A limerick for Mrs. Stephen Fry on the day of her book launching "Mrs. Fry's Diary"

There once was a woman named Edna, Who found that she couldn't benda. She went to the Doc, who found on the spot, that Edna was having a Brenda! 10-15-10

A Unusual story of how I met my Husband.

'Twas a month before I turned sixteen years old. It was a gloomy dull, cold and damp Sunday in 1962 and I had a bad case of tonsillitis. I felt puffy, painful and and oh so ugly. My girlfriend was in the process of setting me up on a blind date with her boyfriend's friend, Dick. I only chatted with him briefly on the telephone weeks earlier. I didn't think much of it because all of my blind dates had been pretty much horrific, boring and a waste of time, for me and my date.

My girlfriend, Sue, said she'd come over that day and keep me company. I wasn't in the mood but she liked to get out of the house and away from her domineering Mother. I think my Mother, a single Mom, happened to be working that day. I can't remember for sure but I know she wasn't home. My sister Jo happened to be home too. I looked pretty awful. I had slugged around all weekend. I had not showered, done my hair or had any make-up on. I hadn't been eating or drinking much because it hurt to swallow. I looked like hell too without make-up, believe you me! This day I even looked worse because having a fever is not great for your skin color either. I felt puffy, therefore, I looked puffy. I was in my pajamas and robe.

Sue was there for a short time when she exclaimed that Dick was coming over to meet me. OMG!!!! Being a typical teenager I became hysterical and started that high pitched shrill that comes out of a girl my age, a very loud shrill. I was a typical teenager. I started to panic. What do I do? What do I do? I didn't have any clothing that was pressed or wearable. Since I hadn't ironed, I decided to wear my Mother's clothes. She didn't have any clothing that I cared for. It was a bad mistake only it wasn't the last. The clothes were not what would be the appropriate outfit a girl my age would wear. Next, in my hysteria, I put on my Mom's face powder which was way too light for my complexion and made my face look as pale as a sheet. Her "rouge," which we call blush these days, was in a tiny round cased with a tiny powder puff to apply it on my cheeks. It made me looked like Bozo the clown with 2 round dots of rouge on my cheeks.

Dick pulled up in his car outside. I decided he couldn't see me the way I was dressed so I ran down two flights of stairs faster than I had moved in days, and down to the basement, while telling Sue not to let him see me. It didn't work. She sent him down the basement anyway. It was an awful dark place with a dirt floor and coal dust sprinkled all over it from coal being carried with a shovel from the coal bin over to the furnace. We were one of the few homes still using coal back then. I ran to the coal bin and closed the door. I could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, then across the wooden floor. Dick must have seen me close the door of the coal bin. OMG, he opened the door! I thought my days on earth had ended. If not, I wanted it to. I wanted to be swallowed up by something so that he wouldn't see the mess I made of my self.

When I looked at him, his expression was happy and slightly laughing at my silly antics. He had, I discovered, a great sense of humor. He appeared with great big brown eyes and I instantly liked his personality.

We dated on and off for two years and got married in 1965. We now have been married 46 years and have one Daughter and 2 Grandchildren.

He's a great guy.

Margaret's Revenge

As you know from past posts, Margaret was my 4 foot 9 Italian Mother in Law. She always called my husband, Dickie. One time when, "Dickie" still lived at home, he had sassed her and she became irate and decided to get even! While he was in the kitchen cutting himself a piece of cake, she planned her revenge. He would have to walk past the sofa. It was a blind spot for him. She decided to stand up on the sofa and wait for him to walk past her. He came out of the kitchen, one hand holding the cake plate and one hand with a forkful of cake in his mouth. Whoosh! Margaret trounced on his back. She stayed on his back for a few seconds. Yelling at him for being a bad kid. Dick, in the meantime wondered what the heck was going on. He was stunned! It was a sight to behold! My mind pictures a lot of yelling and spinning around. I don't know what happened to the piece of cake Dick had in his hand, probably became a big mess on the floor. Finally she let go of him and dropped down off his back. She said that was what he gets for being a smart ass and sass his mother. This story has been told over and over again with Dick's side of the family. I would have loved to have seen it and the expression on all the faces of those people who were there during the wrestling match. Dick's facial expression would be worth it just to see alone. Wow, what a woman! I don't think "Dickie" ever sassed his Mother again!

Margaret and Sam Giancana

For this blog you first need to pretend that you hear the theme song from the movie The Godfather. Do you have it yet? Picture an old Italian Sicilian neighborhood, except this time it is in Chicago instead of New York. You see clothes hanging from one building to the other on a hot sunny day. You won't find the head of an expensive race horse in my story. Not quite the typical picture of Italians in the movies. It is now later in the evening and dark. The laundry has been taken down. It's a quieter time, with groups of teenage boys standing on corners talking about girls, sex and whatever. Ah, isn't Italian music nice?

Margaret was my four foot nine future Mother-In-Law and at this time she was a young single woman. She had been out late with her girlfriends, and had taken a late bus home. She was alone walking towards her family's apartment. The boys standing on the corner were not the usual type of teens you would would see today. These boys lived in a much harder time which led them to a life of crime and violence. Margaret only knew that they were just the neighborhood boys protecting the girls from outsiders. She never dreamed what would become of one of those particular boys. This was the depression era and crime was rampant. One of the guys was a budding mafia king pin, namely one, Sam Giancana.

From what I have been told, Sam was abused by his parents. He hardly ever got a good meal from them. Margaret's mother felt sorry for Sam and invited him over to share some of their dinners with him. That night Margaret was walking down the street, Sam yelled out, "Margaret, what are you doing out so late alone? You should have been home earlier, don't go out alone in the dark."

Sam went on to become a big mob boss of Chicago and Las Vegas. Margaret became the wife of a Welsh American and a mother of four children. Unfortunately she never taught her children the Italian language. Italians were looked down upon back then and called greasers, wops and dagos. People forget where Michaelangelo, and Galileo were born and raised.

People enjoy when I tell them this story. Funny how we make "heros" even of the meanest, cruelest people in the world. This man also shared a woman with the President of the United States!

This makes me wonder what would have happened if Margaret would have married Sam Giancana.

My Mother-In-Law's Underpants

I was just reading a Twitter friends blog and she mentioned Knickers. We call them panties or underpants here in USA; this immediately brought to mind a funny and embarrassing story about my dear Mother In Law, Margaret. She was a first generation Italian. He parents came from Sicily and it was an arranged marriage. I always enjoyed her stories about growing up Italian in Chicago. Margaret was a short lady, only four foot nine inches tall, and she had a loud deep voice. She had a wonderful sense of humor. She was very hard of hearing which is why she spoke loudly.

One day she told me of her visit to see her Physician, Dr. Salerno, who was Italian also. His patients were mostly Italian. He also would make home visits if needed. Rose was his Girl Friday. When the exam was completed Margaret dressed quickly so she could catch the next bus to go home. When she got home she found out she forgot her panties/underpants at the Dr.'s office. She immediately called the Doctor's office. Well, lo and behold, instead of Rose answering, Dr. Salerno answered and he said hello, and said, "Margaret......did you forget something?

Rose had gone home and Dr. Salerno found her underpants in the exam room! At this point Margaret said she would pick them up at a later date. I don't know if she ever did.

Someday soon I will write about Margaret and Sam Giancona, the Mob dude.

Dick and the Polish Sausage

My husband, Dick doesn't really cook. He's a great guy, but doesn't know much about cooking or anything included in cooking. You will find as I write blogs now and in the future, that he is a klutz. I don't know what else to name his problem. I never know what he will do when I ask him to do something for me. This time we both were in the kitchen. I was cooking at the stove and he was in front of the sink. I asked him if he would kindly rinse the raw polish sausage off for me. He said fine. I turned around and much to my chagrin, he dunked the sausage into the soapy dishwater and was swooshing it around.

I was aghast, took the sausage, rinsed it off with clear water, cooked it and then ate it. It was the cleanest sausage we ever had.

Sump Pumps

Seems odd to me for a woman to write about sump pumps, but last night we had a bad storm with lots of thunder and rain. I think we had a little hail too. Our power went off for the sump pump which brought to mind 2 things I thought I’d jot down here. First, they are a pain in the neck, and they are somewhat stressful when owned by Dick and Kathy. Second,I have a funny story about my husband, Dick and the sump pump:

For those who are not familiar with sump pumps, they are designed to draw water, which accumulates around your home’s foundation to remove any pressure on the cement walls caused by the water raising up from the ground and going up the outside wall. If it is not removed, the walls will collapse inward and may cause costly repair later. The pump is run by electricity. There is a hole in the corner of the basement floor where the outside water is made to accumulate. The pump is placed in this pool of water so it can remove the water when it reaches a certain level. The pump is programmed to turn on and pump the water out of the house to a sewer or a ditch in the back yard. Normal people have either a battery backup for when the power goes out, or they own a generator to use in it’s place for the same reason. We are of course, not being normal people, do not own either a battery back up or a generator. At least once or twice a year we get a foot of clear rain water down the basement. Dick moans and groans how much work it is to clean the basement but never purchases a back up because he thinks the hose which drains the water away from the house is either clogged or too small of a diameter to drain the water quickly. This is his logic.

The next part of the sump pump article is about my Husband, Dick….. and someone elses sump pump. I love him dearly but I have lots of stories about his escapades. Maybe I will write a few more of his stories on my new blog.

One family Christmas in the 1970′s, our family decided to get all dressed up for Christmas dinner, even though it was being served down my Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick’s warm basement. Christmas’ at My Aunt Ann and Uncle Dick’s was a memory I never want to forget. We had it all decorated with red and green crêpe paper on the ceiling and all sorts of Christmas ornaments and family remembrances of days gone by drawn by us when we were children. The good dishes, wine glasses, and center pieces would be on the table. Candles would be lit. My cousin, Michael, would give his 2 Grandmothers’ a corsage every year. The whole house would permeate with smell of the delicious turkey roasting in the oven and we would be anxiously salivating for samples of the skin of the turkey as my Uncle carved beautiful browned bird. His stuffing was wonderful. It was my Grandmother “Maisie’s” recipe made with only onions, celery and chicken broth. Nothing elaborate.

Now dinner was over. I am the photographer of the family. I decided as long was we were dressed so nice we all should gather on the stairs for a group picture. My husband volunteered this time to take the picture so I could be in it. He never took a picture before. We all slowly got on the stairs sitting ever so nicely. Dick had the camera and kept fiddling with it and we were getting very impatient due to eating so much food and jokes were starting about how slow he was. Mind you wine and beer were also flowing by that time too. (not me of course, I usually stick to diet coke). It was taking forever. Finally he put his eye to the eye piece and kept slowly backing up and up and up and you guessed it, down he went into the hole in the floor where the sump pump was. We all gasped! Down he went. He immediately raised himself up with his leg soaking wet. He paused and then looked at us and said: “I fell in the sump pump!” Well after a pause, we all got hysterically laughing and that quote has been said now for over 30 years. He also broke the sump pump.