The Green Thing

February 21, 2012

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment.

The woman apologized and explained, “We didn’t have this’ green’ thing back in my earlier days.”

The clerk responded, “That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations.”

She was right — our generation didn’t have the “green” thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. But we didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn’t have the “green” thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby’s diapers because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts — wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right. We didn’t have the “green” thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house — not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working, so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she’s right. We didn’t have the “green” thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty, instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn’t have the “green” thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus, and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn’t it sad that the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the “green” thing back then?

Please share these thoughts with another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart ass young person.

And remember, youngsters: Don’t make old people mad. We don’t like being old in the first place, so it doesn’t take much to piss us off.

(Author unknown, but dontcha know this story was sent through the Internet? Guess it that satellite 2,000 miles out in space has a few good uses…)

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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The Cab Ride

February 7, 2012

“Yes, it is strange weather, sir,” agreed the taxi driver in his lilting accent. “Seventy degrees today – in February! That is a record for Washington DC.” He gently loaded my suitcase into the back of his cab and we headed off on our $60 cab ride from Reston, Virginia to DC.

He continued chatting, apparently happy to have a customer who would actually converse with him, rather than ignore him in favor of a cell phone or text messaging. “Yes, even in the mountains of northern India, there was snow last week. Snow! We never have snow there! It is crazy, sir, just crazy.” He kept glancing at me through the rear view mirror, gracefully waving his hand as he spoke.

Our weather conversation drifted to talk of India. “I have a friend who lives in India. He has a business over here, but he prefers to live in India. I ask him why. He tells me – you know, in India, I have people who cook for me. People who take care of my garden. My children go to wonderful private schools. Life is pretty good. I cannot do that if I live in the US all the time. So I come back to the US for two months to do my taxes and look in on my business and then I go back to India. He has a nice deal. I wish him good luck.”

I agreed. I told him of my experiences with Indians in my part of the country. “They always seem to be very pleasant. Polite. Many whom I interact with are doctors, professionals. They care for my parents who are getting old.”

“Yes, yes,” he replied. “Of course, in that culture, it depends where you are on the social level. Some people cannot climb that high.”

“You mean the caste system?” I asked.

“Yes, yes. That is the way life is. Now, myself, I am from Afghanistan. It is different. I came to this country 27 years ago. “ (So much for my thinking he was Indian!) He continued. “I have been driving a cab for all those years. My children are in high school and they are doing well. But I am getting tired of driving a cab. I cannot stop because this is how I feed my family. And it is very expensive to live in this area. Very expensive. But what can you do? It is still a good country. In Afghanistan, so many people don’t even know each other. The government is not good at that.”

Now, I don’t get to talk with a lot of Afghanis, so I couldn’t help but pursue this while I had the opportunity. “My son just returned from Afghanistan. He told me that, in the area where he was stationed, people in a village on one side of the road didn’t even know the people in the village on the other side of the road.”
“Yes, this is true. For a thousand years. That is why it is hard to make the villagers see the benefit of having one country.”

“So you don’t think much of President Karzai’s government?”

“I will tell you. India gives a lot of assistance to Afghanistan. But they will not give one dime unless they know where it goes. They make sure that it goes directly to the groups that give out the assistance to the people. But the United States – they give the aid directly to the government. And corruption is much in the government. That is what Mr. Karzai does. It is not the best way for the people.”

I always knew that, but it was interesting hearing that sentiment from an Afghani. “That makes sense,” I said. “But I think that America just gives so much money that they need to send it through the biggest funnel and hope that most of it gets through to the right people.” I knew that was a lame comment. The driver helped me out.

“Well, I can tell you. People need to eat. If they have no food, they hang around. If they have food, they go away, back to their homes. Some men, they have shops. Maybe in Kabul. Maybe in the small villages. And other men, many of them young, they have no jobs, so they hang around these shops. And bad men see this from across the road. They see these young men who are hungry. So they talk to them and they feed them. And that is where problems begin. Very bad men. They know what is important to people who are hungry. The government must keep the people’s bellies full. Then they will just go home and there will be no problems.”

I pondered this for a minute. By then, we had arrived at my destination, which unfortunately ended this interesting conversation. I paid my chatty driver and he retrieved my suitcase from the trunk. I shook hands with this slightly stooped man of 60, with the graying hair, friendly smile, and calm demeanor. “Be well, my friend,” I said. “Thank you for the conversation. And don’t work too hard.”

He laughed softly and gave me a short graceful bow. “I will not work too hard,” he said with a chuckle.

This DC cabbie of 27 years doesn’t expect to ever do anything more than drive a taxi around DC and worry about his children growing up safely. But a simple 20-minute conversation with him was the education of a lifetime for me. And a perspective that, as simple as it was, shouldn’t be lost on those leading a war in Afghanistan half a world away.

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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Marvin’s Maladies

January 31, 2012

They were just playing catch in the street, like any two twelve-year-old boys living in the close confines of the city. Marvin peddled backwards to catch a mile-high toss and leapt at the last minute to snag the ball against a chain link fence. But the fence snagged him too and the sharp metal pickets ripped a two-inch gash in his side that bled for hours afterward. But it healed completely in a week and left only a scar that he could brag about later. It was his first real injury, one he never revealed to his mother.

Over the years, he broke only one bone, if cartilage counts – a nasty broken nose in his high school days that occurred at a 4th of July fair. He and a friend were on one of those old-fashioned carnival rides, in which they stand you in a cage that can swing the cage over a bar, very much like a Ferris wheel. The operator gives the cage a little push and the occupants do the rest of the work. The objective is to build up enough momentum to swing the cage over the bar and keep it going. It’s all done with the strength and coordination of the occupants. As the two friends built their momentum, Marvin miscalculated and slammed his nose into the metal bar. Two opposite momentums working against one another. His nose lost that fight. That injury healed quickly too, but he would not breathe correctly through his nose for another 15 years, when a surgeon rearranged his deviated septum.

He sustained other usual types of minor injuries as life went on. Once, while jogging in the city as a college kid, he suffered a sprained ankle and hobbled on crutches for a week. The day he got off the crutches, he began running again – and promptly sprained the other ankle. That too healed in another week.

Marvin used to jog a lot. Rain or shine. Wind or hale. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. Every other morning at 5:30 on the dot, he left the house for a brisk two-mile jog through the neighborhood. Luckily for him, he avoided further injuries. But he was in his thirties then; he’s now in his fifties. The knees have had enough jogging; they tend to swell now if he overdoes it. They don’t bounce back as they once did. And lately, it’s just a wee bit tougher for him to straighten his legs after kneeling down. Although he still walks fast when in the full upright position.

But he falls fast too, as a slip on the ice last winter would attest. Trying to save his cup of coffee on the way to the ground, he wrenched his thumb. Tore all the ligaments on one side. The coffee went everywhere, but the Styrofoam cup hit the ground intact, with only a hole pushed into it. A testimony to his perseverance. The thumb is still recovering two months later. He still can’t use that thumb to turn a doorknob or open a jar of peanut butter.

Marvin also can’t bend the toes on his right foot without pain, thanks to a fall off a tall curb in the city last summer. One of those free-fall face plops to the ground, the ultimate embarrassment. So he gimps around just a bit these days, especially when wearing the wrong shoes. No matter how tall a curb, that shouldn’t happen. But it does…as you get older.

His exercise regiment has been curtailed slightly these days, as, with the self-inflicted injuries to his foot and his thumb, it’s more difficult to get through his routine. And a subtle but constant pain in his lower back also gives him pause before making any sudden moves. A quick twist to the right a few weeks ago left him with a back spasm that only a chiropractor could love.

Last week, Marvin received the ultimate proof that he doesn’t heal as quickly as he once did. He had his first stress test ever, which he passed, but during which the doctor discovered that he has a touch of high blood pressure. As a result, Marvin has now entered that exclusive club of older Americans who enjoy their “meds” on a daily basis. He’s looking forward to putting in his own two cents about this, when he next visits his parents. As always, that conversation will inevitably turn to their aches and pains, their medications, and their list of doctor appointments. He feels they’ll now have more in common than they’ve had since that grease fire drove them all out of the house together some forty years ago.

Marvin has now entered the Twilight Zone, that eerie phase of life when his body is just beginning to hint that it wants to slow down a bit. But we doubt that Martin will listen. In his mind, he’s still a twelve-year-old kid, shagging those fly balls out in the street. And there’s nothing at all wrong with that.

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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Fashion Lip

January 17, 2012

The moustache.  I doubt that anyone really knows when it first became fashionable to grow the beloved nostril-warmer.  From all accounts, Adam didn’t have one in the Garden of Eden – although God only knows, eh?  And history depicts cavemen as having unkempt, bushy beards – probably cave women too, given the times – but no mention of a tidy mustache.  In Jesus’ day, we seem to find a lot of Sanhedrin, Pharisees, and Samaritans with full lengths beards, the early precursors of the ZZ Top look.  And Leonardo DaVinci later portrayed most of the Twelve Apostles as bearded wonders.  But not even one sported a neatly trimmed moustache.

From the Dark Ages through the Middle Ages and into the time of the Pilgrims, facial hair seems to have alternately gone in and out of style in Europe, with no mention of the moustache per say, while in Asia, the Fu Manchu gained popularity among the warrior class.  I think an English translation of the phrase Fu Manchu must be “just-a-few-long-scraggly-hairs-on-the-lip”, because many moustachionados were apparently not convinced that the original Fu qualified as a moustache.  I guess those hairy Europeans didn’t seem to feel that the Oriental guys had enough lip hair to qualify.  Confucius may have objected to that one.  He, after all, supposedly wore a Fu too.

The Civil War introduced sideburns to the American fashion stage, made famous by the Union Army’s General Burnside.  By definition, he probably ushered in the American moustache too.  After all, if you take a full beard and shave off everything below the earlobe and under the chin, you have a moustache anyhow… But the ‘stache didn’t really catch on at that time.  Except among the Cavalry, cowboys, and bearded ladies in circus sideshows.

So it seems pretty obvious to me that the first real, trimmed, American moustache was sported by the one and only Sonny Bono in the 1960s.  It was about the only thing that differentiated him from Cher during the height of their popularity – I couldn’t tell them apart by their singing voices, that’s for sure.  It’s true that earlier pop icons such as Clark Gable and Charlie Chaplin sported the ‘stache long before Sonny.  But no one dared to imitate Clark Gable’s moustache, since he was such a stud.  And no one picked up Chaplin’s moustache style except Adolph Hitler – and we know how popular he was.  Sonny, by contrast, just naturally brought the moustache home for the average guy.

So everyone hopped on the moustache bandwagon in the 60s and 70s.  I was fresh from the halls of puberty myself and thought I could squeeze out a pretty decent moustache – even though my sideburns were a bit thin and a full beard seemed like a pipedream.  And it worked.  I went for the Zapata ‘stache – the style that extends down the sides, below the corners of the mouth.  Hulk Hogan wears his the same way, as did many Mexican banditos.  Later, when I joined the Air Force, they restricted the size of our moustaches, which couldn’t extend past the corners of the mouth.  I always cheated a bit on that.

My wife has actually never seen me without my moustache, which has blossomed into a very closely cropped goatee with some attempt at a short beard.  I’ve worn it like that for 25 years.  Funny how, as kids, most guys want to grow facial hair to look older, but when it starts turning gray, they want to shave it off to look younger.  I’ll keep my salt n’ pepper look, thank you.

Look almost anywhere today and you’ll see the prominence of the ‘stache and it’s first cousin, the goatee.  Almost ever baseball player these days has a goatee – if he bothers to shave at all.  Daimler/Chrysler’s CEO and latest TV pitchman, Dr. Z, sports a manly walrus moustache.  Everyone on our school board has one.   I’ve seen other guys with the huge handlebar moustache, a great place to store leftover food particles for a late-day snack.

It’s encouraging to see that the ‘stache has found it’s mark in society.  There was a time when your ol’ auntie might not have kissed you, because she didn’t like the prickly feel of your moustache on her lips. And you may have been thankful for that.  But apparently women’s lips have toughened up these days, because a well-known moustache survey indicates that the kissing continues.  Actually, I made that up.  But my wife still kisses me – moustache, short beard, and all – so, personally, something’s working.

So here’s a toast to the moustache, a useless patch of hair that serves as the male fashion equivalent of earrings (well…for some guys, it’s a supplement to their earrings).  May its grand style live on forever.

Now where did my little auntie go?

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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My English Raleigh

January 10, 2012

I started on the side of the curbstone.  It gave me just enough leverage to push the bike away and try to get the pedals moving before I crashed to the street.  But I didn’t have enough momentum and crashed to the street anyhow.  So much for momentum…

It was 1962.  I was eight years old, learning to ride my first bicycle, a shiny new, metallic red Raleigh – getting less shiny with every attempt I made to launch it from the curb.  With 26-inch wheels, 3-speeds, and hand brakes, the English Raleigh was the state-of-the-art bike for its day.  Never mind the cool saddle bag, tools, and air pump that came as standard equipment.

Bikes in 1962 generally came in two varieties – the small 24” Columbia-type bikes that came with one speed and brakes than kicked in when you reversed the pedals, and these larger more elegant bikes like the Raleigh.  No one in my neighborhood had a Raleigh.  We were a Columbia neighborhood.  So only God knows what he was thinking, when my grandfather, whom we called Rocky, bought my sister and me new Raleighs for our birthdays.   Of course, this was a guy who once took a cruise around the world (he worked for the old U.S. Lines in Boston) and sent us back seal-skin boots from Alaska, silk pajamas from China, and kaffiyeh headwear from Saudi Arabia.   So why not British racing bicycles?   We were very fortunate to have such a generous grandfather.  The bikes were only a surprise to our parents, who always shook their heads when Rocky’s gifts arrived.  He wasn’t rich, but he did spoil his grandkids when they became old enough to appreciate it.

As I struggled to master my new bike, with crash after crash, my sister was easily cruising up and down the street on hers.  Granted she was two years older than me, but I suspect her advantage was the lack of that cross bar that graces a boy’s bike but is conspicuously absent from a girl’s bike.  It kept me from reaching the ground when I needed to – and made me awfully sore in the crotch when I tried… so “crash”.  And over I went.  Dozens of times.

But gradually, I learned to ride the thing.  And it was a beauty.  The kids in the neighborhood were a bit jealous, so the first thing my dad did was buy me a lock and chain to make sure I held on to it.  Wherever I went, I’d have that chain wrapped around my seat – and most of the time, I’d also have the key in my front pocket.

But despite the beautiful bike, it really wasn’t cool in the eyes of my elementary school buddies, until I added a few accessories.  So I paid a visit to my mother’s laundry room and grabbed a couple of her clothes pins.  Then, I sifted through my baseball card collection and found two of my worst players (I think they were two Phillies – at that time, the Yankees weren’t known as the Evil Empire, so I hung on to their cards).  I used the clothes pins to clip the baseball cards to the frames of both wheels, which made a whapping sound when the wheels turned and the cards hit the spokes.  Now, that was cool to every kid on the block!

As time went on, and my mother wondered where all her clothespins were going, I latched on to the new rage – tying balloons to the frame and having them bounce off the spokes as the wheels turn.   That made a sound like my father’s old Dodge in need of a new muffler.  Coolness beyond belief…

While I was overseas in Korea, my Dad sold that bike.  It had lasted me a good twelve years by then, but admittedly had taken a back seat as transportation, once I bought my first car.  I was a bit disappointed by its absence, but in reality, by 1974, a 3-speed Raleigh wasn’t all that cool anymore.  By then, 10-speed racers were the rage and a few years later, mountain bikes.  Today, bicycles can cost as much as a small car, with shock absorbers, sleek padded seats, and many more gears than my old 3-speed.  It’s kinda sad…

I look back fondly at my Raleigh.  It provided an eight-year old kid with the ability to go far beyond the block he lived on, and even land his first job at the 5-and-10 store at the age of 14.  It gave a 16-year old the wheels to get to his girlfriend’s house and back home (most times) just  before his Saturday midnight curfew.  Tarnished and scraped up from Day 1, that English Raleigh was the “internet” of my childhood.   There wasn’t anywhere I couldn’t go on its 26-inch wheels.  Now that’s freedom!

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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Surviving a Big Family

January 3, 2012

“Well, I’m off to visit my family for the long weekend, Jess. I really do miss them when I’m away at school.”

“Oh, Angela, you’re soooo luck to have a big Italian family! I’ll bet you guys are all so close to each other…I envy you.”

“Thanks, Jess, but don’t get too carried away. We all have our differences, believe me. See you next Tuesday!” With that, Angela hopped into her Honda Civic, wolfed down two Tylenol Extra Strength capsules, and left campus for the two-hour drive home. She was, by now, quick to anticipate these headaches that always seemed to occur when she headed home.

Angela was indeed from a large Italian family. Large and loud. The Spumonis were, in fact, the largest family in the neighborhood, occupying a triple-decker in the middle of the block. They’d been there ever since her great grandfather had landed on Ellis Island in 1922, with his new bride. There, an illiterate customs official randomly gave him the last name Spum, as he set foot in his new homeland. Tomasino Spumoni was insulted by this and later went to court to reclaim his family name. Judge Pucci was more than happy to oblige. Ernestino Spumoni thanked the judge with a bottle of homemade wine and a plate of ziti with marinara gravy, heavy on the garlic.

And the Spumonis set about establishing their new home, which now, 80 years later, housed four generations of the family, a small vineyard, a bocce ball court, and twelve cars. Angela gently rubbed the throbbing blood vessels on either side of her head, just thinking about the family.

As she turned the corner onto her street, she met the first members of the family, her oldest brother’s twin sons, Mario and Stefano. The two ten-year-olds had just finished stringing a roll of wire across the road. They liked the sound of the ‘twang’ as the antenna of every car that ran through their trap was snapped off. Unfortunately, they didn’t anticipate that their aunt would be one of their victims, so they ran through the neighbors’ backyards, as soon as they saw Auntie’s antenna shoot into the air and lodge in Mrs. Buttafucco’s front door. That wasn’t a good sign. Just that morning, Mrs. B had caught them ripping her clothesline out of the backyard and depositing the whole thing in her three-season porch.

Aware of the boys’ antics, Angela took the antenna stunt in stride. She new her brother would be introducing his belt to their backside, in the time-honored family tradition, later that day. And installing a new antenna for her, from the fresh case he’d bought last month at Pep Boys.

Angela parked her Civic next to the huge cement lions that guarded the front walkway. Uncle Bernie and Cousin Paulo had just finished setting the new statue of the Virgin Mary into the upright bathtub that they’d planted in the front yard. They ran over to greet her with sweaty hugs and the friendly kisses that Italians blow on either side of your cheeks, even if they hate you. But they loved Angela and she gave them a huge smile as she brushed the dirt from her blouse and wiped their sweat from her face. They chatted for awhile, until Angela excused herself to pay her respects to her grandparents. Louis and Marianna Spumoni lived on the first floor and presided over the family with an air of joy and love. Marianna rose slowly from her favorite chair, to greet her grand daughter. She was wearing her best housedress, with her nylon stockings rolled down to her knees as usual. The family was relieved that Grandma never made the switch to pantyhose. She would not have survived this long with those rolled down.

Grandpa Louis had just emerged from the bathroom, unaware that his fly was opened and his shirttail caught in the zipper. He too greeted his grand daughter with a warm hug and kiss. She, in turn, decided not to tell him about his zipper. He’d been devastated last visit when she’d asked why his underwear was in the microwave. He was getting a bit forgetful in his old age.

Angela took a deep breath and headed up the stairs to the second floor, where her mother and three sisters and four sister-in-laws, half of them with child, were preparing dinner for the family. They were all accomplished chefs, in the Italian tradition, and never prepared anything less than a five-course meal for 20 people. Even her brother’s wife, Daisy, a Scottish gal from Nova Scotia, who had been allowed to marry her fourth brother Vespucci, after converting to Catholicism and most importantly, passing Grandma’s four-month Italian cooking class, was granted official chef status.

Angela wove her way through the mass of twenty nieces and nephews who were running down the stairs, greeting her with a symphony of happy screams. At the top of the stairs, in the umbrella stand, sat her 2-year old nephew Anthony. He had been wedged there by his older sister, Angelica, who was concerned that he might fall down the stairs. Even the kids are caring, thought Angela. In their own way.

She entered the kitchen to the deafening roar of the bustling chefs, as they talked over each other, not even conscious of the high level of volume they were generating. She grabbed an apron, and began picking up the rolls that the kids had thrown all over the floor, during an earlier food fight. She also scraped a few tomato slices off the ceiling, only guessing as to how they got there. Twenty minutes later, all the women were carrying plates of food into the main dining room where the 20 men of the family were seated around a huge table, and 25 children were crammed around another. The noise was deafening and two more aspirin didn’t help.

But Angela loved this, regardless. And she had to admit that her roommate Jessica was right – she was lucky to have such a big, closely-knit – if deafening – family. At least until the meal is finished and the lines begin to form at the bathrooms on each floor. That’s when the REAL noise would begin…

Mangia!

Visit Londonderry Hometown Online News every Tuesday Morning for another one of Joe’s great columns! Select “Share this story” and tell a friend Joe is back!

Joe’s Two Cents – It’s Great To Be Alive is Joe Paradis’ first published book and gathers 40 of his most popular stories, enhancing them with humorous photography. The book is a compilation of forty of Joe’s best short stories.

Injecting humor into topics from everyday life, Joe answers those earth-shattering questions we all have about the beach, the bathroom, the junk drawer. From guys’ tools to girl talk. High school seniors to the senior years.

This classic collection has been updated to include pictures and a short introduction for each story. Until now, only God knew what possessed Joe to write about these things. Now you can too!

Joe Paradis is one of Londonderry’s most popular columnists and authors. Visit his web site at www.joes2cents.com today and order his latest autographed book, “It’s Great to Be Alive!”

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