mean. If you choose to visit, don't trip over the smiles, manners, politeness that have been piled at the borders, since apparently they are forbidden to be brought in to Naples, Florida...The Home of the Mean!
The house in which we are staying is absolutely beautiful. I mean movie set beautiful!
The spirit of the residents of Naples, Florida is absolutely mean! I mean, should be illegal nasty mean! All smiles, manners, politeness have been checked and discarded at the borders of this pit of inhumanity! Passing, no one smiles. The service individuals and restaurant servers train thoroughly in attitude and disrespect. The area is not child friendly at all. Apparently, the good people (if they can be called that) were never children. They must have been beamed down from another dimension as stony faced, intolerant adults to this Florida beach resort.
The trio and I went to a Publix Food Store on our first day in residence. They were showered, combed, pressed in Polo and Justice. I was sporting my Harve Bernard and Gucci. As we waited to "check out" the trio stood perfectly still and quietly held on to their candy bars. (One wrong move, they knew...candy gone.) A woman in front of us, in the check out line, wearing what I pegged as St. John, turned and scowled at us and gave a disgusted shake of her head as she passed a dirty look to me! The clerk, checked me out, mumbled the amount due, tossed items to a bagger who slammed the items into bags and plopped them into the cart as if this was a monumental inconvenience. The only decent person we met was a man, multitasking trying to stock freezers and had to run to the seafood counter. He was helpful and smiled!
At restaurants on the beach, it would be better just to pack and not impose on the order takers behind the counters. No pleasantries, no personality, no expression other than boredom.
Absolutely NO ONE is pleasant. NO ONE. I accidentally bumped into a gentleman (I think he was a homo sapien). I quickly smiled and said, "Oh, I am so sorry, excuse me." He growled and frowned. I mean he growled! Really?
Perhaps the Naples dwellers think that by extreme rudeness and nasty attitude, they can keep out the "riff-raff". Well, here you go Naples...
I have been a guest in the White House during the Reagan and both Bush administrations. I (SAG-AFTRA) have appeared in major motion pictures with assorted stars. I am a published author. I am educated,well spoken and a lady. I worship on Sundays, I am active in a patriotic organization. I am enormously close to my family (no kidding, remember the trio?) I love God, my country and Mom!
I have visited Beverly Hills, Phoenix, Chicago, Dallas, Miami Beach, South Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, Orlando, all Eastern Coastal States, Manhattan with a flavor of it's own, Pennsylvania, Iowa, Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio. I have visited Cancun, Grand Cayman, Belize, Honduras. I have stayed in the Bahamas. People couldn't be nicer in each locale. Our country and the islands are wonderful, their people amazingly eager to share their hearts and souls with pride in their geography.
HOW DARE YOU NAPLES,! HOW DARE YOU?
I met three nice senior citizens and two gracious men who helped me get onto a public WIFI system. Evidently, you were kidnapped by Aliens and dropped here accidentally.
I do not envy a Colony of Nasty Pants Men and Stony Faced Women. I do not admire the frost that encrusts this Florida Home of the Mean. If you choose to visit, don't trip over the smiles, manners, politeness that have been piled at the borders, since apparently they are forbidden to be brought in to Naples, Florida...The Home of the Mean!
Thursday, July 5, 2012
ALOHA!!!
Tiff, Todd, Tess, Tanner and I went to the dinner show: THE SPIRIT OF ALOHA at the Disney World, Polynesian Village! I have seen this show many times. We were celebrating Tanner's fifth birthday (late, very late). The Birthday Boy and his entourage received special pins upon our arrival before we were adorned with leis and "photos" of our "group".
The show has changed, been updated in patter, music, humor. The show has remained the same in patter, music, humor.
.
Tanner and Tess went up to "learn" some moves and later Tanner went up with the "Birthday Folk" Todd thought that the fire performer was the absolute best! Please Todd, don't try that at home!
The food was by far better than it had ever been. Unlimited food, beer, wine. Make sure that, should you go to this extravaganza, that you are hungry and thirsty!
The absolute key to learn about the Polynesian Islands is to listen to the narrator expressing some historical facts.
The absolute key to having a great time is to learn how to wiggle your hips! Tanner has the moves, Tess as well. Todd admired the "Fire Performer" a great deal. Tess did ask: " Meme! How come their skirts don't fall down with all of the wiggling the dancers do?" That was a valid question. That was a valid question that I could not really answer. (Especially never having really wiggled to the beat of music.)
As an experience, as all Disney experiences, the evening was magical and so pleasant! The wait staff was so sweet, friendly, efficient! There was an intimacy that the narrator/mistress of ceremony radiated throughout the performance.
Children were treated rather royally as they participated in the magical fun.
Second to a trip to Hawaii's Polynesian Experience, where the natives play for real, THE DISNEY'S POLYNESIAN VILLAGE RESORT'S" THE SPIRIT OF ALOHA", is a fun, educational, magical, so worth it experience!
ALOHA!!!
The show has changed, been updated in patter, music, humor. The show has remained the same in patter, music, humor.
.
Tanner and Tess went up to "learn" some moves and later Tanner went up with the "Birthday Folk" Todd thought that the fire performer was the absolute best! Please Todd, don't try that at home!
The food was by far better than it had ever been. Unlimited food, beer, wine. Make sure that, should you go to this extravaganza, that you are hungry and thirsty!
The absolute key to learn about the Polynesian Islands is to listen to the narrator expressing some historical facts.
The absolute key to having a great time is to learn how to wiggle your hips! Tanner has the moves, Tess as well. Todd admired the "Fire Performer" a great deal. Tess did ask: " Meme! How come their skirts don't fall down with all of the wiggling the dancers do?" That was a valid question. That was a valid question that I could not really answer. (Especially never having really wiggled to the beat of music.)
As an experience, as all Disney experiences, the evening was magical and so pleasant! The wait staff was so sweet, friendly, efficient! There was an intimacy that the narrator/mistress of ceremony radiated throughout the performance.
Children were treated rather royally as they participated in the magical fun.
Second to a trip to Hawaii's Polynesian Experience, where the natives play for real, THE DISNEY'S POLYNESIAN VILLAGE RESORT'S" THE SPIRIT OF ALOHA", is a fun, educational, magical, so worth it experience!
ALOHA!!!
INDEPENDENCE DAY REFLECTIONS, THEN AND NOW
I was standing in the kitchen of a friend's house in Naples, Florida, July 4, 2012. The trio (Todd, 8; Tess, 7; Tanner, 5) and I were treating ourselves to ice cream: Todd and Tanner - chocolate; Tess - chocolate and vanilla. We were trying to determine where we might see fireworks for THE FOURTH OF JULY. Maybe the beach?
I was, as we discussed our previous Independence Days, transported back in time. I was 8,7,5 ish. We lived in the city at the time. Houses were on narrow lots. My grandfather, in the afternoon of the big American day would say, "Hey! It's-a July 4! A big-a American holiday! Tonight we-a sit on-a the porch! They make-a the fireworks atta Hinchman Stadium to watch! We celebrate America!" I might add that my grandparents saw the new land after entering through Ellis Island from Italy. My grandfather said that as his ship came into the port, he, along with fellow passengers, cried at the sight of The Statue of Liberty. (Personally, I think that it was a premonition of his future spawning all of the assorted screwballs that would become his family in the New World).
In Paterson, New Jersey, at Hinchman Stadium, truly, fireworks would be set off. From the porch in the back of our house, we could see them quite clearly. Early in the day, Grandpa and Nana would "prepare". A light dinner, homemade wine (cools you off in the summer...also warms you in the winter, go figure). A walk to the store on the corner for Vanilla Fudge (#6) Ice Cream. As it would get dark, my grandparents would start to dish out the treat. But, then, the topping would be, wait for it.....fruit cocktail. Yep, on top of this glorious Vanilla Fudge Ice Cream. Libby's canned fruit cocktail!
Darkness would begin to cloak Paterson. With our ice cream (topped with - oh, never mind), we would gather on the rather large, wooden, back porch. All seated so that "Dolly Dear" (hey, that's me) could see...The sky would light up! The heavens ablaze with color, light, noise! The night air could carry the "OOOOOOO's and AHHHHHHHHHH's" of the neighboring porches, "stoops" , sidewalks, parks, streets! The German family next door, the Jewish grocer on the corner, the Italians on the "hill", the Polish lady down the street...were/are all AMERICANS! At the finale, my grandfather would exclaim that the fireworks were more beautiful this year than last! He was proud that he had celebrated in America on his own porch (no morgaige-a), with his family. He was proud that he was a citizen, that he learned to read, write American. He loved Westerns - American Cowboys. This man fell in love with Chevy, hotdogs, apple pie, mom and the Fourth of July to tears!
I snapped back to Naples, 2012. The trio listened to my tale. I did get a chorus of YUK over the ice cream topped with fruit cocktail. Todd said that it might be an "Italian thing" and since he is a little Italian, he'll try it s-o-m-e-t-i-m-e.
Suddenly, we could see the sky light up! We ran out onto the lanai. We stood on the house side of the pool and looked up...Fireworks from the beach illuminated the heavens! Arms around each other, a hug, a squeeze. We were frozen in time! I could only pray that the moments would never end. The colorful, bright patterns of light decorated the sky like THE FOURTH OF JULY!
I was, as we discussed our previous Independence Days, transported back in time. I was 8,7,5 ish. We lived in the city at the time. Houses were on narrow lots. My grandfather, in the afternoon of the big American day would say, "Hey! It's-a July 4! A big-a American holiday! Tonight we-a sit on-a the porch! They make-a the fireworks atta Hinchman Stadium to watch! We celebrate America!" I might add that my grandparents saw the new land after entering through Ellis Island from Italy. My grandfather said that as his ship came into the port, he, along with fellow passengers, cried at the sight of The Statue of Liberty. (Personally, I think that it was a premonition of his future spawning all of the assorted screwballs that would become his family in the New World).
In Paterson, New Jersey, at Hinchman Stadium, truly, fireworks would be set off. From the porch in the back of our house, we could see them quite clearly. Early in the day, Grandpa and Nana would "prepare". A light dinner, homemade wine (cools you off in the summer...also warms you in the winter, go figure). A walk to the store on the corner for Vanilla Fudge (#6) Ice Cream. As it would get dark, my grandparents would start to dish out the treat. But, then, the topping would be, wait for it.....fruit cocktail. Yep, on top of this glorious Vanilla Fudge Ice Cream. Libby's canned fruit cocktail!
Darkness would begin to cloak Paterson. With our ice cream (topped with - oh, never mind), we would gather on the rather large, wooden, back porch. All seated so that "Dolly Dear" (hey, that's me) could see...The sky would light up! The heavens ablaze with color, light, noise! The night air could carry the "OOOOOOO's and AHHHHHHHHHH's" of the neighboring porches, "stoops" , sidewalks, parks, streets! The German family next door, the Jewish grocer on the corner, the Italians on the "hill", the Polish lady down the street...were/are all AMERICANS! At the finale, my grandfather would exclaim that the fireworks were more beautiful this year than last! He was proud that he had celebrated in America on his own porch (no morgaige-a), with his family. He was proud that he was a citizen, that he learned to read, write American. He loved Westerns - American Cowboys. This man fell in love with Chevy, hotdogs, apple pie, mom and the Fourth of July to tears!
I snapped back to Naples, 2012. The trio listened to my tale. I did get a chorus of YUK over the ice cream topped with fruit cocktail. Todd said that it might be an "Italian thing" and since he is a little Italian, he'll try it s-o-m-e-t-i-m-e.
Suddenly, we could see the sky light up! We ran out onto the lanai. We stood on the house side of the pool and looked up...Fireworks from the beach illuminated the heavens! Arms around each other, a hug, a squeeze. We were frozen in time! I could only pray that the moments would never end. The colorful, bright patterns of light decorated the sky like THE FOURTH OF JULY!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
EPCOT!!!
Tiffany, my 32 year old child, hatched a summer plan. " Mom, let's take the Kids to Disney World! Then Naples, then to Universal and after two weeks go home!"
So, after planning, deliberations and the assorted other roadblocks and strategizing logistics, we were off. I will not make all of my readers jealous by sharing the ride with the trio, their occasionally cranky Mom, for two days, one night on the road listening in stereo to the chorus from the back seat of the normal "Ride with Children" album which has sold at least 100,000,000 copies since Henry Ford came up with that "Machine".
Long story- short...we are for three nights, four days into the beginning of our journey at the Rosen Hotel (Luxury to the Max) roughly a nano second from the gates to THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD!
"Mom, let's take the kids to EPCOT first to "get it out of the way" and so that our last night for this stretch will be the best - THE MAGIC KINGDOM!!!!"
I am a self porclaimed "Disney Junkie". When Disney World first opened in Lake Bueno Vista, Florida, I was recently graduated from college and a brand new ART teacher in Wayne, New Jersey (home). My sister is ten and a half years younger than I. So, during "Winter Break" that first winter of the "Mouse" taking up residence in Florida, I decided that the two of us would go to Disney. Only THE MAGIC KINGDOM was magestically standing. At the time, only four hotels in the "Village" were opened along with "The Contemporary" and "The Polynesian Village" My recollection of the journey was all good and fun, except for the cold! I was four years old on that trip (or so,it seemed).
Two years later, with a lighting designer, I returned, stayed at the Contemporary, drank Pina Colodas during the extreme heat of the day (August) poolside, took out a little boat in the Seven Seas Lagoon, soaked up the MAGIC KINGDOM. I was six years old on that trip (or so it seemed).
After we had our children, we were frequent "Disney" fliers. Our son's first ice cream cone was one that Dad bought on Main Street USA, Magic Kingdom. Two years later, we heard the news of John XXIII being shot while staying at the Polynesian. That year, the Macy's and the Scillieri's ALL met (from Ohio and New Jersey) at the Polynesian for a stay. Remind me to tell you some funny stories involving towel disposal and trash disposal and how some extremely intelligent, wealthy, successful men can confuse the two. EPCOT was there by then. There is a photo of my Mom pushing me in Tiff's stroller around the World Showcase. Steve did look good in a Hula Skirt, I must admit. He wore a hat while leading our "troops" through the park with the command, "Follow the Hat!" as if he were waging a major campaign in a battle! I usually pulled up the rear. I was eight years old on that trip (or so it seemed).
We returned with the my best friend and her family. I lost my earrings at the Grand Floridian. Jillian and I got stuck on the Momorail and almost missed our plane because I agreed to go with her to say Good Bye to Mickey and Minnie one last time. I was ten on that trip (or so it seemed).
We returned one January, just Nick, Tiff and I. It was soooooo much fun. MGM sprouted up. The Magic Kingdom was still my favorite, Epcot, both enjoyed at ages 18 and 20. I was twelve on that trip,( or so it seemed).
For Chirstmas, one year, one child married with a step daughter, one engaged, my gift- A week at Disney World during Allie's spring break. We saw Animal Kingdom for the first time. I was fourteen on that trip, (or so it seemed).
I am sitting at a Luxurious Hotel, The Rosen, typing. I spent yesterday at Epcot with three grandchildren and my daughter. She took the lead with her map (really, we could do all four kingdoms without a map).She took long strides, took charge. The Macy parade line up was: Tiff, Todd (8), Tess (7), Tanner (5). I was in the rear with a deja vu of her Dad and his hat. I swear that I saw that "hat"..."Follow the hat" I've been following someone's back for years. For a moment, I was eight years old again (or so it seemed).
"Come on, follow me, let's move so that we do everything!" I watched her long stride. She was Steve! "Come on Meme! Jump in my car, hurry!" screeched Todd as his clam shell was moving along a moving walkway! Tiff, Tess and Tanner had hopped into one and he wanted one right next to them! I ran and jumped in right before the clam shell closed! "Come on Meme! Hurry, hop in here!" as we were launched in Spaceship Earth! We sang and danced with the performers on a "street". We oooooed and ahhhhhed at the ILLUMINATIONS! I think that I'm hanging on to ten years old (or so it seems).
As we left EPCOT, the "cast members" were lined up waving good-bye to us! They were saying "Thank you for visiting" and "Come back soon"! To enter EPCOT is exciting, leaving EPCOT is happy and inviting (go figure). At one point, at the exit, the last two people that we saw were two uniformed police men. They were conversing, not really paying much attention to the exiting crowd. After the trio, Tiff and I waved for what seemed like miles returning "good byes", Tess, whose wave was not returned, said, "Hey, Meme! What's wrong with the police cops?" I, rather confused, asked, "Why Tess, what's up?" Tess: "Don't they have hands? They didn't wave to me!"
Excuse me...have to run! I want to starch and iron my grass skirt and lei...LUAU tonight! I'll give you a full report (you know that I will)
So, after planning, deliberations and the assorted other roadblocks and strategizing logistics, we were off. I will not make all of my readers jealous by sharing the ride with the trio, their occasionally cranky Mom, for two days, one night on the road listening in stereo to the chorus from the back seat of the normal "Ride with Children" album which has sold at least 100,000,000 copies since Henry Ford came up with that "Machine".
Long story- short...we are for three nights, four days into the beginning of our journey at the Rosen Hotel (Luxury to the Max) roughly a nano second from the gates to THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD!
"Mom, let's take the kids to EPCOT first to "get it out of the way" and so that our last night for this stretch will be the best - THE MAGIC KINGDOM!!!!"
I am a self porclaimed "Disney Junkie". When Disney World first opened in Lake Bueno Vista, Florida, I was recently graduated from college and a brand new ART teacher in Wayne, New Jersey (home). My sister is ten and a half years younger than I. So, during "Winter Break" that first winter of the "Mouse" taking up residence in Florida, I decided that the two of us would go to Disney. Only THE MAGIC KINGDOM was magestically standing. At the time, only four hotels in the "Village" were opened along with "The Contemporary" and "The Polynesian Village" My recollection of the journey was all good and fun, except for the cold! I was four years old on that trip (or so,it seemed).
Two years later, with a lighting designer, I returned, stayed at the Contemporary, drank Pina Colodas during the extreme heat of the day (August) poolside, took out a little boat in the Seven Seas Lagoon, soaked up the MAGIC KINGDOM. I was six years old on that trip (or so it seemed).
After we had our children, we were frequent "Disney" fliers. Our son's first ice cream cone was one that Dad bought on Main Street USA, Magic Kingdom. Two years later, we heard the news of John XXIII being shot while staying at the Polynesian. That year, the Macy's and the Scillieri's ALL met (from Ohio and New Jersey) at the Polynesian for a stay. Remind me to tell you some funny stories involving towel disposal and trash disposal and how some extremely intelligent, wealthy, successful men can confuse the two. EPCOT was there by then. There is a photo of my Mom pushing me in Tiff's stroller around the World Showcase. Steve did look good in a Hula Skirt, I must admit. He wore a hat while leading our "troops" through the park with the command, "Follow the Hat!" as if he were waging a major campaign in a battle! I usually pulled up the rear. I was eight years old on that trip (or so it seemed).
We returned with the my best friend and her family. I lost my earrings at the Grand Floridian. Jillian and I got stuck on the Momorail and almost missed our plane because I agreed to go with her to say Good Bye to Mickey and Minnie one last time. I was ten on that trip (or so it seemed).
We returned one January, just Nick, Tiff and I. It was soooooo much fun. MGM sprouted up. The Magic Kingdom was still my favorite, Epcot, both enjoyed at ages 18 and 20. I was twelve on that trip,( or so it seemed).
For Chirstmas, one year, one child married with a step daughter, one engaged, my gift- A week at Disney World during Allie's spring break. We saw Animal Kingdom for the first time. I was fourteen on that trip, (or so it seemed).
I am sitting at a Luxurious Hotel, The Rosen, typing. I spent yesterday at Epcot with three grandchildren and my daughter. She took the lead with her map (really, we could do all four kingdoms without a map).She took long strides, took charge. The Macy parade line up was: Tiff, Todd (8), Tess (7), Tanner (5). I was in the rear with a deja vu of her Dad and his hat. I swear that I saw that "hat"..."Follow the hat" I've been following someone's back for years. For a moment, I was eight years old again (or so it seemed).
"Come on, follow me, let's move so that we do everything!" I watched her long stride. She was Steve! "Come on Meme! Jump in my car, hurry!" screeched Todd as his clam shell was moving along a moving walkway! Tiff, Tess and Tanner had hopped into one and he wanted one right next to them! I ran and jumped in right before the clam shell closed! "Come on Meme! Hurry, hop in here!" as we were launched in Spaceship Earth! We sang and danced with the performers on a "street". We oooooed and ahhhhhed at the ILLUMINATIONS! I think that I'm hanging on to ten years old (or so it seems).
As we left EPCOT, the "cast members" were lined up waving good-bye to us! They were saying "Thank you for visiting" and "Come back soon"! To enter EPCOT is exciting, leaving EPCOT is happy and inviting (go figure). At one point, at the exit, the last two people that we saw were two uniformed police men. They were conversing, not really paying much attention to the exiting crowd. After the trio, Tiff and I waved for what seemed like miles returning "good byes", Tess, whose wave was not returned, said, "Hey, Meme! What's wrong with the police cops?" I, rather confused, asked, "Why Tess, what's up?" Tess: "Don't they have hands? They didn't wave to me!"
Excuse me...have to run! I want to starch and iron my grass skirt and lei...LUAU tonight! I'll give you a full report (you know that I will)
Sunday, June 17, 2012
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY
As I left Mass this morning, I wiped a tear or two and thought of Father's Day. The priest, at the last blessing, of course, blessed all Fathers.
Adam had a wife who had a mind of her own, and poor guy, one son killed the other. Fatherhood in the Garden of Eden wasn't all that it could have been cracked up to be. Joseph, the Carpenter, took on a young child bride with child. Raising the Son of the Lord could be considered a challenge!
Last year, on Father's Day, Tess and I were in New Jersey with my parents..."Great Grandpa in New Jersey" as seven year old Tess says. Dad, Chaunce, Ralph the Barber's Son, Anna's Brother, Uncle Victor, Vic, Wicky, Sludge, Ang's husband, Laura and Donna's Father. My father, who has always tried to keep it simple, is complicated and has been/is everything to everyone! Dad is a self-proclaimed recycle freak, tire kicking, cautious (never had a traffic ticket or accident ever), hardworking, profound (amazing observations), intelligent, impatient, patient, daily tennis playing skier who happens to be devoted to a family of educated, screwballs and free spirits. I really think that only my Mother can get into the inner Chaunce. But then again, she is an amazing magician on her own. My father enjoys sports, cars, and B.S. with the "guys" with whom he grew up (yes, and he's 85)! I have always said that my father was a cross between Frank Barone and Columbo.
Last Father's Day was special. However, he is special and every occasion, or none, he makes special. He was my playmate for years and a "partner in crime" when my Grandmother was keeping an eye on "Louie". One Saturday morning, my Mom went to have her hair done before shopping for a new dress for an evening at the Theatre, with assorted Aunts/friends. "Vic, make sure Laura has breakfast!" was the command as she sashayed out of the door and into his brand new '55 Buick Special. Buried in the newspaper, sipping coffee, he did ask, "Hey, Laur, want some breakfast? The General said to feed you!" I said that I was hungry. Instantly, a package of Hostess Cupcakes appeared! Breakfast on a cardboard tray wrapped in cellophane!
He took me to watch airplanes land at a local airport, to the circus, to visit Bubbles (his sister's dog...I loved Bubbles, she ate my egg whites...I didn't/don't eat edges), to visit Ralph the Barber (his Dad) in the Barber Shop, to Kretch's for Ice Cream.
I am ten and a half years older than my only sibling...Donna. For years, Chaunce was my playmate. At the "Jersey Shore", at the end of the day, we would go to the "Boardwalk". He went on the "Tilt-a-whirl" with me. On some sort of airplanes, I would shriek and scream at him, "Don't touch the stick! Don't touch the stick!!!" If the lever was pulled, the planes would have ascended into the air. Not this weenie!
His best friend, when I began High School, lived across the street from "Lyndhurst's First Golden Girl" (Majorette who twirled with two fire batons) and brought me for twirling lessons. He endured dance recitals, plays, presentations and football games at the High School . When we played in Paterson, the half-time show would not have been permitted without our own announcer. I, in uniform, ran to him and told him that I promised that Wayne Valley had an announcer...Victor Scillieri! After the urge to strangle me passed, he got us on the field!
We had intimate Father-Daughter moments. He took me to a Giants-Cowboys (he loves the Dallas Cowboys) Football Game! This was the era of Al Sherman, Bob Hayes, the old Giants Stadium. It was the coldest day of our lives, ever! Finally, that "moment" happened, at half-time over hot chocolate. As we shivered and shook, he looked at me, we connected and he said, "I'm so friggin' cold! Let's get the hell out of here! I can't feel my goddamn feet, hands, nothing! The Cowboys are winning, the goddamn Giants are a bunch of ballerinas and let's go!" Then, he looked at me after the rant passed and said, "Unless, you really want to stay. You've never been to an NFL game before." The crowd was thinning and the wind brutal. The hard core Giants fans, wrapped like mummies for warmth, began chanting and singing, "Good-bye Allie, Good-bye Allie..." I said, "It's okay Dad, I'm cold too. Let's go!" Frankly, what was I doing there to begin with? UGH.
I dated a West Point Cadet for years. He had graduated a year before I did from my high school. Sometimes I would go to West Point (forty-five minutes from my door) for weekends, sometimes for an evening. Remember, "Ladies don't go anywhere themselves. Ladies don't take themselves anywhere" (Refer to the Nana Blog) There was a dance. Nancy was going to go to the dance with me. Her neighbor would ride along to keep Chaunce company while we danced, made use of Flirtation Walk, etc. The men couldn't get into the post's movie theatre without their military ID (Did I mention that my dad is a Veteran of WWII?). Highland Falls (town outside Academy's gate) was closed. A sympathetic officer recommended that the men take in the Army Hockey Championship game. Nancy, her date, Bob and I had a magical time...but... The Giant-Cowboy Game seemed like a cruise around the Bahamas compared to that Friday evening. "Goddamn it! What the hell is wrong with you girls. There was no way to get warm in that goddamn place! No coffee, nothing but goddamn ice!" (Remember, his Dad, Ralph The Barber is from Sicily)
My cousin, Stephen and his wife, Linda along with her Dad, Roy invited my father, my sister (young) and me to go out for the day on a river in canoes. I will only say that to this day, my Father is upset about that true Cuban cigar, new glasses and fine hat that Charlie the Tuna is still wearing after all of these years!
When I was twenty-one, I decided to learn how to ski. My sister, at eleven took some lessons. My Father (forty-three) took lessons, excelled. Except for one fall that put ice between his glasses and eyeballs.
Another cousin, Ron had a Kawasaki trail motorcycle. At that time, my Uncle had just put a new, beautiful, high dollar fence around their swimming pool. My family was visiting Ron's. "Hey, Ang!" Ron called to my Mom, "C'mon, I'll take you for a ride on the back of my bike!" My mother: "Ronnie, I will only ride with Vic!" My father jumped up and said, "Hey, show me the controls, let me take if for a dry run and then I'll take the Boss out!" Ronnie, graciously and patiently instructed the rookie. Dad revved the engine. Suddenly, life took on slow motion! There was a man flying through air! There was a man flying over a fence and a motorcycle crashing into and through the fence! Unknowingly, my Aunt asked when he reappeared, "Hey, Vic, did you go through our woods?" With a crooked grin, he replied, "Hey, Grace, I just went through your fence...just missed your pool!" My Mom never did get a ride on that bike!
I found a stray kitten outside of our home. "Don't you dare bring that flea bag in the house! No cats!" Butterscotch was with me as a young adult, through marriages, including my children. When I was traveling, he and Mom would feed our cats...After a fuss about those lazy flea-bags, he would leave "Paw Ball" scores hanging in the kitchen and tell me that the cats were excited about, "meals on wheels" (the garbage truck passing).
He loved "inspecting" the buildings that my husband owned. They were partners in crime and had fun "real-a-tating". He would walk the beach with our children for miles so that I could just snooze and achieve an even tan. Chaunce put all of us on wheels, as he says by patiently taking us out to practice drive (children and grandchildren). He drove Tiffany to dance with the Joeffry and drove Nick's equipment trucks when he had to "load in" another show in Manhattan or Mars. He was the only ticket in town to guarantee that his grandchildren got to school on time (mascara and eye liner take me a while).
He and Mom dance at the Elks, go to luncheons, have the same friends with whom he grew up.
Chaunce has walked me down the aisle three times, endured two annulments and has the "survivor's" T-shirt after my sister's divorce. He has taken us back, over and over. He has driven children, grandchildren everywhere over and over. He put on his Tux to attend Tiffany's " Coming out" at the Pierre. He put on his sweatshirt to watch Super Bowl with Steve or Jeremy. Victoria has mooched lunch money double dipping after her Mom has given it to her, before he drove her to school. Chaunce has done nothing but care for us, support us. I try to tell him that Mom, Donna, the children,and I make him look good and affluent! He's not always buying it!
We all went to his Eight-Fifth Birthday Party. This summer, I will check into "Sludge's Fine, Fine Inn" for two weeks this summer. My sister and I want to do some work there. Sludge's is the nickname that he gave the house when we all pile in, soak up his amenities.
When Jeremy (my nephew, the third grandchild) graduates from Fairleigh Dickinson University, Chaunce will walk with him because he is an Alumni
I look forward to watching him walk with Jeremy. I know he has walked with me through my entire life. He may have a few battle scars, but he continues with conviction, pride, love! (of course, he might sneak in a dry run first).
Adam had a wife who had a mind of her own, and poor guy, one son killed the other. Fatherhood in the Garden of Eden wasn't all that it could have been cracked up to be. Joseph, the Carpenter, took on a young child bride with child. Raising the Son of the Lord could be considered a challenge!
Last year, on Father's Day, Tess and I were in New Jersey with my parents..."Great Grandpa in New Jersey" as seven year old Tess says. Dad, Chaunce, Ralph the Barber's Son, Anna's Brother, Uncle Victor, Vic, Wicky, Sludge, Ang's husband, Laura and Donna's Father. My father, who has always tried to keep it simple, is complicated and has been/is everything to everyone! Dad is a self-proclaimed recycle freak, tire kicking, cautious (never had a traffic ticket or accident ever), hardworking, profound (amazing observations), intelligent, impatient, patient, daily tennis playing skier who happens to be devoted to a family of educated, screwballs and free spirits. I really think that only my Mother can get into the inner Chaunce. But then again, she is an amazing magician on her own. My father enjoys sports, cars, and B.S. with the "guys" with whom he grew up (yes, and he's 85)! I have always said that my father was a cross between Frank Barone and Columbo.
Last Father's Day was special. However, he is special and every occasion, or none, he makes special. He was my playmate for years and a "partner in crime" when my Grandmother was keeping an eye on "Louie". One Saturday morning, my Mom went to have her hair done before shopping for a new dress for an evening at the Theatre, with assorted Aunts/friends. "Vic, make sure Laura has breakfast!" was the command as she sashayed out of the door and into his brand new '55 Buick Special. Buried in the newspaper, sipping coffee, he did ask, "Hey, Laur, want some breakfast? The General said to feed you!" I said that I was hungry. Instantly, a package of Hostess Cupcakes appeared! Breakfast on a cardboard tray wrapped in cellophane!
He took me to watch airplanes land at a local airport, to the circus, to visit Bubbles (his sister's dog...I loved Bubbles, she ate my egg whites...I didn't/don't eat edges), to visit Ralph the Barber (his Dad) in the Barber Shop, to Kretch's for Ice Cream.
I am ten and a half years older than my only sibling...Donna. For years, Chaunce was my playmate. At the "Jersey Shore", at the end of the day, we would go to the "Boardwalk". He went on the "Tilt-a-whirl" with me. On some sort of airplanes, I would shriek and scream at him, "Don't touch the stick! Don't touch the stick!!!" If the lever was pulled, the planes would have ascended into the air. Not this weenie!
His best friend, when I began High School, lived across the street from "Lyndhurst's First Golden Girl" (Majorette who twirled with two fire batons) and brought me for twirling lessons. He endured dance recitals, plays, presentations and football games at the High School . When we played in Paterson, the half-time show would not have been permitted without our own announcer. I, in uniform, ran to him and told him that I promised that Wayne Valley had an announcer...Victor Scillieri! After the urge to strangle me passed, he got us on the field!
We had intimate Father-Daughter moments. He took me to a Giants-Cowboys (he loves the Dallas Cowboys) Football Game! This was the era of Al Sherman, Bob Hayes, the old Giants Stadium. It was the coldest day of our lives, ever! Finally, that "moment" happened, at half-time over hot chocolate. As we shivered and shook, he looked at me, we connected and he said, "I'm so friggin' cold! Let's get the hell out of here! I can't feel my goddamn feet, hands, nothing! The Cowboys are winning, the goddamn Giants are a bunch of ballerinas and let's go!" Then, he looked at me after the rant passed and said, "Unless, you really want to stay. You've never been to an NFL game before." The crowd was thinning and the wind brutal. The hard core Giants fans, wrapped like mummies for warmth, began chanting and singing, "Good-bye Allie, Good-bye Allie..." I said, "It's okay Dad, I'm cold too. Let's go!" Frankly, what was I doing there to begin with? UGH.
I dated a West Point Cadet for years. He had graduated a year before I did from my high school. Sometimes I would go to West Point (forty-five minutes from my door) for weekends, sometimes for an evening. Remember, "Ladies don't go anywhere themselves. Ladies don't take themselves anywhere" (Refer to the Nana Blog) There was a dance. Nancy was going to go to the dance with me. Her neighbor would ride along to keep Chaunce company while we danced, made use of Flirtation Walk, etc. The men couldn't get into the post's movie theatre without their military ID (Did I mention that my dad is a Veteran of WWII?). Highland Falls (town outside Academy's gate) was closed. A sympathetic officer recommended that the men take in the Army Hockey Championship game. Nancy, her date, Bob and I had a magical time...but... The Giant-Cowboy Game seemed like a cruise around the Bahamas compared to that Friday evening. "Goddamn it! What the hell is wrong with you girls. There was no way to get warm in that goddamn place! No coffee, nothing but goddamn ice!" (Remember, his Dad, Ralph The Barber is from Sicily)
My cousin, Stephen and his wife, Linda along with her Dad, Roy invited my father, my sister (young) and me to go out for the day on a river in canoes. I will only say that to this day, my Father is upset about that true Cuban cigar, new glasses and fine hat that Charlie the Tuna is still wearing after all of these years!
When I was twenty-one, I decided to learn how to ski. My sister, at eleven took some lessons. My Father (forty-three) took lessons, excelled. Except for one fall that put ice between his glasses and eyeballs.
Another cousin, Ron had a Kawasaki trail motorcycle. At that time, my Uncle had just put a new, beautiful, high dollar fence around their swimming pool. My family was visiting Ron's. "Hey, Ang!" Ron called to my Mom, "C'mon, I'll take you for a ride on the back of my bike!" My mother: "Ronnie, I will only ride with Vic!" My father jumped up and said, "Hey, show me the controls, let me take if for a dry run and then I'll take the Boss out!" Ronnie, graciously and patiently instructed the rookie. Dad revved the engine. Suddenly, life took on slow motion! There was a man flying through air! There was a man flying over a fence and a motorcycle crashing into and through the fence! Unknowingly, my Aunt asked when he reappeared, "Hey, Vic, did you go through our woods?" With a crooked grin, he replied, "Hey, Grace, I just went through your fence...just missed your pool!" My Mom never did get a ride on that bike!
I found a stray kitten outside of our home. "Don't you dare bring that flea bag in the house! No cats!" Butterscotch was with me as a young adult, through marriages, including my children. When I was traveling, he and Mom would feed our cats...After a fuss about those lazy flea-bags, he would leave "Paw Ball" scores hanging in the kitchen and tell me that the cats were excited about, "meals on wheels" (the garbage truck passing).
He loved "inspecting" the buildings that my husband owned. They were partners in crime and had fun "real-a-tating". He would walk the beach with our children for miles so that I could just snooze and achieve an even tan. Chaunce put all of us on wheels, as he says by patiently taking us out to practice drive (children and grandchildren). He drove Tiffany to dance with the Joeffry and drove Nick's equipment trucks when he had to "load in" another show in Manhattan or Mars. He was the only ticket in town to guarantee that his grandchildren got to school on time (mascara and eye liner take me a while).
He and Mom dance at the Elks, go to luncheons, have the same friends with whom he grew up.
Chaunce has walked me down the aisle three times, endured two annulments and has the "survivor's" T-shirt after my sister's divorce. He has taken us back, over and over. He has driven children, grandchildren everywhere over and over. He put on his Tux to attend Tiffany's " Coming out" at the Pierre. He put on his sweatshirt to watch Super Bowl with Steve or Jeremy. Victoria has mooched lunch money double dipping after her Mom has given it to her, before he drove her to school. Chaunce has done nothing but care for us, support us. I try to tell him that Mom, Donna, the children,and I make him look good and affluent! He's not always buying it!
We all went to his Eight-Fifth Birthday Party. This summer, I will check into "Sludge's Fine, Fine Inn" for two weeks this summer. My sister and I want to do some work there. Sludge's is the nickname that he gave the house when we all pile in, soak up his amenities.
When Jeremy (my nephew, the third grandchild) graduates from Fairleigh Dickinson University, Chaunce will walk with him because he is an Alumni
I look forward to watching him walk with Jeremy. I know he has walked with me through my entire life. He may have a few battle scars, but he continues with conviction, pride, love! (of course, he might sneak in a dry run first).
Sunday, June 10, 2012
AN APOLOGY TO MR. WAGNER
I began High School at an extremely young age (for High School)...Really, I graduated from St. Paul's RC Elementary School (grades 1-8) when I was 12. At one time I was really smart for my age and "skipped" grades. (Typical of city schools "back in the day")
In my Sophomore year at Wayne Valley High School, I was placed in a primarily Senior class of MODERN EUROPEAN HISTORY. Mr. Wagner was a no nonsense, overly informed, extremely intelligent man who really should have been teaching on a University level. I hated the class. I was not fond of Mr. Wagner. I lived for the day that the course would be over and history be left in the past...any history...ugh!
I was befriended by an assortment of Seniors and a Junior or two. I followed the daily drama of Sue and Al (drop dead gorgeous Senior), the ups and downs of Pat and Ralph's on and off again romance. I found that relationship interesting, because, she was a Junior, he a Senior and she had an engagement ring! Sadly, Ralph died in Viet Nam not long after he graduated. That's another story altogether. Kenny was brilliant. I sat next to Miles and fanned the flames of an enormous crush all year! His talent was evident in the school shows, charming to the max, oh, but he was out the day that brains were distributed! Nothing but clear space going on above the neck. Because I was clever, mature for my age, mild mannered, pretty I was coddled by the older students and looked forward to socializing with the "cool kids".
I did not look forward to Mr. Wagner and whatever was going on in Europe from about WWI. Places, officers, campaigns, treaties, who did what why...really? When we got to WWII, I just didn't feel the love. I was confused, disinterested. I took notes like a mad woman, asked no questions, volunteered little insight into the entire mess going on across the pond, crammed for tests and managed to score "A's" in spite of myself. One thing about the good Sisters of St. Paul's was that they instilled amazing study ethics into their charges. My grades reflected that I cared. I cared, but not about the academic subject matter. I, with care, focused on Sue's Prom gown, Miles possible failure dilemma, Kenny's aspirations for a fur coat. After I would do well on a test, I immediately cleared my mind of any residual historical knowledge to keep the class intrigue organized in my mind.
After the final exam for the year in European History, I gathered the massive notes, the charts, timeline, principle players, maps, additional supplemental information that Mr. Wagoner had compiled and distributed. With defiance, with purpose, with great relief and flourish, I marched out to the garbage cans docked at the side of our house and deposited the entire class! Yippee!!! No more European History, no more dictators, wars, campaigns, treaties, dates, alphabet days! That was fabulous then...
Not so much now.
I am the Secretary of VFW Post 9927, Kettering Ohio's Ladies 'Auxiliary. I was admitted with my father's paper work. He earned the WWII Victory Medal, as many WWII VETERANS did! My parents have a photo of Ralph the Barber (his Dad) dressed in his WWI uniform with my Father in his WWII uniform. I am also the historian at the post. Are you beginning to recognize the irony? HISTORIAN. I thought that with the help of another Veteran and my son (music, tech guy) a DVD that we created for the Post's Fiftieth Anniversary served as a "History" project and the past could be, well, the past.
Not so much now.
The Veterans' Administration, in conjunction with the Library of Congress has instituted a VETERANS' HISTORY PROJECT. The stories and memorabilia (if possible) are to be obtained, written, compiled, and submitted to the Library of Congress. The personal stories and experiences of the Veterans will be lost if they are not recorded, preserved. The WWII Veterans are dwindling. With the help of another Veteran who knows a vast number of former Military personnel, by seeking out these men and setting the appointments, I have been interviewing the men who contributed to our country's freedom and safety. I have written the stories, as they have spoken them to me of a variety of men, with a variety of experiences. A prisoner of war, a Veteran who was lost in a Burmese Jungle ALONE for six months, a Veteran who fought in the South Pacific, a Glider jumper, a man who was at the Battle of the Bulge, a man who actually participated in "D" Day, a man who was in occupied Berlin when peace was declared, a man who earned three Purple Hearts at Pearl Harbor. I've spoken to a Guard of Prisoners, to a mess Sargent, to a man who suffered in Patton's platoon. There are many more lined up to speak to me. So, I will be typing, binding, submitting to the Library of Congress words that will be used as teaching tools for future generations. I am seeking HISTORY. I am totally submerged in MODERN EUROPEAN HISTORY. I listen, sometimes I record electronically. I transcribe my notes into stories. I have my French notes from High School, I have my Art, Theatre, philosophy, literature notes. But, Miss Smartie Pants has to type and Google at the same time for accuracy of places, people, things that Mr. Wagoner had so liberally distributed. I created a drawing of the garbage cans at home. The drawing hangs in my parents' house. When I visited home two weeks ago, I wanted to climb into the drawing and search those very trash cans for Mr. Wagner's information, for my notes, for what I took for granted!
So, learn your lessons well in school! ALL OF THEM! You just might need them in the future. You just might find that what you hated the most, will be your destiny!
Thank you Mr. Wagoner for trying with me. I regret my ignorance and intolerance now.
(But, Sue's gown was beautiful and I tried to duplicate it with a long coat for my niece years ago.)
In my Sophomore year at Wayne Valley High School, I was placed in a primarily Senior class of MODERN EUROPEAN HISTORY. Mr. Wagner was a no nonsense, overly informed, extremely intelligent man who really should have been teaching on a University level. I hated the class. I was not fond of Mr. Wagner. I lived for the day that the course would be over and history be left in the past...any history...ugh!
I was befriended by an assortment of Seniors and a Junior or two. I followed the daily drama of Sue and Al (drop dead gorgeous Senior), the ups and downs of Pat and Ralph's on and off again romance. I found that relationship interesting, because, she was a Junior, he a Senior and she had an engagement ring! Sadly, Ralph died in Viet Nam not long after he graduated. That's another story altogether. Kenny was brilliant. I sat next to Miles and fanned the flames of an enormous crush all year! His talent was evident in the school shows, charming to the max, oh, but he was out the day that brains were distributed! Nothing but clear space going on above the neck. Because I was clever, mature for my age, mild mannered, pretty I was coddled by the older students and looked forward to socializing with the "cool kids".
I did not look forward to Mr. Wagner and whatever was going on in Europe from about WWI. Places, officers, campaigns, treaties, who did what why...really? When we got to WWII, I just didn't feel the love. I was confused, disinterested. I took notes like a mad woman, asked no questions, volunteered little insight into the entire mess going on across the pond, crammed for tests and managed to score "A's" in spite of myself. One thing about the good Sisters of St. Paul's was that they instilled amazing study ethics into their charges. My grades reflected that I cared. I cared, but not about the academic subject matter. I, with care, focused on Sue's Prom gown, Miles possible failure dilemma, Kenny's aspirations for a fur coat. After I would do well on a test, I immediately cleared my mind of any residual historical knowledge to keep the class intrigue organized in my mind.
After the final exam for the year in European History, I gathered the massive notes, the charts, timeline, principle players, maps, additional supplemental information that Mr. Wagoner had compiled and distributed. With defiance, with purpose, with great relief and flourish, I marched out to the garbage cans docked at the side of our house and deposited the entire class! Yippee!!! No more European History, no more dictators, wars, campaigns, treaties, dates, alphabet days! That was fabulous then...
Not so much now.
I am the Secretary of VFW Post 9927, Kettering Ohio's Ladies 'Auxiliary. I was admitted with my father's paper work. He earned the WWII Victory Medal, as many WWII VETERANS did! My parents have a photo of Ralph the Barber (his Dad) dressed in his WWI uniform with my Father in his WWII uniform. I am also the historian at the post. Are you beginning to recognize the irony? HISTORIAN. I thought that with the help of another Veteran and my son (music, tech guy) a DVD that we created for the Post's Fiftieth Anniversary served as a "History" project and the past could be, well, the past.
Not so much now.
The Veterans' Administration, in conjunction with the Library of Congress has instituted a VETERANS' HISTORY PROJECT. The stories and memorabilia (if possible) are to be obtained, written, compiled, and submitted to the Library of Congress. The personal stories and experiences of the Veterans will be lost if they are not recorded, preserved. The WWII Veterans are dwindling. With the help of another Veteran who knows a vast number of former Military personnel, by seeking out these men and setting the appointments, I have been interviewing the men who contributed to our country's freedom and safety. I have written the stories, as they have spoken them to me of a variety of men, with a variety of experiences. A prisoner of war, a Veteran who was lost in a Burmese Jungle ALONE for six months, a Veteran who fought in the South Pacific, a Glider jumper, a man who was at the Battle of the Bulge, a man who actually participated in "D" Day, a man who was in occupied Berlin when peace was declared, a man who earned three Purple Hearts at Pearl Harbor. I've spoken to a Guard of Prisoners, to a mess Sargent, to a man who suffered in Patton's platoon. There are many more lined up to speak to me. So, I will be typing, binding, submitting to the Library of Congress words that will be used as teaching tools for future generations. I am seeking HISTORY. I am totally submerged in MODERN EUROPEAN HISTORY. I listen, sometimes I record electronically. I transcribe my notes into stories. I have my French notes from High School, I have my Art, Theatre, philosophy, literature notes. But, Miss Smartie Pants has to type and Google at the same time for accuracy of places, people, things that Mr. Wagoner had so liberally distributed. I created a drawing of the garbage cans at home. The drawing hangs in my parents' house. When I visited home two weeks ago, I wanted to climb into the drawing and search those very trash cans for Mr. Wagner's information, for my notes, for what I took for granted!
So, learn your lessons well in school! ALL OF THEM! You just might need them in the future. You just might find that what you hated the most, will be your destiny!
Thank you Mr. Wagoner for trying with me. I regret my ignorance and intolerance now.
(But, Sue's gown was beautiful and I tried to duplicate it with a long coat for my niece years ago.)
Saturday, June 9, 2012
IT'S RALPH THE BARBER'S BIRTHDAY!
June 9 - Happy Birthday Grandpa! Ralph The Barber is/was my father's father. Ralph was one of four siblings born in St. Croix, Sicily. My Dad wants me to uncover my Grandfather's story. According to my Dad, Ralph and three siblings, as little orphaned children were sent to the United States with a mysterious caretaker and plenty of cash. They were raised and educated in Auburn, New York and then sent to Paterson, New Jersey. All four were educated and taught "trades"...barber, shoemaker, grocer, retailer. Never did any of the four little Sicilian children work for anyone, ever. They each were set up in their own businesses. I have been investigating and as far as I can determine, a trip to Sicily will be necessary to retrace the Scillieri steps to the New World. Rosetta Stone, show me your "stuff". That aside...
I was fortunate to have had my grandparents into my adulthood and even into my childrens' childhoods. We Scillieri's, Laganellas and Migliorinos have nothing if we don't have longevity! Also, we are extremely "close" and basically know each other better than we know ourselves. Ask any Italian or Sicilian and I believe they just might have the same story!
Ralph The Barber, as he was known, was, you guessed it...a Barber! He did serve the United States during WWI. His barber shop was located on River Street in Paterson, New Jersey for as long as I can remember. Ralph was a young widower. My Paternal Grandmother had died before I was born (by a few months)...He did tell me that before they married, and the determining factor of such occurred when they were walking as young adults. They were near a river, crossing a bridge in Paterson when Antoinette, my grandmother, said that if Ralph didn't marry her, she would just throw herself off , of that bridge. In a panic, Grandpa proposed to Grandma. Years and years later, during a disagreement, Grandpa asked, "Antionette, if I didn't marry you, would you have really thrown yourself off of that bridge?" Grandma rather testily replied, "Ralph, you jerk, I would have pushed you off!"
Unfortunately, Grandma passed from here to the Heavens way too early. Grandpa did his best to fill his time. He loved fast women and sadly, slow horses! He, when the Beatles first invaded the United States, bought a grey "Beatles" wig and began taking guitar lessons, just in case Paul McCartney needed a little back up. He wrote songs for his girlfriends, dressed up as a woman for Halloween before it was vogue and was the innovator of the "lamp shade" as party wardrobe.
In his Barber Shop, Ralph passed out wooden nickels, misinformation and juicy gossip! He, after he closed the shop at about age 85 continued to voluntarily cut hair for his clients in nursing homes. He would say, "I just cut old Bill's hair at the home. While I was there, I cut all the other old peoples' hair". He just didn't get the fact that they were peers, not just "old people".
He drove a 1968 white Chevrolet Impala for ever. I mean, when it was new, it was new, but he had if for about thirty years. Grandpa did his own body work with foil and duct tape. In his trunk he always carried a cot, toothbrush, change of clothes and a roasted chicken...just in case he didn't want to drive home.
Once, he and Aunt Nina (my Dad's sister, with whom he lived in his golden years) had a falling out of some sort. He showed up at my parents' house and announced that he was moving in. No problem, he proclaimed...he would just put his cot in the dining room. It took my Mom, what is called, "a New York minute" to phone my Dad at work and have him come home to straighten things out! In other words, he went back home to Aunt Nina, lickedy-split!
He was good, kind, loving in his own, for lack of a better word, "zany" way. When I was in College, I had to perform "student teaching" in order to obtain certification to teach Grades K-12. I chose to do this in Art (I had a double major and three minors). After completing one half of a semester in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, High School, I was to practice teach for eight weeks in the Pompton Lakes Junior High School. My cooperating teacher was "with child" and was anxious for me to start. I may be a lot of things, positive and negative, but I am a dilly of a teacher. This was my last semester at William Paterson University. I had 1,000,000 credits and was taking Graduate drawing and painting. I only needed a few snivvely credits in practice teaching to be on my way. What could happen? Oh, Ralph the Barber happened.
I walked into the Pompton Lakes Junior High School and was immediately faced with a sour-pussed Principal...Mrs. U. "Are you Laura Scillieri?" she demanded as if she had swallowed a none-too-tasty dragon for breakfast. Naive me replied, "Oh, yes! I'm the new Art Student Teacher!" Mrs U snarled, "Really? Do you know Ralph the Barber?" Dumber, of the Dumb and Dumber Show..I quickly answered, "Oh, yes! He's my Grandfather, on my Father's side!" Suddenly, this unattractive administrator, before my very eyes, transformed into the Loch Nest Monster in harmony with "The Thing" from a Sci-Fi movies of the 50's! She inflated to ten times her size, as only the Incredible Hulk could, and roared (really, she roared)..."HE STOOD UP MY AUNT LOUISE! SHE HAS BEEN CRYING FOR WEEKS AND YOU WILL NEVER BE CERTIFIED IN THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY OR ANY WHERE ON THIS PLANET FOR THAT MATTER!" Ouch!
That evening, at dinner, my Dad was seated to my left, my younger sister (by ten years) to my right and my Mother across the table. Question: "How was your first day at the Junior High School?" I proceeded to tell the story of Grandpa, Aunt Louise and Mrs. U. The response was from my Dad, "Oh, goddamn it! What the hell is wrong with you? Don't EVER admit knowing my Father! Don't ever say that you know RALPH THE BARBER! Haven't I ever told you that? Ang, didn't we tell her that she doesn't know my Father? What the hell is wrong with you and your daughters? Now what the hell are we going to do? Ang, get my Father on the phone!" Now, I think I know why my Sister felt as if I got all of the attention. I also can understand why she just might resent the fact that she didn't really know that she wasn't supposed to know Ralph. Until then, she was supposed to love and respect him!
With the phone passed around the table...Mom did the calling, Dad said, "Dad, goddamn it, Laura has a problem...here she is..." Oh boy, gotta love a family singing backup! I explained the whole mess to Grandpa. He told me that he stopped taking her out and finally just didn't show up a while ago because no matter how much he spent on her, she never invited him in "for coffee" after their dates! (Really, Sicilian Horn Dog?). For me, and only me, he would call "Aunt Louise" and take her out. Once I was certified he would, "Drop her like a hot potato!" He reminded me, in Sicilian fashion that someday, I would owe him a favor since this was such a huge sacrifice on his part. Ah-ha...getting involved with the mob that doesn't exist over a teaching certificate, a stood up lonely heart and wait for it...my own Grandfather! Gotta love my life!
Time passed. Grandpa and Louise dated. I graduated and was certified to teach Art and Theatre (and English) Grades K-12. He drove me to register my certificate in Passaic County, New Jersey and bragged that I was a fabulous teacher...Yes, he did drop Aunt Louise like a hot potato!
Ralph wouldn't come over to give my son his first hair cut. He told me that on no uncertain terms he loves me so much, but he was way to young at heart to be a Great-Grandfather. He bought my daughter a doll that crawls and giggles. He would visit us and tap dance (really) at the edge of the pool and the children and I would hold our breath, frightened that he would fall in.
He had an obscene corkscrew that as he aged, would accidentally fall out of his pocket!
He drove my Aunt Nina, my cousins Ralph and Tom out of their minds. My Uncle Tom, now confined to a wheelchair, lived his entire married life in the shadow of Ralph's antics. He has soooo many!
On morning in August, he showered, dressed in a new suit (he was an amazing dresser, you know), new shirt, new tie. My Aunt went into his room and said, "Dad, what are you doing?" He replied, "Anna, I'm ready now."
When I told the children, old children, young teens...that Great-Grandpa Scillieri was no more on this earth, we had to leave the beach house to go home for the funeral, Tiff was a little sad and remembered the doll in particular. Nick simply asked, "Hey Mom, what happened to the Cork Screw?"
We went to a Beach Boys concert on our way home for the funeral. That is something that Ralph the Barber could appreciate, being the party animal that he was. The corkscrew was slipped into his pocket before he was shut off from the rest of us. I am not sure if we were grieving so much as wondering!
Is he driving Lucy and Louis crazy in the beyond? Is he tap dancing at the edge of the Heavenly Pool? Did Grandma have a rolling pin ready to knock some sense into his crazy head once she got her hands on him? I don't know any of that quite yet.
We are who our ancestors were. My cousins and I love Grandpa, but, are a little frightened of how much of Ralph The Barber we carry forth with us! Grandma, go easy on him...he was fun! Happy Birthday Grandpa... are you passing out those wooden nickels? Smile on us and keep that corkscrew in your pocket!
I was fortunate to have had my grandparents into my adulthood and even into my childrens' childhoods. We Scillieri's, Laganellas and Migliorinos have nothing if we don't have longevity! Also, we are extremely "close" and basically know each other better than we know ourselves. Ask any Italian or Sicilian and I believe they just might have the same story!
Ralph The Barber, as he was known, was, you guessed it...a Barber! He did serve the United States during WWI. His barber shop was located on River Street in Paterson, New Jersey for as long as I can remember. Ralph was a young widower. My Paternal Grandmother had died before I was born (by a few months)...He did tell me that before they married, and the determining factor of such occurred when they were walking as young adults. They were near a river, crossing a bridge in Paterson when Antoinette, my grandmother, said that if Ralph didn't marry her, she would just throw herself off , of that bridge. In a panic, Grandpa proposed to Grandma. Years and years later, during a disagreement, Grandpa asked, "Antionette, if I didn't marry you, would you have really thrown yourself off of that bridge?" Grandma rather testily replied, "Ralph, you jerk, I would have pushed you off!"
Unfortunately, Grandma passed from here to the Heavens way too early. Grandpa did his best to fill his time. He loved fast women and sadly, slow horses! He, when the Beatles first invaded the United States, bought a grey "Beatles" wig and began taking guitar lessons, just in case Paul McCartney needed a little back up. He wrote songs for his girlfriends, dressed up as a woman for Halloween before it was vogue and was the innovator of the "lamp shade" as party wardrobe.
In his Barber Shop, Ralph passed out wooden nickels, misinformation and juicy gossip! He, after he closed the shop at about age 85 continued to voluntarily cut hair for his clients in nursing homes. He would say, "I just cut old Bill's hair at the home. While I was there, I cut all the other old peoples' hair". He just didn't get the fact that they were peers, not just "old people".
He drove a 1968 white Chevrolet Impala for ever. I mean, when it was new, it was new, but he had if for about thirty years. Grandpa did his own body work with foil and duct tape. In his trunk he always carried a cot, toothbrush, change of clothes and a roasted chicken...just in case he didn't want to drive home.
Once, he and Aunt Nina (my Dad's sister, with whom he lived in his golden years) had a falling out of some sort. He showed up at my parents' house and announced that he was moving in. No problem, he proclaimed...he would just put his cot in the dining room. It took my Mom, what is called, "a New York minute" to phone my Dad at work and have him come home to straighten things out! In other words, he went back home to Aunt Nina, lickedy-split!
He was good, kind, loving in his own, for lack of a better word, "zany" way. When I was in College, I had to perform "student teaching" in order to obtain certification to teach Grades K-12. I chose to do this in Art (I had a double major and three minors). After completing one half of a semester in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, High School, I was to practice teach for eight weeks in the Pompton Lakes Junior High School. My cooperating teacher was "with child" and was anxious for me to start. I may be a lot of things, positive and negative, but I am a dilly of a teacher. This was my last semester at William Paterson University. I had 1,000,000 credits and was taking Graduate drawing and painting. I only needed a few snivvely credits in practice teaching to be on my way. What could happen? Oh, Ralph the Barber happened.
I walked into the Pompton Lakes Junior High School and was immediately faced with a sour-pussed Principal...Mrs. U. "Are you Laura Scillieri?" she demanded as if she had swallowed a none-too-tasty dragon for breakfast. Naive me replied, "Oh, yes! I'm the new Art Student Teacher!" Mrs U snarled, "Really? Do you know Ralph the Barber?" Dumber, of the Dumb and Dumber Show..I quickly answered, "Oh, yes! He's my Grandfather, on my Father's side!" Suddenly, this unattractive administrator, before my very eyes, transformed into the Loch Nest Monster in harmony with "The Thing" from a Sci-Fi movies of the 50's! She inflated to ten times her size, as only the Incredible Hulk could, and roared (really, she roared)..."HE STOOD UP MY AUNT LOUISE! SHE HAS BEEN CRYING FOR WEEKS AND YOU WILL NEVER BE CERTIFIED IN THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY OR ANY WHERE ON THIS PLANET FOR THAT MATTER!" Ouch!
That evening, at dinner, my Dad was seated to my left, my younger sister (by ten years) to my right and my Mother across the table. Question: "How was your first day at the Junior High School?" I proceeded to tell the story of Grandpa, Aunt Louise and Mrs. U. The response was from my Dad, "Oh, goddamn it! What the hell is wrong with you? Don't EVER admit knowing my Father! Don't ever say that you know RALPH THE BARBER! Haven't I ever told you that? Ang, didn't we tell her that she doesn't know my Father? What the hell is wrong with you and your daughters? Now what the hell are we going to do? Ang, get my Father on the phone!" Now, I think I know why my Sister felt as if I got all of the attention. I also can understand why she just might resent the fact that she didn't really know that she wasn't supposed to know Ralph. Until then, she was supposed to love and respect him!
With the phone passed around the table...Mom did the calling, Dad said, "Dad, goddamn it, Laura has a problem...here she is..." Oh boy, gotta love a family singing backup! I explained the whole mess to Grandpa. He told me that he stopped taking her out and finally just didn't show up a while ago because no matter how much he spent on her, she never invited him in "for coffee" after their dates! (Really, Sicilian Horn Dog?). For me, and only me, he would call "Aunt Louise" and take her out. Once I was certified he would, "Drop her like a hot potato!" He reminded me, in Sicilian fashion that someday, I would owe him a favor since this was such a huge sacrifice on his part. Ah-ha...getting involved with the mob that doesn't exist over a teaching certificate, a stood up lonely heart and wait for it...my own Grandfather! Gotta love my life!
Time passed. Grandpa and Louise dated. I graduated and was certified to teach Art and Theatre (and English) Grades K-12. He drove me to register my certificate in Passaic County, New Jersey and bragged that I was a fabulous teacher...Yes, he did drop Aunt Louise like a hot potato!
Ralph wouldn't come over to give my son his first hair cut. He told me that on no uncertain terms he loves me so much, but he was way to young at heart to be a Great-Grandfather. He bought my daughter a doll that crawls and giggles. He would visit us and tap dance (really) at the edge of the pool and the children and I would hold our breath, frightened that he would fall in.
He had an obscene corkscrew that as he aged, would accidentally fall out of his pocket!
He drove my Aunt Nina, my cousins Ralph and Tom out of their minds. My Uncle Tom, now confined to a wheelchair, lived his entire married life in the shadow of Ralph's antics. He has soooo many!
On morning in August, he showered, dressed in a new suit (he was an amazing dresser, you know), new shirt, new tie. My Aunt went into his room and said, "Dad, what are you doing?" He replied, "Anna, I'm ready now."
When I told the children, old children, young teens...that Great-Grandpa Scillieri was no more on this earth, we had to leave the beach house to go home for the funeral, Tiff was a little sad and remembered the doll in particular. Nick simply asked, "Hey Mom, what happened to the Cork Screw?"
We went to a Beach Boys concert on our way home for the funeral. That is something that Ralph the Barber could appreciate, being the party animal that he was. The corkscrew was slipped into his pocket before he was shut off from the rest of us. I am not sure if we were grieving so much as wondering!
Is he driving Lucy and Louis crazy in the beyond? Is he tap dancing at the edge of the Heavenly Pool? Did Grandma have a rolling pin ready to knock some sense into his crazy head once she got her hands on him? I don't know any of that quite yet.
We are who our ancestors were. My cousins and I love Grandpa, but, are a little frightened of how much of Ralph The Barber we carry forth with us! Grandma, go easy on him...he was fun! Happy Birthday Grandpa... are you passing out those wooden nickels? Smile on us and keep that corkscrew in your pocket!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANA!
June 6 is my Grandmother’s
birthday. Lucy Laganella. Anyone who was anyone knew her as Nana. Nana came from Foggia, Italy with her family
on the heels of her two older brothers.
Here, she learned the language and the customs of the United
States. The Pope may not realize that
she was/is a saint, having married my Grandfather Louis, raising two sons and
my Mom. All children went to NYU and
graduated with honors.
Nana was a gentlewoman, a
lady. Beautiful, creative, witty, smart,
patient, sensitive, calm, peaceful. There was absolutely never a problem, conflict,
issue that she couldn’t soothe, solve with her grace. Nana called me “Dolly Dear”. All conversations, directions, were prefaced
with, “Dolly Dear, Ladies don’t…” or “Dolly Dear, Ladies do…” I am here to tell you that “Ladies don’t”
more than “Ladies do”. Nana took me to
Mass, Novena, lunch, shopping, vacationed with us, snuggled, held me and made
all things right, always! Nana was my
best friend, my confidante. I was
blessed to have her well into my adulthood
.
Louie was a family man and
thought that he was just about the smartest human on the face of the
earth. Louie was cheap. Lucy made him
think that he was the boss of all bosses, but…Nana had a quiet dignity by which
she could ignite quite a blast of humor!
One day, she told Grandpa, “Louie, iffa you keep money in the basement,
the mice will a eat it.” Grandpa’s
response, “Ah, go on! Whatta you know?
There are a no mice in a basement!” So,
Grandpa, on his way downtown, sang (tenor) and went shopping one day. Nana had
a blender. Into the blender, she placed
a few single dollar bills. Just a
few. That blender made confetti in no
time! She went down into the basement,
moved a loose brick from the unfinished wall and removed a huge pile of cash. She placed confetti where the cash had been. “Dolly Dear, let’s go upstairs and have some
nice tea.” We always had tea in the
afternoon…
We heard singing in the alley
(tenor) as Grandpa returned from shopping.
We then heard the Litany of the Saints cursed in Italian bellowing
through the air followed by, “Them goddamma mice! They eatta alla my money!” Nana giggled.
Actually, before Grandpa got upstairs, she laughed so hard that she
wiped a tear from her eye!
Nana would keep any secret that I
shared…anything! She would also keep any indiscretion to herself as well! In February of my Freshman year at William
Paterson University, my father had to have surgery. He had a Volkswagen Beetle with a shift that
would be in the way in the driveway. So,
before he went into the hospital, he moved the car onto our back patio. He told me to start the engine daily to keep
the battery working, but to not move the car.
So, from the first day that he was at the General Hospital, my mother
went along to fret, my Grandparents came to stay with us (my sister is ten
years younger than I and no self-respecting Italian would leave children home
alone for any length of time. (A child is defined as any unmarried individual
regardless of age living in a home) I
went outside, started the Bug, decided to take a ride and found myself in the
car sideways straddling three stairs to the porch. “Dolly Dear!”
Nana came out of the house. “Whatta
you do? You not supposed to move the car!”
“Nan, just help me lift it off the steps. I’ve seen the guys at school pick up these
things 1,000 times!” We just couldn’t
swing it, so, I put the car in reverse and splintered our old wooden picnic
table! I tried a forward gear and
smashed into cedar shake on the back of the house! “Dolly Dear!
You’re not such a good driver!” That was quite a statement from the
woman who always assured me, “Dolly Dear, you never do anything wrong!” That summer, the house was painted. In order that my Father didn’t see the
colossal damage on the back of the house, I tried to volunteer to paint after
using that part of the house for target practice getting in touch with my inner
Native American (bow and arrows).
At dinner for my twenty-sixth
birthday, my Father and I sat across from each other. My Mom and Grandmother sat across from each
other. My sister sat between Nana and
myself. Grandpa was in the living room
catching a headline on the news. The
conversation took this turn: My Dad
said, “You know, you always think that you’re pretty smart and that I’m a
dunce, but, I know more than you think!
I know exactly what goes on around here.
Always did.” That was directed in gest to me, but, I was up for the
challenge and couldn’t resist ,”Oh, yeah Dad? Really? Did you ever know about the Volkswagen?” My Grandmother quickly put her fingers to her
lips, looked at me as if I were crazy and exclaimed, “Oh no! What are you doing? Why?”
Dad said, “What?” I proceeded to
tell the story of the Volkswagen as I have typed to you! He looked at my Mom, “Hey, Ang, what do you
know about that?” Mom quickly said that
she had no idea what I was talking about and did he want more coffee with his
cake? He looked at Nana, “You know
anything about this?” Nana developed a
language barrier and commented to me in Italian that she finished sewing my new
“lovely” as she called it.
My Mom and Grandmother sewed my
wardrobe for West Point weekends for years that I dated a Cadet.
Nana could look at any knitted outfit, or any "off the rack" outfit and duplicate the stitches or the entire ensemble.
Nana was my best critic when I
doing free-lance art work.
Nana was my partner in crime, my
grounding force, my common sense and my conscience.
Nana loved me as no one has ever
before, nor ever will.
Nana had my back, saved me from
myself. We laughed, cried, played,
loved.
On the evening of Nana’s last
Christmas, I drove Grandpa and Nana home.
I held onto her so tightly and didn’t want to let her go. She said, “Dolly Dear, I won’t always be
here, you know.” I wouldn’t hear of that
under any circumstances. NEVER!
The last movie we watched
together was the original THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR. Nana, that Saturday, had a back ache. Later, she was admitted to the hospital with
a heart attack. She was failing. I was furious that the doctor wouldn’t let me
in to help! I knew that if I held on to
her and pulled, not letting go, she would stay with me! Hold on to me Nana and don’t leave!
I have the ring that Grandpa gave Nana when they went out on their first date (chaperoned). I have the pearl ring that she gave to me when I made my First Holy Communion. I will give it to Tess for hers.
I still have her Japanese Geisha
china. The last nightgown and robe that
Nana sewed for me is hanging on my closet door. I smell the Chantilly that she
wore.
She channels her patience and love
through me when I care for my own grandchildren. I hold up my hands to her when I have to sew
something way over my head. My prayer
book is close to me, as hers was next to her chair.
I can only aspire to be a
teeny-weeny bit of what Nana was/is.
Happy Birthday Nana. You are my heart and soul!
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