I wish I could go back to childhood to see how much time (and my faulty memory) have altered what I think I recall clearly. My Fourth of July memories revolve around picnics at Brady’s Run Park, on slightly damp summer grass. The only food I remember is the Fourth of July birthday cake with tiny American flags on it because the Fourth was my mom’s birthday, and…
The Annual Cutthroat Tunno Pumpkin Pie Competition is upon us and the smack talk has started with my nephew, Chris. If I knew how to, I’d share his first Facebook taunt with you, but you get the point. Humility is not his strong point. But this IS competition and what better way to stir up a rivalry than with attitude and a winning pie recipe? (We’re all just…
I was rooting around in my closet a few nights ago looking for a jacket to wear because, joy of joys, it’s finally cool in the evenings here. As I slid clothes along the wooden rod in my tiny closet, I spotted my dad’s favorite green sweatshirt. He loved that sweatshirt and used to wear it all the time — really — I mean ALL the time. If you…
Last week, when I was visiting family in Pennsylvania, I ate out more times in two days than I did from the time I was 0 to 13. This behavior would have shocked my frugal parents back in the ’50s and ’60s. From the time I was born until I was thirteen I think I dined out twice. (I did tour the McDonalds in Beaver Falls with the…
Today is the 23rd anniversary of my mom’s passing. She was a force of nature; making you crazy one minute, making you laugh the next. This story is proof.…
My brothers were smart, they knew not to bring girls they dated home. The few times they did, Mom would be nice, unless the girl happened to touch them. Holding hands, snuggling, or showing any kind of affection meant she was a puttana and would never do for her sons. She never remembered names, only referring to them as, “datta gal,” as in, “Tella datta gal to eatta…
Ever experience something that you don’t talk about much because you know people will look at you funny and say, “Yeah, right.” For me, it was the night my mom visited — maybe 7 or 8 years ago. If you’ve been reading this blog for long, you’ll know that’s impossible because my mom died in 1992. However, when she was alive, she always said that after she died…
(September 23rd will be the anniversary of my mom’s big debut on national television. This story was originally published in the Los Angeles Times under the name, “Da Holy Hour.” There was an accompanying YouTube video of my mom in action, which was proof I’m not making any of this stuff up, but it’s been blocked due to copywrite laws.) Enjoy! Some women love athletes, others love…
It’s no surprise that I was 32 when I married. Frankly, I’m amazed I was that young because my mom had a way of winnowing out the weaker prospects pretty quickly. Any suitor who visited had to be warned about her because her childlike frankness left people stunned. To protect myself, I sat at the table with her, laughing too loud so whomever she was talking to knew…
Just as a woman is watching her face shrivel up like the faces in those paintings in the haunted house at Disneyland, a cruel irony of life surfaces. She sees her daughter burst into full bloom in front of her; probably as beautiful as she’ll ever be. It’s like roses on a rosebush. The mom is the one that’s left with just a knob and some straw-like hairs…