Archive for December, 2004

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Shattered Glass, Shattered Memories

Monday, December 6th, 2004
I ran into the house looking to go the bathroom quickly before picking my daughter up from school when I saw the Christmas tree lying on the floor...all seven feet of it...water spilled everywhere...shards of glass scattered to the four corners of the room. I stood there a second, shook my head and just left. This wasn't the first time this has happened to me. The year my mom died the tree came crashing down, destroying a lot of the ornaments she had given me over the years. I cried and cried. This time it didn't really affect me, it was more of a "Oh, well". My daughter, on the other hand, was quite upset as she saw all her favorite ornaments scattered under my boots. I tried to console her but my heart just wasn't into it. To be honest I think I've had enough of Christmas for the year.



Last night I tried to take the obligatory Christmas photo against my son's wishes. You can clearly see in all the photos he's just annoyed and in the one I want to use he has a maniacal look in his eyes. Alas, no one else thinks it's "appropriate". After that debacle we tried to build a ginger bread house. I've decided I really hate those gingerbread houses. It's like you need to be an architect to even decorate one of them. The damn frosting shot out all around the kitchen while I was trying to mix it up and then wouldn't come out of the bag when we tried to use it. I gave up when the roof cracked in but my daughter took over and she actually made something nice. So nice in fact I found a family of ants living in it this morning. Bye bye Ginger Bread House!



You know, I know why the tree fell down and it wasn't because my corgie who can barely reach it knocked it down. No, it was because when my husband was cutting the base of it he didn't cut it straight. I remarked that I thought it should be even but was poo pooed. Either that or a spirit came in and just threw it down. Of course that's possible as well. Whatever the cause I still have all the ornaments that survived in a pile now on my dining room table. As far as I'm concerned they can stay there and I'm just waiting to see who is going to step up to the plate and put them back on the cursed tree. Not me. I've had enough.

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We Are The Griswolds

Saturday, December 4th, 2004
Living on a corner lot, it is naturally up to us to light up the entire neighborhood during Christmas time. Anyone who's lived in Bensonhurst, especially in the Dyker Heights section knows the ritual of driving up the hilly streets, getting stuck in traffic and gawking at the most gaudy, brilliantly lit homes during the holiday season. Christmas music blaring from mansions, Santas giving out candy canes, full size wooden soldiers standing guard were all normal happenings to us. The houses that didn't have at least a couple of candles in the windows were thought of as Grinch homes.



Cut to Roanoke where there is a church or a bank on practically every corner. Now you would think with so many churches there would be tons of decorated houses everywhere....not so. You see here they are mostly Baptist, or Methodist, or Luthern and in Brooklyn there were mostly Catholic churches. Huge difference. I found that out the first week I was here. For some reason one of the first questions you get asked down here is "what church do you belong to?" Now in NY, that question was NEVER asked. Who cared? Well, apparently down here they do. Truth be told, I'm not the best Catholic, been divorced a couple of times, was thrown out of the Vatican and really only go to church for funerals or weddings, but still when asked that question I answer Catholic. You would think Satan himself was sitting on my shoulder by the reactions I have gotten from quite a few "Christians" down here. I've actually had people walk away from me after hearing that! I was shocked the first couple of times then I got pissed. So even though I'm not such a great Catholic now I make sure to rub it into anyone who dares asks me "what church I go to's" face. I like to see their reaction and can gauge if we're going to be friends by it. Unfortunately I have met very few who pass my test. I sort of feel bad for my kids because a lot of their friends are "church people" and basically my son thinks that religion is the root of all evil. With statements like that, and a mom like me, he doesn't get invited over to friends houses too much. My daughter has her own problems with her little girlfriends telling her she's going to go to hell because she doesn't go to church. I tell her to just tell them she's already there.



Back to why we're the Griswolds....well, that's what a couple of my children's friends parents have told me. Of course they preface it with, "Take it as a compliment". Now if they saw where we came from and what we really should be doing they would freak out. Just because the neighborhood dims a bit when we plug in does not make us the Griswolds. I did have to stop my husband from spinning out of control. Every year he likes to add a little more but when it takes you three days to put everything up it's time to stop. He even lit up my dog's yard this year! I thought he was going to take out the mechanical deer and put a bullet in it's head after he couldn't figure out why the head wouldn't light up. Coming to the rescue I quickly hid the head in the bushes so it looks like it's grazing, and handed my husband a glass of wine. Problem solved. That was last weeked. During the week a damn wind storm blew through and every single icicle strand got thrown up on the roof...the candy canes lining the walk crumbled to the ground, the freestanding circular lit tree (which I hated anyway) got blown down the road along with the decorations from the shutters. Boy was he pissed. Quick, waiter, another chianti!



So for a week now we've had the real Christmas tree, a douglas fir, sitting in the living room, waiting to have the lights put on. That's his job too. This year the three of them picked this particular tree which I did not like. I wanted the frasier, but was outvoted and let them know next year I will be picking the tree out. Everyday as I walked past that tree, the mere vibrations of my feet passing would cause tons of needles to fall off. I would vacuum, then two minutes later, there would be a carpet of them again. Now to me this is not a good sign. There is still a good couple of weeks before Christmas even gets here. How long do they think this pathetic tree is going to last. By the time I get to hang an ornament on it it will be Charlie Brown's tree and I'll have to use my daughter's blankie to prop it up! But no one will listen to me, they think I've just got sour grapes. So today as my husband crawled on his belly to begin his light hanging, he finally understood what I was talking about. As he was speaking, needles were falling in his mouth. He then wondered if perhaps this might be a fire hazard. Ya think? Finally they admitted I was right and as punishment I made him tie the tree back up on top of the jeep and take it back to Lowe's. I then picked out a lovely, heavy, fresh Frasier fur. Now my home smells like pine and there's hardly a needle on the floor. My son said he thought my psychic powers killed it because I hated it so much, maybe, but really isn't the moral of the story...Mom's always right?

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Witness Protection?

Friday, December 3rd, 2004
The first thing I should let you know is that I am NOT in the witness protection program. I know, I know, a lot of you who hear my real name, hear my accent and take one look at me and my family and just immediately assume we're Italians on the run. Contrary to popular belief not everyone from Bensonhurst is in the mafia...well, maybe not directly "in" the mafia...well, maybe just a little... Oh, nevermind. I'm really not and let's leave it at that. And if I was do ya think I would rat on someone and have to join the witness protection program??? Ya know some of us still believe in Omerta! Ok, so now that's out of the way, so...



Why this blog anyway? To be honest, I saw in the local and ONLY newspaper down here that anyone can get a free one, so I figured it would be fun to see what all the hubbub is all about. I thought it could be good therapy for me to get some of my frustrations, thoughts and even sometimes, anger, out via writing in a format that doesn't sit in the bottom of my drawer. Of course, probably the same amount of people will probably read it...one...me. Call me crazy, but I'm just not prepared to be on Prozac, or whatever it's called, the "All is Well" little pill that has become so popular amongst the women and even men I know. For me, a couple of glasses (or bottles, if really a bad day) of Chianti takes the edge off and I believe that's a lot healthier than some chemicals coursing through my veins. It's become a little scary to observe so many people so even keeled all the time. How boring and Stepford everyone has become. Whatever happened to passion?



If anyone should be on legal medication it should be me. I left a six figure job working in tv in NYC to start a new life here in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. Ok, cue the Green Acres music. This was way before there were any terrorist attacks so I didn't run out of Dodge. In fact when I left, the real estate market was at its lowest and naturally I lost money on my house. It kills me to hear that the house I once lived in now goes for three times the amount I paid for it. My only hope is that the neighbors next door are still as annoying as ever and that whoever is stupid enough to pay that much for it spends endless hours looking for parking spaces into the wee hours of the morning like I used to! That's one great thing about living here I never have to look for a parking space. Even when I go "downtown" there are parking spaces and not even any parking meters!



Anyway I'm here for the children. It's always for "the children", isn't it? I remember when life was carefree and I was selfish and had adult fun, but then came "the children" and that all changed. After they arrived it became imperative for me to get them out the hellhole that I had called home all my life. Suddenly it wasn't good enough for them.





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