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)

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).

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.)

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!

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

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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!