Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!

The story continues. Please enjoy this is the next chapter  of  my life in the Middle of the Mob  ! —The Gang

As printed…

Note: This should be about 14 to 19 minute read as we did a double-episode (though your mileage may vary)…

As seen in the Print Edition…

My first job after graduating high school was as a teller at World Savings and Loan. Remember that prehistoric institution? Did you know that at the end of 2004 the direct cost of the S&L crisis to taxpayers was about $124 billion? Now I’m not giving the mob any kudos but, back in 1963, I’ll bet the amount of money the mafia stole from taxpayers was peanuts compared to that.

Anyway, I started as a teller and worked my way up to account department manager and was finally promoted to secretary to the president. My parents were proud of me and so was I.

While I was working my way up the ladder at World Savings, Nicky Salatto had been drafted, serving time in Japan with the Marines for a few years. While stationed there he spoiled himself with tailor-made suits and shirts. After his tour of duty, he was honorably discharged, that being one of the few honors he ever received.

We met again at Rocco’s Inn, a popular neighborhood bar. I was eighteen and Nicky was twenty-one. Now it’s one thing to be good looking but you put all those good looks, the dark hair, big blue eyes, and olive complexion, in a deep blue suit with a tailored, hug-your-waist light blue shirt, opened at the collar and it’s enough to make you faint. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and he noticed.

Dancing with his body plastered against a friend of mine, he winked at me over her shoulder. When Sabina returned to our table I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “He was flirting with me while you were dancing with him.” Sabina, tipsy, just shrugged and said, “That’s cool. Go for it, Sami. He’s with a different girl every night anyway,” as she took another sip from her drink.

When he asked me to dance, he immediately tried to press in close, but I pulled away and kept a respectful distance between us. His head nodded as a slight smile spread across his lips as if to say, “Okay you want to play hard to get?” He just stared into my eyes and I stared right back for the longest two minutes of my life. Then he said, “You look familiar; do I know you?”

“Well if you call a short double ski ride around Ciron Lake, when you didn’t even ask my name, knowing someone, then yes… I guess you know me.”

“Wait, I remember. You’re “jail bait,” right?”

“Well, maybe back then. Now, I’m just “trouble,” I said smiling. “I don’t remember your name,” I said, lying.

“It’s Nicky… Nicky Salatto. And yours?”

“Sami… Sami Carracci.”

And so, it began. At first, he just phoned me every day for about a week, and then asked me out on our first date. I remember it was summer and I had the greatest tan; to show it off I wore a white top and skirt.

Military service was Nicky’s excuse for not having a job or a car and that seemed logical to me so I didn’t mind that I borrowed Mom’s car to pick him up. He suggested a local drive-in for hamburgers and fries. Okay, so he wasn’t the romantic type but he did manage to pay the tab that night.

We talked all night, about my family, about his family. He was one of eleven, three sisters and seven brothers. He laughed as he told me about all the screaming and fighting that went on in his home, the worst between his mom and dad.

“I’ll never forget the time my mom hit my dad over the head with a frying pan. I must have been about six. She found out he was cheating on her with a neighbor across the street and chased him around the kitchen table with me holding on to the back of her dress to try to slow her down.

“She’s screaming, ‘You had to be with Rosa, with Rosa of all people?’

“‘You donna know whata ya speak,’ Dad yelled back at her.

“I was terrified as the blood ran down his cheeks. It was brutal. It’s comical now, you know?”

He hesitated then confessed, “I think you should know right off the bat, my older brother, Frankie, has already served time in prison for assault and drugs charges.” The confession shocked me, but he was not his brother, so I dismissed it.

Nicky’s father was a barber and had his own shop just up the street from where I grew up. As a young boy, he used to go to his father’s shop and help him sweep the floor and do odd jobs that his dad made clear were “never done right.” He went on and on as I nodded my head and tried unsuccessfully to suppress the memory that surfaced.

When I was about twelve, I used to walk past that barber shop to go swimming at a public park across the street. There was a boy working in that shop around fifteen years old that used to stare at me when I walked by. Way back then, I told my sister and cousin that his eyes were evil and he gave me the creeps. That boy… was Nicky.

When I drove him home that night, we sat in front of his house, not saying a word. His eyes were burning a hole through me when he reached across the seat and began stroking my hair. I felt my stomach suck in automatically like it does when you drop down the first hill of a roller-coaster.

Then he gently put his arm around my shoulder and slid next to me, lifted my face and placed his mouth on mine. I knew immediately: this was the one man I could have left my family for, the man I could have left my religion for, the man I would have given my soul to that night if he asked… but he didn’t.

To this day, I still can’t explain the hold he had on me. Maybe it was just raging hormones, but I knew this was the man that I had to have in my life.

We dated for three months before we got engaged. I never let him screw me, no matter how hard he tried. Poor guy, walked around with a bulge in his pants for months. Believe me I wanted him too, my panties were always wet.

He proposed to me over a large sausage and pepperoni pizza at Pauli’s Pizza Parlor on 38th Street and we married three months later.

This is a double-episode…

As seen in the Print Edition…

CHAPTER 6 – SEX

Now, you have to understand that Mama was very shy and modest, never told us anything about sex when we were growing up. I learned about menstruation from Eileen, who, at age 28, got pregnant with her boyfriend (the detective―my brother-in-law―Sean O’Shay) of ten years and had to get married. It destroyed Mama and she cried for days. So, she made up her mind to have “the talk” with me and my sister Gina, before we got ourselves in trouble. We were both in our teens at the time. She led us into the bathroom, closed and locked the door, saying she had “something very important” to tell us. “I never talked to your sister Eileen about this and I know now it was a mistake,” she said, coughing and clearing her throat. Her face turned candy-apple red as she passed on her sage advice.

“Don’t do it!”

Our eyes quickly slid sideways toward one another, then back to her. We nodded our heads to assure her we understood. Her head nodded too, looking first into Gina’s eyes then into mine to punctuate the importance of the moment. She unlocked the door and walked out. We buried our heads in the bathroom towels to stifle the laughter.

The only other time Mama talked to me about sex was after I married Nicky. But, let me back up. You see, we had no money for a honeymoon, our wedding night was at the Landon Hotel, part of my parents’ wedding gift to us. Nicky rushed into the room, leaving me standing at the door. I buried the words “meal ticket” into a coffin of denial created by my mind in an ever-growing graveyard full of them.

“Aren’t you going to carry me across the threshold?” I asked.

“You’re joking, right?” Nicky said.

“No, it’s a tradition. Come on.”

He swept me into his arms and staggered through the door, bumping my head against the frame. He threw me on the bed, lifted my gown, then crawled on top of me. The beautiful negligee (my sister’s wedding gift to me) remained in my suitcase. Petticoats thrown to the floor along with my panties, his whiskey tongue in my mouth, his rough hand squeezing my breast, his legs forcing my knees apart, his groans and roars assaulting my ears, his penis thrusting hard into my vagina, ripping me apart. He came, then rolled over and fell asleep.

I gathered my beautiful gown, wet with a pink stain of sperm and blood, and tiptoed to the bathroom to wipe up the mess between my legs; startled by my image in the mirror: lipstick smeared, fallen bouffant, and streams of black mascara running down my face, I accepted the first of many failed expectations.

Nicky knew nothing about satisfying a woman. His technique started and ended with his kiss. Sex was all about his orgasm. For the first year, I didn’t even know what an orgasm felt like. Then, quite by chance, through no effort on Nicky’s part, I accidentally felt that overwhelming pleasure, that heart-racing, heat-inducing, out-of-control, thrusting first orgasm. Felt like a few minutes in heaven and gave me a small understanding of why men were so crazed with sex. After that, my sexual appetite increased while Nicky’s decreased because he was screwing around with other women.

Soon after I married Nicky, Mama said she had “something very important” to tell me. I noticed the candy-apple red that had crawled up her neck during the first “sex” talk had begun to flush her face again. She struggled to find the words. “Nicky told me I needed to teach you how to keep yourself clean or douche or something because he said… you smell down there.”

I felt like someone had just punched me in the stomach. The knockout blow came when Nicky betrayed me, when he asked Mama, “Do you know what your daughter wants me to do to her?” She wants me to go down there and kiss her and stuff. You know… disgusting!”

The words exploded inside me; blood drained to my feet; my knees gave in as my back fell against the wall. I crumbled to the floor. Tears of shame and humiliation streamed down my cheeks, I cried for a long time… so did Mama.

-30-

And now the segue…

The Segue: 1 of 4

The Segue: 2 of 4

The Segue: 3 of 4

The Segue: 4 of 4

That’s a Wrap…

Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…

Next up…

[Targeting 28 June for next installment]

Thanks for hanging with us! Please to share AND if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to sign-up (see below) -The Gang

The post Carol’s Corner: Middle of the Mob Chp 5&6 appeared first on Jedemi.

Welcome to another Mr Pete Wow-Me starring the new champion New York Knicks!

Noteworthy: This piece was in prOcess for a while and could have run before the FINALS were FINAL, but we both decided to hold it -not to JINX the guys.

What you’ll find here is his masterful job capturing childhood memories of that OG championship team.

So, without further ado, please enjoy Mr Pete’s Y-E-S !! —The Editor

The other day, in my South Jersey 55+ apartment building, a fellow resident had asked me about my thoughts on the NEW YORK KNICKS and their recent NBA Championship Run. I had to confess I had not been following the team for quite a while. I could not even name any of the current lineup,

Then two old brain cells rubbed together and caused a spark and a twisted grin appeared…

Yup! That’s what I blurted out…

“I can’t name any of the current players but I can tell you the starters of the 1973-74 NEW YORK KNICKS”!

That’ll get you a nod and slow retreat. But it got me thinking and thus, this WowMe.

In the 60s -70s those days of my youth were spent in a town called Madison (the Rose City), Morris County, New Jersey.

Being twenty miles west of Times Square / NYC, my friends and I lived and breathed the local New York Sport teams:

NY Sports in the 70s…

What’s not to like, right?

• With baseball we had the METS and the YANKEES
• Football season gifted us with the JETS and the GIANTS
• When Basketball bounced around we had the KNICKS and the NETS**.

Editor’s note: Though generally ignored in the household, one member (AKA me) also had the Rangers and Islanders NHL hockey teams too!

**The NETS were part of the ABA (American Basketball Association). In 1976, they were one of the four teams that merged with the NBA.

Dr J. and ABA: What a ball !?!

Hoopin’ in the ‘Hood…

Sports became an important element in growing up. My Dad had put together a half basketball court on our huge backyard driveway. We even had a ABA, red white and blue ball (see above reference).

…With the right spin, a fading jump shot was hypnotic and strangely beautiful…

My crew would visit and practice almost daily. Yet, it was only my annoying (at that time) sister who had actually developed any of the skills needed to be considered a TRUE player.

Annoying sister…

As for the guys, we usually practiced trick shots while discussing last night’s game (this was before we started developing any interest in GIRLS).

Anyway, circling back to the late 60s/ early 70s… Let’s how we got our “fix” of sports…

Back then, New York had grown into a major media market –accessible via the television’s “RABBIT EAR” antenna and that CLICK-CLICK-CLICK of the dial:

• Channel 9 (WOR) for METS games
• Channel 11 (WPIX) for YANKEES games

Editor’s note: This was before ESPN, MSG and basic cable were available.

But, you know, game time rolled into bed time. We had that figured out thanks to Radio Shack and their nifty REALISTIC transistor radio that we’d hide under our pillows.

Pillow sports…

These “dreamcatchers” nightly caught Marv “Yes!” Albert —commonly referred to as “the voice of basketball,” from 1967 to 2004, he was also known as “the voice of the New York Knicks”.

This is what it sound like from a Souvenir LP : NY Knicks 1972-73 NBA Champions: “Holzman’s Heroes” LP Record

I recall hearing the team intros, with my one ear pressed against a pillow and my other ear cradling a single earpiece. A variation of the Theme from the SHAFT was my welcome to the world of Madison Square Garden.

The “Garden”…

And There’s More…!

Back then, there was the SASE. ?!?

Self Addressed Stamped Envelope

?!??

My Mom encouraged me to develop my communication [writing] skills by having me send written notes to various celebrities / sports stars requesting their autograph.

I eventually obtained a Walt “Clyde” Frazier autograph.

Vintage (not mine)…

Sadly MY autograph was lost/misplaced somewhere in the tides of time.

Coveted CLYDEs…

Editor’s note: The shoes!! I asked for the suede CLYDEs but “Hard No!” as Dad wasn’t going to pay that kind of money. What I did “WIN” was suede converse from the factory outlet (Thanks, Dad!!).

More Vintage Knicks: The Player-Senator…

In the 80s BILL BRADLEY was a New Jersey Senator (1979-1997). Every Summer Season he would do a walking tour of the Shore [New Jersey Beaches] where did a meet and greet with his constituents.

Back of Sen Bradley’s card…

My Dad as a councilman for Stone Harbor, often invited me to tag allow. He would introduce me as his son and a Knicks Fan. I was too awe-struck to say anything more than “Please to meet You”.

Link: Bradley talks Knicks…

Parade-Time…!

It’ll be great to see the PARADE through the Canyon of Heroes. I love a parade — especially a ticker-tape one. Was surprised to learn that the 70s Knicks didn’t have the joy of the ticker-tape.

That’s a Wrap !!

Still smiling at the memories for which I thank the KNICKs for rekindling. There’s so much on social these days, so I’ll leave you with this…
The Nike spot that ran immediately after the WIN.

Captured the emotion perfectly! Still smiling ear-to-ear… – Mr Pete

Circling Back Around…

Off the top of my head…

As seen on FaceBook…

About Mr Pete

A music aficionado, Mr. Pete’s mind and ears have no horizons. He has the uncanny ability to suss out the right song for the right time — a skill that is truly amazing. The Gang here at Jedemi enjoys his contributions.

—30—

Oh… And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post WowMe: YES!! Knicks Then & Now… appeared first on Jedemi.

Kicking around in former Suit KATIE’s mind ALWAYS is the phrase: AWARENESS IS JOB ONE !

And so it was that one day, beginning during her MORNING MUSINGS then continuing through her RUN and beyond, the topic of THE FOLLOW took a hold of her and pretty much didn’t release until she FINALLY settled into some writing.

Let’s see if WE can FOLLOW her FLO…–The Gang.

We’ll begin at the beginning.

FADE IN:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN

It is a NON-SHIFT day, so Katie is bouncing around the house doing various activities here and there with interrupts.

As for the breaks in the action, her pal RC the GREMLIN has the scoop…

RC THE GREMLIN
Whoa! She’s dusted off her notes from… FRANKIE ?? Looks like her dive into his NAME ABOVE THE TITLE and… Lots of what she calls NOTABLE QUOTABLES are called out in her… questionable hand writing. I’ll take some pictures while she’s doing her TAZ CHORES**

And so… RC gets his snaps and then has his own DING! moment. Listening for her whereabouts, he smiles and sneaks into the cabinet where Katie keeps her JOURNALS.

Aha! Wonder if…?

RC THE GREMLIN
She thinks out her thoughts here so… Just a few …

He waves his RAZR phone.

RC THE GREMLIN
Research NOT distribution. This is SACRED…

RC’s eyes say it all as he takes in what he sees…
[Imagine anime / manga eyes.]

RC THE GREMLIN
Whoa! Lots of… ponderables… The WHAT. The WHY. Looks like… she’s referencing different books and one is… a LAY FLAT about the start of TWITTER…

He pauses to ponder.

What interests people most is people…

RC THE GREMLIN
What interests people most is people… Ms Katie was interested in a founder’s journey… How Mr Biz got TWITTER off the ground — the story behind the… what’s now X and…

Flips some pages.

RC THE GREMLIN
Alternate forms of following… but … WHY FOLLOW? There’s a FLOCKING thing mentioned by Biz… but birds also– do their own thing. Huh…
More flipping between the JOURNAL and the BIZ BOOK.

…proactively pursuing… learning about PEOPLE and why they do / did what they do /did …

RC THE GREMLIN
So she’s on about… proactively pursuing… learning about PEOPLE and why they do / did what they do /did … including the challenges faced… The WHY? As in Why do this kind of research?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. SWIFT STREET
It is later in the day and RC has taken time to wander around pondering what he read… trying to make sense of it.

Somewhere near NEW LEAF grocery, he gets jolted back to reality as he finds himself airborne and spiraling followed by a cushioned fall.
Shaking his head, he looks around and sees WONDER / WANDER (WANDER / WONDER) Kat, MR SQUEEK.

MR SQUEEK
You can thank me later… Then again, why wait?

RC THE GREMLIN
What the…??

MR SQUEEK
Ya got more street sense than that, right? You just wandered into the path of some kind of eSUV… Now I don’t know how many lives ya think ya got, but that would’ve been…

Shakes head while recovering the RAZR that RC flung into the air while spiraling.

He FLIPS it open.

RC THE GREMLIN
Is it…?

…Takes a lickin’ and keeps on…

MR SQUEEK
Takes a lickin’ and keeps on…

RC THE GREMLIN
Tickin’ Really?

MR SQUEEK
Really what…? A TIMEX reference or the phone??

RC THE GREMLIN
I guess… both.

Mr Squeek is now scrolling through PHOTOs. He shows RC what he’s looking at.

MR SQUEEK
This is what you were…??

RC THE GREMLIN
Ju… Just pondering what I saw… What I SNAPPED… Trying to understand Ms KATIE’s musings…

A Spock-like raised eyebrow, is followed by tossing the RAZR back to RC.

MR SQUEEK
Here… Now FOLLOW ME!

RC THE GREMLIN
Follow? But… I’m already doing that… See??

He waves his RAZR.

MR SQUEEK
Dude… FOLLOW ME… Like let’s get out of the ROAD and …

RC THE GREMLIN
Ah! Gotcha! Lead on…

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. COMPANION BAKESHOP ON MISSION

They settle in and observe the creation of fine baked goods while talking…

Mr Squeek has re-acquired RC’s RAZR phone and is doing fast swipe / deleting while RC squirms.

MR SQUEEK
You know… it’s sacred. Can’t have those… keep those.

RC THE GREMLIN
But… it was … I was in a hurry and wanted to…

MR SQUEEK
Hey, I get it. However, you must Do. Better.
Memorize your eyes. Visualize the gist and … we’ll talk-it-out… like we are now.

He pauses and RC bows his head. Then he jumps up and grabs some napkins. Pulling a pen out of his pack, he starts doodling, which brings a smile to Mr Squeek’s face.

RC THE GREMLIN
Gotcha! Scribble down themes…

Pushing the napkin towards Mr Squeek, he relaxes and looks about the Bake Shop.

RC THE GREMLIN
So this is where it happened… The sourdough bread workshop?

Talking out loud, he doesn’t realize that Mr Squeek is in his own zone and has borrowed the pen and more napkins to doodle-write.

The word Catharsis appears. Then Group / Community.

He’s twirling the pen and then looks up.

MR SQUEEK
Have we talked about Red Dog?

RC THE GREMLIN
Uh… From … your travels? Your wanderings?

MR SQUEEK
Close… Told to me during my wanderings… an Aussie tale NOT TAIL … actually, it’d be brilliant to show outside… My hang at FAIR.

RC THE GREMLIN
It connects to…?

Hands back the RAZR.

MR SQUEEK
You’ll need this for some quick GOOGLing… I see a FOLLOW thread with multiple paths… but my mind leaped to the GREEK concept of catharsis… which you most definitely will want to GOOGLE.

RC nods and is about to engage with the RAZR, but Mr Squeek taps the table.

RC THE GREMLIN
Huh?

MR SQUEEK
Not yet. Let’s … talk this out a bit. Observations… Like that quote from Capra about what interests… People… Totally makes sense as… your @TheSEA storytime sessions are a proof point, yes?

RC THE GREMLIN
Yes.

MR SQUEEK
Well… I don’t exactly know why this popped into my head, but the catharsis thing — a group experience — something the Greeks were onto and maybe it is a way to connect with others while also allowing yourself time to FEEL and PROCESS… you walk away from the experience… different. And if in a group, you all are different… changed… So…

RC is jotting and talking out loud.

RC THE GREMLIN
Catharsis. Greek. Group. Red Dog.

Mr Squeek taps the napkin and says…

MR SQUEEK
Like Cinema Paradiso-style… Ya know? Project it… on the side of… I had this in my head and tabled it, so to speak, but maybe now is the time…

… maybe now is the time…

They are so engrossed in conversation that they don’t notice that Happy Barista / Uber Driver KIMBA has entered the bakeshop with a bounce in her step.

And Kimba seeing her pals hanging out, has a huge smile on her face.

KIMBA
How perfect is that?

Stay tuned…

Epilogue / Preview of Coming Attractions…

Kimba’s creation…

And so it is that Kimba finds a friendly audience to talk through her YOSH PIN idea — showing the connection to the HediGEAR patch model — and fast forward, RC’s RAZR captures some magic to share with Happy Puppy KEE-RA for him to share with his human — it’s an energetic flow. STAY TUNED.

FADE OUT.

That’s a Wrap…

Please stay tuned for WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…

Bonus Videos…

Thanks for hanging with us! -The Gang

And if you liked it, hit us up below [Speak Your Mind] and … please to share!

P.S. And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post DISH-PATCH (026): Pondering The Follow… appeared first on Jedemi.

Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!

The story continues. Please enjoy this is the next chapter  of  my life in the Middle of the Mob  ! —The Gang

As printed…

Note: This should be about 4 to 5-minute read, though your mileage may vary…

As seen in Print Edition…

My sixteenth summer was unforgettable. The only responsibility I had was getting to the Orpheum theatre at night on time for my job of ushering or working the candy counter. Even that had the added perk of seeing all the new movies free with popcorn and candy. I think I saw Around the World in 80 Days and Ben-Hur at least fifty times each.

The lazy days were filled with baby oil and sunburns, men with boats, swimming, water skiing, and feeling beautiful. My ugly duckling feathers fell off and I became a swan whose reflection in a mirror startled even me. Everyone started to notice, especially the guys at Ciron Lake, a special park on the western edge of Sable’s city limits.

There is a legend surrounding the lake that Mark J. Ciron, who received a patent from President Andrew Johnson in 1866 to use the land for farming, and cattle, dug a well and accidently tapped into an underground aquifer. The next morning part of his farm flooded and was covered in water. Voilà! Ciron Lake. The area surrounding that lake was once home to the first amusement park built west of the Mississippi plus a swimming facility known as Babble Beach.

There was this atmosphere at the lake which was hard to describe: happy, carefree, fun, but sort of scary, too. The old-timers thought the spooky feeling came compliments of the ghosts or spirits that once rode the rides and swam and died in that water and haunted the lake. That water definitely had its share of dead bodies: people who had drowned in boating or ski accidents, suicides, and murder victims who had been dumped there by the mob.

All I knew was I loved going there. The view of the mountains as you glanced over the lake to the west always gave me chills, the highest peaks still tipped with snow, and the white, puffy clouds rolling across the blue sky. The Canadian geese, no matter how picturesque they looked standing together on the green grass or on the frozen lake in the winter, would shit all over the place and especially on the walking/jogging path that encircled the water. I hate to think how much shit was in the water that I accidentally swallowed when I fell off my skis.

And, speaking of shit…

I met Nicky Salatto at the lake that sixteenth summer. You see, all I had to do to bum a ski ride was show up in my swimsuit. The fact that most of the men were ten to twenty years older than me didn’t seem to bother anyone. One of them nicknamed me “jail bait,” but nothing kept them from flirting or teaching me to water ski.

One Saturday afternoon, there was a good-looking Italian boy just a few years older than me; dark, thick, black hair, bluer-than-sky eyes, tall, lean and sexy, riding in one of the boats that always gave me a pull. He gave me the “wop greeting.” Anyways, that’s what I call it. It’s like Italian men are too above it all to say hello, or how are you. Instead, they lift their heads slightly (a backwards head nod) which means, “I’m too cool to actually talk to you, but I graciously acknowledge that you’re present.”

Now if that head raise is slightly tilted to the right it means, “Come over here.” I got the “come over here,” signal from him. He jumped out of the boat and held up a slalom ski in one hand and two fingers with the other, which indicated, “You want to ski double?”

I never turned down a pull, double, single, didn’t matter.

I never turned down a pull, double, single, didn’t matter. As we sat on the dock putting on our skis he introduced himself. “I’m Nicky,” he said, and before I could tell him my name he yelled, “Hit it!” to the driver and the boat took off at full speed.

That should have been my first clue. I struggled to stay upright but grabbed the rope and took off right beside him. As we gathered speed he crisscrossed in front of me several times to try to make me fall over the waves of his wake, laughing and teasing like a bad little boy with perfect white teeth… gorgeous!

After we circled the lake, he smoothly hopped off the ski onto the dock to talk to two girls who had just arrived as I let go of the rope and sank into the water. That was it.

We didn’t cross paths again for a couple of years. But little did I know―on that innocent summer day―how many waves this man, Nicky Salatto, would make me jump over in my life.

-30-

That’s a Wrap…

Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…

[Targeting 21 June for next installment]

Thanks for hanging with us! Please to share AND if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to sign-up (see below) -The Gang

The post Carol’s Corner: Middle of the Mob Chapter 4 appeared first on Jedemi.

This is where the “WomMe” category is NOT a MR PETE exclusive. We bring you a short piece that’s kinda fun. It’s about having an “Away From Keyboard” (AFK) experience, on a HOT.HOT.HOT. afternoon in beautiful downtown Martinez (AKA MTZ).

Enjoy! —The Gang (& Mr Pete’s Editor)

Objective was to pickup my husband’s truck at the MTZ train station. We did a walk through beautiful downtown Martinez (AKA MTZ) and stopped in to see his friend, Mr Steve —the owner of WILLIAM WELCH WINES (I call him TripleDub).

Note: He is the 3rd great grandson of pioneer William Welch, AND ALSO — an aficionado of tabletop shuffleboard.

That’s sacrilegious!!

We entered and immediately, I’m like, “That’s sacrilegious!!”

There was a clear storage container (about the size of a couple of shoe boxes) plopped on the shuffleboard lane.

Was told, the entertainer who was setting up for his Friday appearance “always does that.”

Still shaking my head, I let my husband occupy himself with testing out what Mr Steve was pouring, while I cleared the zone to give it that finely restored shuffleboard table a test drive.

Yeah… it was a challenging experience…

My Challenge…??

Different venue. Different… It’s like saying you are playing golf. No two courses are identical. In fact, the “feel” varies from hole-to-hole, course-to-course, time of day and even… the day of the week.

So playing at TripleDub’s place WAS very different from our usual shuffle hang.

I shuffle “SOUTHIE” (as in left handed) while nursing a nice HAZY IPA. It’s the Cue & Brew way.
But TripleDub’s license is wine only… and I’m NOT a wine drinker.

Could I possibly shuffle without a beer??

There’s only one way to find out, right?

Conjured Hazy Pint…

So I just conjured that fine PINT in my mind’s eye, and then went to “work” sliding those little puck things SOUTHIE.

Good, eh??

WooHoo!

Still got the touch!

Plus, there’s something calming about sliding that puck —watching it glide down the table stopping just short of the end gutter. You get points but I don’t care…

To me, again, it is like golf — set the target and go. Challenge yourself. Don’t keep SCORE.

So fun we had. My wine-sipper husband??

Let’s just say, we are both in agreement that it wasn’t proper to play without a PINT.

We’ll return to Cue & Brew where distractions loom (TV, TouchTunes, back door smokers, etc.) some day.

The conjured cafe…

Note to Self: When Jedemi becomes JEDEMI CAFE for real — there will be a 22-footer (regulation size) WITHOUT stuff randomly dropped on it.

My guys, the Gang, will see to it!

Pencil’s down…

That’s a Wrap !!

Seriously… That’s all folks!

But if you are looking for a nice “cool” activity where you can get into a ZEN-ZONE, you might want to give tabletop shuffle a try.

Thanks for reading AND listening! – Mr Pete’s Editor

The editor has some Props…

Heart this kid! This ad was created at the agency husband works at.

Thanks for hanging with us! Oh… and if you liked it, hit us up below [Speak Your Mind] and … please to share!

-The Gang & RC

And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post WowMe: The Zen of the Shuffle… appeared first on Jedemi.

Former Suit, KATIE knows actionable is key. Observations and feedback really won’t make a difference without offering suggestions that are appropriate and doable. But first things first, so much is flying through her head that she has to clear the way for that actionable discussion to take place. RC the GREMLIN’s arrival? The timing couldn’t be better.

This is kinda fun as Katie trots along WEST CLIFF DRIVE having a very animated discussion IN HER MIND with RC the GREMLIN where she’s talking through how the workshop should go (er… FLO!)…

And RC the GREMLIN, for real, is reviewing what Katie’s written so far.

WHAT. COMES. NEXT. ??

We’ll do some hopping back and forth as these two travel a similar path miles away from each other –The Gang

FADE IN:

EXT. WEST CLIFF

The rhythm of the waves onto the shore PLUS the gentle breeze and sounds of sea lions in the distance work their magic as Katie moves to a steady beat while also letting whatever is incubating – to bubble up and make its presence known.

KATIE
Calls for a fresh brain. Funny too in that… sourdough starter is a prOcess — can’t rush it. CAN and SHOULD approach with diligence… consistency… In my mind, I keep hearing the FOX telling THE LITTLE PRINCE how to TAME him and I’m thinking — yeah… the STARTER is… a TAMING prOcess…

She laughs… And continues trotting along noting the number of surfers and a lone Upright Paddler.

Who’s Taming Who??

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN

RC is reading Katie’s musings on BREAD BAKING with a huge smile on his face.

RC THE GREMLIN
Says here… Ah… So I wonder which of their Fridges she selected to store hers if this main one is… a NON-STARTER…

He breaks out into a belly laugh at his own play on (with) words and then slips out of the kitchen on the hunt.

The first alternative fridge he encounters is near the WINE COOLER/CLOSET.

First stop…

He pops open the door and the smell nearly tosses him across the room.

RC THE GREMLIN
Whoa! That was unexpected !!

Studying the contents, he notices a pattern.

RC THE GREMLIN
Ah… Condiments? In particular… smelly ones that would REALLY muck with the main fridge. Not a good place for harboring SOURDOUGH STARTER.

RC then hops down a few steps to the sub-level media room and zeros in on the mini fridge behind the couch.

RC THE GREMLIN
It’s the next closest to the kitchen… as if that’s important.

Door Number 2…

Opening the door, he laughs.

RC THE GREMLIN
That’s… VERY. FULL. Little bottles with blue tape… and sharpie markings?

Closes it quickly.

RC THE GREMLIN
What’d ya think? DOOR NUMBER 3 ??

He’s looking across the media room to one that is under a fish picture.

RC THE GREMLIN
I believe THAT is the BEER FRIDGE… Which makes sense…

Door Number 3…

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. WEST CLIFF
Katie is still trotting along with a good tempo while thinking out her thoughts…

KATIE
This is where the notes were really vague… but I guess… on bake day… a subset of my chilled starter gets pulled per quote/unquote the recipe.

The rest? WEEKLY FEEDINGS and in-FRIDGE storage… which, BTW, should be around…

She scrunches her face as she rewinds in her mind what took place during the workshop. She sees herself with a little memo pad and what RC calls “chicken scratch.”

She laughs to herself.

KATIE
He’s gotta point…

In her mind’s eye she’s trying to make out her own handwritten notes.

KATIE
Looks like… 38 to 40 degrees with airflow.

Now Katie is revisiting in her mind the various household fridges…

KATIE
Ah! It’s gotta be…

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN

RC is continuing to read what Katie has put down so far in her JOURNAL.

RC THE GREMLIN
The BEER FRIDGE…? Totally makes sense… Beer IS an essential ingredient of her BREAD MACHINE weekly bakes.

Makes sense…

Glancing at the 11×14 and then flipping through her WORKSHOP 3-PAGER, he has an AHA!! moment.

Popping up, he heads for the kitchen drawer and fumbles around before extracting a RED THERMO-PEN.

RC THE GREMLIN
Yeah… In her notes. I knew it…!

GEAR GUY
Right?

RC turns around to see that Katie’s husband, the GEAR GUY has entered the kitchen and is making his way towards the 4A coffee.

RC THE GREMLIN
Oh… Hey there, Gear Guy! Top of the Mornin’

He gives Gear Guy a nod and backs away from the kitchen drawer.

GEAR GUY
Liking the THERMO-PEN, eh? That was one of those PRICELESS FINDS… From long ago… Heck I can’t even remember if it was at restaurant supply or what…

RC THE GREMLIN
She HEARTS it too… apparently… at least…

How she does it…

Gear Guy is closely watching RC.

RC THE GREMLIN
…I always liked how Lady Katie used this for her BEER BREAD — warming it up before adding the HONEY AND CANOLA OIL…

GEAR GUY
She does?

RC THE GREMLIN
Oh yeah… and come to think of it… You heard of Cooper-Atkins? Yellow? That’s in the workshop 3-pager, but Katie says a RED one like this was used.

RC points to the JOURNAL. Gear Guy gives him the raised eyebrow.

RC THE GREMLIN
So-kay! She cleared me before she went running. Wanted my opinion…

Gear Guy moves towards the Journal, and RC gently blocks his path.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. WEST CLIFF

As Katie trots along, a thought pops to mind.

KATIE INTERNAL
My guy… Is today the…? Mentioned giving a presentation or something at…

She’s visualizing.

KATIE INTERNAL
His fly fishing gang up in Marin? Yeah… I think that’s right.

Checks her watch and turns around.

KATIE INTERNAL
Better check in… He may need my help… Heck, he may have already asked but I didn’t…

She picks up her pace as she heads back home.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN

RC is looking for ways to distract Gear Guy so he can finish reading and have time to ponder what Katie’s written so far.

RC THE GREMLIN
So… Guy…

Before he can finish asking, RC has a DING!.

He pulls out his RAZR phone and scrolls — bringing up a picture of an alley-way and a map.

RC THE GREMLIN
Gettin’ ready for the FISHOUT? Heard it’s prime Surf Perch season…

Surf Perch outing…

He studies Gear Guy who’s giving him a look… or rather, a blank stare.

Gear Guy leaves the room abruptly. RC shrugs his shoulders.

RC THE GREMLIN
Was it something I said??

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN

A short while later, just as RC is snapping the scrunchie band around KATIE’S JOURNAL, Gear Guy comes back in… He points at RC.

GEAR GUY
Team lift?

RC THE GREMLIN
Huh?

GEAR GUY
Katie usually helps but she’s still running…

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KATIE’S WESTSIDE HOUSE – GARAGE

The door to the garage is up and RC is on a little stepper (ladder), slowing pulling a BLUE INFLATABLE from the top of the rack, while Gear Guy positions himself to receive it.

GEAR GUY
Let’s put it right into the TRUCK. Can you…? Yeah… SWING OPEN not DROP the tailgate.

RC THE GREMLIN
Gotcha, Boss!

And just as he’s gotten it positioned, Katie trots into the garage.

KATIE
Mornin’ my guy… Goin’ somewhere??

GEAR GUY
Perfect timing, my lady… Remember I was telling you about… ?

There’s an uncomfortable pause before Katie lights up with a huge smile.

DING! Happens…

KATIE
DING! On my run… Your presentation is… soon, yes??

GEAR GUY
Like tonight… Need to revisit the deck. Can you… Got time to…?

KATIE
All yours… And… I’m sure your little helper here will lend his eyes too…

RC THE GREMLIN
Who me?

RC’s RAZR buzzes. He holds it up.

RC THE GREMLIN
Gotta report in. You kids… Have fun !!

They both nod.

KATIE
Oh… RC…

She motions towards the kitchen and RC gives her a thumbs up.

RC THE GREMLIN
See ya when I see ya!

KATIE
…Not if I see ya first !!

FADE OUT.

That’s a Wrap…

And that’s how Katie found herself in a perfect position to hone in on what’s actionable for improving the SOURDOUGH BREAD WORKSHOP experience.

Please stay tuned for WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…

Of course, we’ve got some tunes to help you pass the time.

Enchanted Jukebox Jams…

Enchanted Jukebox…

Thanks for hanging with us! -The Gang

And if you liked it, hit us up below [Speak Your Mind] and … please to share!

P.S. And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post DISH-PATCH (025B): Kneads Help… appeared first on Jedemi.

Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!

The story continues. Please enjoy this is the next chapter  of  my life in the Middle of the Mob  ! —The Gang

As printed…

Note: This should be about 4 to 5-minute read, though your mileage may vary…

As seen in Print Edition…

Auntie Rose Bella and Uncle Max Bella always lived next door to us with their kids, Lena and Reggie, my built-in playmates. Max was Mom’s brother and a real disciplinarian who scared me. Can’t count how many times my sister and I would say, “Glad he’s not our dad.” But Rose and Max were Mom and Dad when our parents weren’t around, whether we liked it or not. In that neighborhood, there was always someone you could turn to if you needed something. Italians lived in every house on both sides of the street and everyone knew everyone else’s business. And there was plenty of business going on in our neighborhood and it was certainly not legal. Mr. Rogers would not have approved.

The “big” dice games (involving mobsters with big money to bet) took place in the garage in the back of our house. I guess I was around six years old when I had my first encounter with the crime in our neighborhood. Mama and I and my baby sister spied through half-closed kitchen curtains as Mama prayed out loud, “Dear God, please, please watch over them. Don’t let them get caught.”

Uncle Max, who didn’t actually play in those games—don’t know if he just didn’t want to risk the money or was too afraid of getting caught—served as lookout to warn the guys if he saw any cops.

Sure enough, the warning rang out. We could hear Uncle Max scream, “Cops! Cops! Run,” as he dodged into the pathway between our two houses. But poor Uncle Max, a rather short, skinny man, ran straight into the arms of the police protesting, “I wasn’t even playing.” Two large officers hooked him by both elbows, lifted him off the ground and carried him away saying, “Yeah, buddy, then why were you running?”

The garage door flung open and you never saw so many men run in all directions in your life: running through the alley, jumping into parked cars, stuffing themselves into trash cans, and leaping over backyard fences. One poor heavyset neighbor, Fat Jimmy, who got stuck on a fence with the post right in his crotch, cried either because it hurt so much or because he was arrested. I cried because I saw Papa jumping fences all the way up the street until he disappeared from view.

Papa loved to tell the story of where he ended up hiding that day. In our neighborhood, nobody really had a bathroom like we know them today. In our house, for example, we had a bathtub upstairs in one of the bedrooms and the toilet and sink downstairs. Many people still had toilets outside in their cellars. Papa ended up at our neighbor Irene’s house and frantically threw open her outside cellar door, quickly descended the stairs, where he surprised Irene who happened to be sitting on her toilet.

Irene screamed and Papa turned his back to her and said, “Irene, shh… Please don’t scream. It’s just me, Al Carracci. I’ll keep my back turned. The cops are after me. Please just let me stay here a minute.”

Irene, who must have felt humiliated and embarrassed as she flushed the toilet and pulled herself together, roared at Dad that he needed to “go now!” She had a family and couldn’t be involved in harboring a fugitive. So, Papa crept to the top of the stairs, slowly and carefully lifting the cellar door to the unfortunate view of a cop’s black boots.

Papa said when he went in front of the court, the judge asked him, “Mr. Carracci, why is a nice guy like you hanging out with this bunch of hoodlums? You have your own business and you have kept your nose clean until now. So, I’ve decided to give you a break and let you off with a warning. But don’t let me find you involved with this gang ever again. Understood?”

Well… that was Papa’s version anyway. And he always told this story laughing, so I’m guessing the truth lies in there somewhere.

Years later, just before Uncle Max died at age one hundred, he divulged a well-kept secret to me. My father won $28,000 in one of those bar-booth games. Back then, that was a fortune and could have put him on easy street for a very long time. Unfortunately, Papa gambled it all away and never told Mom how much he had won.

The Segue…

The Segue continues…

-30-

That’s a Wrap…

Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT..

[Targeting 14 June for next installment]

Thanks for hanging with us! Please to share AND if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to sign-up (see below) -The Gang

The post Carol’s Corner: Middle of the Mob Chapter 3 appeared first on Jedemi.

With the passing of Sonny Rollins, I had an inkling he was someone Mr Pete had strong feelings about. Had no idea how far back those feelings reached. As Pistol Pete the basketball player was my motivation to dribble with dedicated determination, Mr Pete looked to this great tenor saxophonist for inspiration. Read on! —The Editor

In high school, I had a somewhat adventurous English teacher who liked to challenge his students with essay assignments which we had to read in front of the class.

One assignment was to write about the “People that Influenced YOU the Most.”

I eagerly jumped at the opportunity.

When it came to present our essays and after listening to several of my classmates I feared I had misunderstood the assignment.

Most of the other students mentioned their parents or other family members. There were relatives who served in the arm services and great-great grandparents that were immigrants.

I had someone I had never actually met in person: SONNY ROLLINS

My developing interest in JAZZ MUSIC was just starting, but it was Mr Rollins’ notion on DISCIPLINE that left an influential mark on my SOUL.

Nicknamed the “Saxophone Colossus” (also an album title) and “Newk,” Sonny was Born in New York City and grew up in central Harlem and Sugar Hill.

Note: Per BLUENOTE, Newk had become Sonny’s moniker, based on his so-called resemblance to the Brooklyn Dodgers baseball pitcher Don Newcombe—one of the heroes of the sport at the time who was the first black ace to win 20 games in a season (1955) and the first to win both the National League MVP and Cy Young awards in the same season (1956). So, Sonny wore the nickname as an honor.

He worked with Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, and John Coltrane.

• In 1956 he recorded “Tenor Madness“.
• In 1957 he sharpened his improvisational skills while practicing with Ornette Coleman on the West Coast.
• In 1958, back in NYC, Rollins appeared in Art Kanes’ “A Great Day in Harlem.”

A famous picture of a gathering of New York Jazz Musicians.

At the time of his death at 95, it has been stated that he was the last surviving musician of that gathering.

“That Bridge to Madness.
The Doorway to Perception/ Mission to the State of Euphoria”

• From Summer of 1959 to the Fall of 1961, Rollins sought a musical sabbatical. His quest was spiritual enlightenment through his performing skills.

His journey? Rollins would practice 15-16 hours a day on the Williamsburg Bridge.

No matter the season or weather, with only the accompaniment being the rhyme of the local trains from the nearby subway tracks… Rollins burned off notes with a studious nature of a samurai warrior finding a zen-like peacefulness with the discipline of a Buddhist monk.

Musical and Spiritual Retreat on Williamsburg Bridge

He will not record or perform in public for more than two years — a significant period for the jazzmen of the time.

One day I was on Delancey Street, and I walked up the steps to the Williamsburg Bridge and came to this big expanse. There was nobody up there. So I started walking across the bridge and said, “Wow. This is what I have been looking for. This is a private place. I can blow my horn as loud as I want.” Because the boats are coming under, and the subway is coming across, and cars, and I knew it was perfect, just serendipity.

Indeed… JUST SERENDIPITY…

Note: There was a campaign started in 2016 to rename that bridge in his honor. With his recent death there has been a renewed interest on the Internet in making this so.

Rolling Stones collab…

One of my favorite pieces of Sonny Rollins was his sideman work on the Rolling Stones “Waiting on a Friend (1981)”.

The beautiful solo gave the song a really NYC soulful sound…

That’s a Wrap !!

Asked Mr Pete what the reaction was to his presentation ( High school late 70s)… Well, let’s just say that as usual, Mr Pete was well ahead of us all — lapping us. Personally, I had no idea this happened. I also believe that without an option of playing Sonny Rollins’ music, it would be a tough sell to the teacher and audience.

That being said, I am grateful for the inspiration Mr Rollins provided Mr Pete.

Please click below for some examples of this peaceful, disciplined musician’s work.

Thanks for reading AND listening! – Mr Pete (and his Editor)

A Sampling…

About Mr Pete

A music aficionado, Mr. Pete’s mind and ears have no horizons. He has the uncanny ability to suss out the right song for the right time — a skill that is truly amazing. The Gang here at Jedemi enjoys his contributions.

—30—

Thanks for hanging with us! Oh… and if you liked it, hit us up below [Speak Your Mind] and … please to share!

-The Gang & RC

Oh… And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post WowMe: The Discipline & Peacefulness of Sonny… appeared first on Jedemi.

And so it was that former Suit KATIE settled into conveying her thoughts on how the Sourdough workshop should go… Next time is NEXT TIME !! Seems that for her to continue her FLO, she is compelled to release this and move on, since she can’t turn off her mind… unsee what she saw and how she felt from the experience.

Let’s listen in for WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…–The Gang.

We’ll begin at the beginning.

FADE IN:

INT. KATIE’S KITCHEN
It’s early morning and Katie is scribbling away in her JOURNAL while also glancing from time-to-time at a 3-pages (double-sided), stapled document.

Her scribbles include sketches (scribbles) of FLO.

And on one side she has written:

SAY IT. SHOW IT. SAY IT AGAIN.

Her pal, RC the GREMLIN / STORYTELLER is hanging back –observing. He’s so focused on what Katie is doing that he hasn’t touched his TRIGGER MUG with 4A coffee.

Trigger Mug…

RC talks to himself, out of earshot.

RC THE GREMLIN
That “Say it” phrase… I think… Yeah it was in the media training they’d give the clients. To ensure the TALKING POINTs actually get through… absorbed and “fingers crossed,” repeated in the ensuing write-up. This approach? Remember it well. In fact, it works for sales pitches too!

RC is doing a mental REWIND — seeing in his mind’s eye the PROCESS (end-to-end):

RC THE GREMLIN
Today we’re going to [BLANK]…
Do/Show [BLANK].
Then RE-CAP: “What you just saw…”

He takes a swig of the NOW COLD 4A and makes a face.

RC THE GREMLIN
Might as well…She’s probably FLO-d enough by now, so my warmup … a distraction it WON’T be…

Two presses of the microwave later, he returns to the table sipping his piping hot beverage, which she sniffs without looking in his direction. A smile crosses her face.

KATIE
That smells REALLY good…

RC jumps up.

RC THE GREMLIN
A warm-up, Ms Katie?

He starts to reach for her TRIGGER mug, but is waived off.

KATIE
No thanks, my friend. Been at it for a while. Ready to put PENCIL’s DOWN and incubate during my PITTER-PATTER West Cliff run… background task it a bit.

RC THE GREMLIN
Gotcha! Do your thing (pause) So… Okay if…?

He points at what she’s written.

KATIE
Normally, no… Then again, like YOU don’t know what I’m going to say… Perceptive like Happy Puppy KEE-RA with a whole other level of…

RC hold up his “invisible remote control” and pretends he’s FAST-FORWARDing.

KATIE
Stop that, you! Okay… please to give what I’ve written a sanity check… sometimes I get going so…

RC THE GREMLIN
Fast… GALLOPing as husband GEAR GUY says, right?

KATIE
Yup! And whichever manager, back in the day, who said PUT IT IN WRITING… I totally get the point.

Throwback from Suit days…

KATIE
It makes you THINK out your THOUGHTS a bit… in a validating sort of way… Circling back to the “WHAT PROBLEM ARE YOU TRYING to SOLVE?” question.

… Circling back to the “WHAT PROBLEM ARE YOU TRYING to SOLVE?” question…

She pushes her notebook towards him.

KATIE
Please do…

RC THE GREMLIN
WILL DO! Thanks! Talk later, yes?

KATIE
Indeed. Hopping the COVEY “INSIDE-OUT” train, so the sooner the better.

A bow. A FIST BUMP. AN EXIT.

FADE OUT.

WHAT. SHE. SKETCHED…

Strategist Katie…

That’s a Wrap…

Clearly, Ms Katie has a lot on her mind. Please stay tuned for WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT…

Of course, we’ve got some tunes to help you pass the time.

Enchanted Jukebox Jams…

Enchanted Jukebox…

Padam-ing Bread…

<

Thanks for hanging with us! -The Gang

And if you liked it, hit us up below [Speak Your Mind] and … please to share!

P.S. And if you haven’t done so already, we invite you to join our waitlist.

–30–

The post DISH-PATCH (025): Pondering Kneads… appeared first on Jedemi.

Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!

The story continues. Please enjoy this is the next chapter  of  my life in the Middle of the Mob  ! —The Gang

As printed…

Note: This should be about an 16 to 20-minute read, though your mileage may vary…

As seen in Print Edition…

It’s baffling that my marriage lasted for as long as it did. I worshipped the ground Nicky walked on and was determined to make it work. For one thing, divorce is not allowed in the Catholic Church. But at the bottom of it all… I really believed I could change him.

My culture and childhood created a strong determination deep inside of me. The second daughter of three girls; born 9 years after my older sister, Eileen, and two-and-a-half years before my younger sister, Gina, I was “the middle” child, a southpaw and pretty smart, if I say so myself.

I grew up in a poor section of town in North Sable known as “Little Italy.” Anyway, mostly a happy childhood: you know, we felt secure, always had a roof over our heads, and plenty to eat.

My grandfathers immigrated to the U.S. from Italy, then mail-ordered their brides.

Italian on all sides; you can bet we had plenty to eat.

Italian on all sides; you can bet we had plenty to eat. Mama, a typical Italian wife, did it all: cleaning, laundry, ironing, and cooking for everybody and what a great cook.

Every Sunday morning, without fail, the smell of Mama’s homemade tomato sauce simmering on the stove drifted into our bedroom and woke us. We would cut a big piece of Italian bread and dunk it right in the saucepan. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

And on Sundays, we had a huge homemade pasta dinner around two or three in the afternoon: salad, homemade pasta, meatballs and sausage, garlic bread, and dessert.

My favorite was Mama’s chocolate cake, frosting to die for.

I remember Mama always called me “honey.” But then she called everybody “honey,” even a cop who pulled her over for speeding one time. She told him, “Oh honey, you don’t want to give me a ticket. Do you know who I am, honey? I’m Sean O’Shay’s mother-in-law, honey.”

Sean, a Sable detective, married my sister Eileen. Mama’s “honey” tickled the officer, who tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter then let her off the hook with just a warning. That policeman told that story to everyone at the station.

Detective O’Shay became Detective O’Honey for all who heard his tale.

Papa used to call me “peanut” or “toots.” He wasn’t outwardly affectionate but give him a few drinks and he would go to each of his daughters and point to his cheek for a kiss to be planted. But his drinking really bothered me.

On Sunday mornings, without fail, he would walk to our local Catholic church, go to Mass then directly to the bar just a half a block down the street from our house. He drank until Mom would get mad enough to send my little sis, Gina, and me into the bar to tell him dinner was ready, and he better get home.

He hated seeing his two little daughters walk in that bar and he would reprimand Mom for sending us.

A happy drunk, Papa would eat the entire meal while joking that he should “trade in his three daughters for one son or a good donkey.” Not the most positive reinforcement his daughters needed to hear but still it made us laugh.

After eating, he headed straight for his swing on the front porch, lay down and proceeded to vomit up the entire meal… including the chocolate cake. Oh, my mom would be so furious, saying how could he do this “every damn week.”

Terrified and crying, I would bury myself in the back of my closet, plug my ears with my fingers to blot out the sound of heaving. Don’t know why but I could never handle sickness of any kind, especially vomiting. Nothing’s changed. I’m the same today.

My dad, a “Sunday alcoholic,” was also an addicted gambler; gambled on everything: sports, dog races, horse races, bowling, and his favorite in Vegas… craps.

The only family vacations we ever took―when we could finally afford it―were to Las Vegas.

Not enough money to fly, we would pile all five of us: Papa, Mama, Eileen, Gina, and I, into the old family car (no air conditioning) for the two-day drive across the desert, sleeping in the car overnight.

Talk about misery! But when we got there, if he was winning, everything was first class. We stayed at the Desert Inn or the Sands Hotel.

Hard to believe both hotels are long gone, imploded…very sad.

Anyway, we even got to see dinner shows like Pearl Bailey, Dean Martin, or Sinatra. And we all got tipped. Mom got the most, and once, I saw him flip a five-dollar chip to a bellman just for opening the door.

More than once, Papa had to wire for money to get the family back home. But he worked hard all of his life, eventually owned his own optical business and did quite well financially with only a fifth-grade education.

> Basically, you know, a good guy with a few bad habits.

We lived in the finest house on the block in the poorest neighborhood in the city. Our house was very old but I loved it and so did everyone else on our street. It was “Grand Central Station,” that’s what Papa called it when he would get disgusted that too many neighbors were sitting on his favorite swing on the porch.

That old porch transformed into our theater during summer afternoon rains.

That old porch had a roll-up awning that became the curtain that hung between two white columns, and a red brick ledge that served as our stage. Two swings on the porch seated the audience, made up of every kid on the block: one white wooden swing that hung on chains from the ceiling and the other, a long-cushioned swing that doubled as Papa’s Sunday sickbed. Each kid took a turn to sing, or dance, tell jokes or stories.

We entertained each other for hours. Listen, I’m telling you, these damn video games today have destroyed half the fun and creativity of childhood.

On the weekends, our porch became a casino. All the Italian men in our neighborhood loved to gamble, but only small stakes on the front porch. The serious games with bigger players were held in the garage behind our house with lookouts watching for the cops.

Bar-booth, their favorite dice game, was played by throwing the dice against our front porch door. Seven or eight men, pennies, nickels and dimes spread out in front of them, hunched around a semi-circle, threw the dice, chanting things like, “Come on, seven!” or “Baby needs a new pair of shoes,” which echoed all the way down our street.

If I happened to be playing outside during the gambling, and I ignored my urge to pee for too long (I placed both hands on my crotch and wiggled around to keep from leaking), my Auntie Rose would open her window and call out to me, “Sami Ann, do you have to go to the toilet? You better get inside and go, young lady!”

Then and only then would I pull myself away from the game of tag or kick the can or hide-and-seek and run to the front porch only to be yelled at by the fathers, “Watch the money, don’t step on the dice for Christ sake.”

No kidding, I could hardly get through my own front door.

We had a swing set in the backyard. I loved to swing so high that I could touch the leaves of the cherry tree with my feet; jump off at the highest point onto the warm, soft dirt or climb the poles which offered forbidden pleasures.

And we had the cutest playhouse, built by the men who lived on our block. You see, Papa bought the lumber and lay it on the ground, that being the extent of his carpentry skills.

The neighbors all offered advice on how to construct it and eventually Papa just sat around smoking cigarettes and watched them build it.

Once our playhouse was completed, we needed money to stock and furnish it. I think that’s when my entrepreneurial skills began to show.

To raise money, I started a hobby club for the kids in the neighborhood; they would pay dues and I would give them a craft to work on, like painting rocks.

Definitely ahead of my time, huh?

Should have called them “pet rocks” and made a fortune, right? Every meeting we would have the minutes read, work on a craft and have refreshments always provided by the moms. In summertime, we had a lemonade or Kool-Aid stand and of course there was the annual summer show.

I’m telling you that show was the greatest!

Held in our backyard, we charged the neighbors ten cents per ticket. We made all the tickets and posters by hand, then delivered them to every house within a two-mile radius.

Naturally, the shows were standing room only.

Our mom would hang blankets from the clothes lines for stage curtains. I still hang my clothes outside to this day, which never fails to remind me of those shows.

All the neighborhood kids would provide the talent. Auntie Rose dressed up like a cigarette girl, short skirt, and somewhat sexy blouse, with a tray held in front of her by a ribbon wrapped around her neck.

Instead of chanting, “Cigars, cigarettes, cigars, cigarettes,” she would call out in her sexiest voice, “Old razor blades, old Easter eggs, old razor blades, old Easter eggs, get ’em before they’re gone.” And yes, on her tray there were old Easter eggs and razor blades.

Just for laughs, a lot of neighbors actually parted with cash for a used razor blade.

With the proceeds from that show, we set aside money for the playhouse supplies and a small closing night party for the cast. The rest of the money went to a mission to purchase a “Pagan Baby.”

Okay, okay, don’t ask me, I don’t know, that’s just what they called them back then, “Pagan Babies.” Every year, I made the executive decision to have my name on the adoption papers because, after all, I directed and produced the show.

I would do anything to make a buck. Hah, one time I even stole vegetables from grandpa’s garden and sold them to the neighbors, but there was an informant on the block and that venture got shut down real fast.

I went to Catholic school from kindergarten until my second year of high school, a pretty good student in spite of the fact that I didn’t make any effort at all. If I had applied myself, I would have made straight A’s, except in conduct. I always got a C or lower in that category.

The head of our parish, Father Pat, would come to every classroom and pass out report cards, then make anybody stand that got a C or lower in conduct.

The boys were lined up against the blackboard and slapped across the face one by one. Funny thing, a lot of those Italian boys who got slapped still turned out rotten. So much for corporal punishment.

Father Pat approached each girl separately, grabbed their hair and pulled their heads all the way down and bounced it on their desk. And yes, my head got bounced a few times. Can you imagine getting away with that today?

As Papa’s business grew, we moved on up the ladder from North Sable to the suburbs, to a brand-new home which seemed like a palace. The outdoor fireplace on the patio, so extravagant, definitely ahead of its time and two full bathrooms, a luxury after our entire lives thus far with just one.

Gina and I still shared a room but got new twin beds. We were so excited to sleep in them we went to bed two hours early.

Believe it or not, Uncle Max and Auntie Rose moved right along with us into their new home right next door and I switched to public school for my junior and senior years.

You know, rebellion is a natural by-product of the teen years, but I felt slighted by Mama because she seemed to give Eileen and Gina whatever they wanted and all I got were piano lessons.

I always had to beg for everything…

I wanted a horse and that was completely out of the question. Of course, now I understand why. At age fifteen, I wanted to take modeling lessons and I begged for a long time before she gave in to that. I just felt aced out of all the attention lavished on my sisters.

Resentful, I cut a lot of classes at school and brought friends home to party while Mom and Dad were at work, refilling Papa’s liquor bottles with water so he wouldn’t notice anything missing.

I started smoking and “borrowed” a lot of my older sister’s expensive clothes after she left for work and without asking (Eileen worked for The Sable Post and wore a different outfit to work every day). No surprise, I was voted “best dressed” at school.

I’ll never forget the night I borrowed Mom’s car to go “gashing”—that’s what we called it when you drove slowly down 26th Street, all windows down, no matter the temperature, while “Twilight Time” by The Platters blasted over the radio—all in order to meet guys.

I had two silk blouses of my sister’s in the backseat of the car which I intended to sneak back into her closet when I got home. Naturally, I wanted to look super cool so I lit up a cigarette for the boys to see.

What I didn’t see was, the ash of my cigarette that I thought I had flicked out the window had instead flown into the back seat and burned my sister’s two beautiful blouses with the added bonus of a big hole in my mom’s back seat.

What to do? What to do? Mom didn’t even know I smoked.

I made up a huge lie and told Mama that those boys on 26th Street flicked a cigarette into the open back window of her car and I didn’t notice until I saw the flames.

She bought my lie. I dumped my sister’s silk blouses into the nearest trash can before going home. Poor Eileen searched for those blouses for months and I never revealed their final resting place.

The Segue…

Segue continues…

-30-

That’s a Wrap…

Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT..

[Targeting 7 June for next installment]

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