Life, Death and Frank Sinatra

What The Fuck!  An unusual way to begin I guess, but that is what I have been saying to my self for the last few weeks.                                                                                                         My mom died.                                                                                                                     Same number of words in the sentence, all one syllable words....but the what the fuck sentence  is easier to say and makes way more sense to me.  After the incredible,happy ending,"Lifetime-movie" like story of my baby granddaughter's open heart surgery (how's that for a sentence), I came back to "earth" and immediately had to deal with my mom who had been in one hospital the entire time I was at the other hospital. I went to see her the very next day and she looked awful, she could barley comprehend the good news of her great granddaughter's amazing comeback!  I thought my head was going to explode- it was the emotional equivalence  of jumping in a cold pool after being in a hot tub! So I strapped myself in for what I knew was going to be a very bumpy ride.  I longed for the days when I would  stand next to the "you must be this tall to ride this ride" signs at Crystal Beach and would get turned away. " I'm too short to handle all this" I kept thinking.- no such luck though.                                                                                                                     The doctor called us in for what was to the the first of two or three meetings....you know that meeting.  But, she rallied - for what ever reason, she did.  She was sitting up, eating an Italian ice, flirting with the doctor. Later, at the last meeting with her doctor, I realized this guys kind of looks like Frank Sinatra- that older, gray comb over version of old blue eyes!     My mom LOVED Frank Sinatra, but more than that she loved blue eyes!!!  Her beloved brother has blue eyes. She talked about it all the time- she felt inferior I think for being brown eyed.  As did I (for a while) growing up-because she as did her mom and aunt made such a fuss over her brother's genetic luck of the draw. But I love my eyes- I have been told they are one of my best features...if you look up from my other best feature- (my smile- you pervs) When I met my husbands blue/green eyed family- I felt exotic and mysterious  almost with my brown eyes that no one else in that family had at the time- Then I had two girls with sparkling brow eyes and so far, two beautiful brown eyed grandchildren, By the way, my son's eyes are not blue, but gorgeous green, close enough and I always suspected that's why he was my mom's favorite.                                                                                                But back to  Dr.Sinatra -we had a meeting where we decided to take her off of everything because although the cancer numbers were down-she was not bouncing back. Do you bounce back when you're 80?  Maybe ...maybe not  but she seemed okay with the decision-maybe relieved. He told her if she eats (and she could have what ever she wanted- finally no dietary restrictions)  she may be okay for a while. So off he went like a Stranger in the Night and we went home feeling confused  but secure that we were doing the right thing for her.

The next day I went to join my dad to meet with the Hospice people in the new room where I assumed I would be spending the remained of my spring break and then some. We can bring her all her favorite foods and play some music (you know who) and maybe have the babies come in for a visit.  Never got the chance.  I walked in and she was (what I now know) "dying" - I have never seen anything like it- the night before she was sitting up -now lying in bed in such distress- labored breathing, moaning and it was just the worst thing to see-  the worst.....What The Fuck.   I asked the nurses what did they give or not give her to cause such a drastic change. They said noting- they just moved her- I said move her the fuck back then.  
The Hospice social worker said it is common for people to just decide to stop fighting for what ever reason.. Maybe talking about taking off all the stuff was enough for her to let go.  I know though, in my heart, she was waiting to see her brother's blue eyes one last time.  He came to see her the night before she was moved- I think that is what she needed to see before she was able to stop her two year fight with this awful disease.                                 I'm so glad I got to say good bye that night - I didn't know it was the last, real good bye- but when that phone rang later that April night I knew.....                                                               Right now it may not seem like spring at all we're drifting and the laughs are few  Thank you Mr Sinatra, that about says it all.                                       So  then came the "am I in a movie" days of planning your mother's funeral.  What the Fuck! We were going to sit and talk about it as Hospice suggested, but we didn't get the chance.Those Hospice people are amazing but I think I horrified the poor social worker when she was trying to do her job by comforting me. The baby' heart ordeal came up as we were talking about how long my mom had been in the hospital....White as a ghost, she kept saying "tell me you have a third...tell me you have a third" ....I was all  "ummmm, welllll- hmmm, oh yeah, my husband had cancer a couple years ago?"   Hoping that would make her feel better-(role reversal much)  Oh good she said all relieved "they come in three's you know  and  it looks like you're done"...Can I have that in writing and notarized please? 

The wake was filled with family, friends and Frank as his music played in the background. It is amazing how many lives someone touches- it's exhautingly overwhelming! Although, I found it funny how the people you least expect are there for you and the ones you did expect immediately rise to the top of your asshole list.                                                           It's still pretty much a blur-but we got through it. I am extremely proud of my family and I know she would have been too. Her grandsons did readings and her granddaugther, my daughter gave the eulogy. I think we did it Her Way!  

And now what? well-it's good to be busy because those silent times  the wee small hours of the morning is the time I miss her most of all- Boy Frank- you are writing this blog for me!  I have to say we have already had "visits". One of her favorite songs Smile came on the night she died-you know smile-though your heart is aching-  I don't know what was on tv or what time it was or maybe it was a dream, but I feel like it was her reminding me that it's the time you must keep on trying, smile what's the use in crying, you'll find that life is still worthwhile if you just smile.  I hear you mom,  loud and clear- it wasn't Frank but I got the message- and that is what I intend to do.                  

 I am so glad that she is not in any more pain and is not tired anymore.  I miss her, but I miss the old her who I haven't seen for so long.   But I know she is watching us...both my daughters have said that on two separate occasions, their bedrooms were filled with the aroma of sauce and meatballs- well, that would be her!  I know she will be with us at our family gatherings and will be watching her great grandchildren grow!  That is if she is not too busy stalking Frank Sinatra in heaven...would he be there- wasn't he kind of a gangster? Anyway, I will keep looking for signs- when a butterfly lands at just the right moment, when a song or a favorite old movie (An Affair to Remember)  comes on just when I need it or when your picture falls on the floor as it did on the day of her wake. Or on the days when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold- I will feel the glow, just thinking of you   ... I love you Mom- and that's coming from ol' brown eyes...and as for the What The Fuck....I think she would approve....just sayin'                  

The Rory Story

Did you ever drop your phone and watch it smash onto the floor.  It  usually breaks into three pieces, the phone part, the back and the battery, all fall in different directions, If you are anything like me, the reaction is as follows:

 1) swear

 2) shake your head and snicker 

 3) pick up the pieces. put it back together and hope that it still works.

For the last five months, my life has been the human equivalence of dropping your phone.  Five months ago I fell in love all over again with a sweet little angel named Rory Lee Ann.  I believe I mentioned her the last time I was able to blog- which was before the holidays, and for that I apologize to my faithful readers.  I was incapable of stringing  together a coherent sentence (or a thought, for that matter) since my last installment.  In the last blog did mention that I was incredibly happy to welcome my granddaughter, although she kind of had a shaky start.

A shaky start is putting it mildly, but as I said I was not able to put into words my thoughts and feelings.  Yeah I know, you're thinking- that's what you do, kid- that's your thing....you talk about life stuff- good bad and hilarious. You're absolutely right, my friends.  Blogging has gotten me through cancers, loss of friends  human and animal alike, job changes and five or six musical productions.  But this was too much- way too much,  I actually felt if I were to write about it - that would make it  all too real.

It was just a mummer they said- common, right?  Well upon further investigation, it was more than that- there were three little "glitches" in her heart - two which may correct themselves. one probably not-but it was too soon to tell- she was three days old. for goodness sake.  So what do I do with this information?  Me- a former panic stricken worrier-although as I have gotten older I have become less of a "hypochondriac/fretter" and more of a "oh yeah? bring it/ wine drinker".  
I thought "she'll be fine - right? I mean - it will fix itself"  on the outside....
On the inside I was THE SCREAM..... that painting by Edvard Munch 

According to the doctors. (that my incredibly brave and strong daughter took her daughter to weekly)  Rory was a text book case, Watch for symptoms (let's add insightful and intelligent to the "strong and brave" description of my daughter)  yep...after four weeks.... symptoms.  She started on a medication to make sure fluid didn't build up in her lungs- she was slow gaining weight because her heart, her metabolism burned off all her calories. Sounds like a great thing, sure, except for she was struggling to hit 10 lbs.- which she finally did just weeks before her OPEN HEART SURGERY.    WHAT????
It was  4 1/2 months of watching her struggle to eat and breathe, yet smile and develop like a "normal" baby,  She's fine,  I just kept praying and believing that it would be okay...she wont need that surgery.   That isn't how this is going to be, right St. Jude- I mean you're the hopeless cases guy-you're gonna fix this for me.
It was 4 1/2 months of this little family-doing their best to keep things normal for a little boy who just started preschool and has a new little sister in his world.  This smart little boy, who I am sure sensed things were a bit off-for lack of a better word.
It was 4 1/2 months of an incredible extended family (and friends and angels) who were there for support and encouragement -even if they didn't know the extent of the situation.
The situation was Rory needs this surgery so why not do it while she is little so she won't remember. Sbe will heal quickly and then be able to get on with her life in front of the eight ball instead of behind.

So fast forward to the end of February- just last week....we coordinated the who's, the wheres. the hows and the WTF's  and Rory headed to Rochester for surgery.  

 RED ELEVATORS
I will always remember taking the red elevators up to the pediatric cardiac intensive care operating waiting room or whatever that little room from hell was called.  Riding the red elevators knowing that all our lives can be changed today.  

For those who FACEBOOK you know-She came through it amazingly well - her heart was mended and was "working beautifully"- she was breathing on her own by that evening and I believe I finally was as well.  I think I may have even exhaled for the first time in a long time....but I made sure to hold my breath in a little longer- it was still early.  The days after the surgery are kind of a fuzzy blur but I know when we rode those red elevators to see her ... we found she was taken off the monitors and the IVs and was dubbed the ROCK STAR of the floor.   Did we expect anything less from this little scrapper!  What I didn't expect was two day after OPEN HEART SURGERY- she would be laying there in this too big hospital bed, with a 6 inch incision (1/4 of her body) that she would look over at me and stick out her little tongue and try to make a little raspberry sound- (something I have been teaching her to do like every obnoxious Gaga should).  But I swear when our eyes connected- something... shifted- I felt it and I don't know, maybe you did  or  the whole universe did too.  But I felt like she was telling me -  I'm fine and now we are going to have many chances to do more silly, obnoxious things together.  I literally shook me and it is now a new entry in the list of moments that I will never be able to forget- or want to.
I will also always remember the night slept in her hospital room because she was moved out of intensive care (in record time I might add). I rocked her to sleep as I watched February turn into March, Alabama Shakes sang on Saturday Night Live and I knew there was a sweet, happy ending to this Rory Story.

So there you have it- that was the five days that kind of put an end to my sleepwalking through the last five months and I can't stop smiling.  You know that moment when you wake up and you don't have a care in the world...well that moment goes on all day for me! I pray thankful prayers and even though it is freaking 4 below outside and there is an ass ton of snow- my world is full of sunshine- and that sunshine comes from these little loves of my life, especially this new one with the mended heart!

Of course, I came home from Rochester to a mother in the hospital, yet again - Things are not so good- not so good at all... but that is for another blog.  I will soon be selling tickets to my emotional roller coaster ride  and you are all invited to read/ride along as I venture into whatever lies ahead.  So I guess for now I will continue to swear (after Lent) shake my head and snicker a little as I pick up the pieces and try to put everything back together and continue to hope it still works....or maybe it's time to get a new phone- just saying.

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over: Runneth?  Of course there is a red squiggly line underneath that word.  Runneth. It is kind of an old fashioned word, which  I had to invest...

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over: Runneth?  Of course there is a red squiggly line underneath that word.  Runneth. It is kind of an old fashioned word, which  I had to invest...

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over

MJust Sayin: My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over: Runneth?  Of course there is a red squiggly line underneath that word.  Runneth. It is kind of an old fashioned word, which  I had to invest...

My Cup (and my plate) Runneth Over

Runneth?  Of course there is a red squiggly line underneath that word.  Runneth. It is kind of an old fashioned word, which  I had to investigate to make sure I was spelling and using correctly.  I make up words a lot so I wanted to make sure it, in fact. was a word.  Well it is and I really only saw it used in the phrase which I am borrowing as my blog title.  I suppose we can use it in everyday life- "I had to runneth to the mall."   " I have a runneth in my pantyhose?"  Do people still wear those?  Runneth- Doesn't quite work, but then again, I am using words in my every day life that I never used before- words like BLOG, GAGA, COOPER and now since five weeks ago, RORY!!!

The last ones are the major reason for my the fact that my CUP is RUNNETH way, way over, in fact I believe it has SPILLETH all over the place.  It was only five weeks ago that I became a grandmother ...Gaga,,,again.  Rory Lee Ann was born, a little peanut of a thing, but because she was a c-section, she was scheduled early.  I reassured my daughter that the weird feeling of planning the day your  second baby is born, is somewhat normal. It is, I guess, because your first one just kind of came when they were ready.  I remember feeling the same way as I sat in the hospital the night before my son was born. I remember praying that my water would break so I would be sure I picked the right day to have a baby.  It is a feeling only c-section moms would understand. Nevertheless, the world got a little sweeter on that Monday when that baby girl...grandchild number two, made her debut, sure to give her big brother a run for his money.  Pure joy but also pure worry.  My baby girl was in there having a baby girl and it is- like I had quipped before-" an extra layer of worry".
Well Miss Rory had a little rocky start as she was not gaining weight - at least not enough.  So I walk in the hospital room to find my baby girl sobbing and worried and wanting to go home (because some Shidiot there gave her the wrong idea that would be going home when neither of them were really ready), and because  they were concerned .  My blood runneth cold.  Now let me fast forward to say that Rory is awesome...healthy and doing everything a five week old should be, she's eating, not just eating, chugging...chugging like her Gaga at Happy Hour, but for a while there...
I would sleep in the chair at the hospital, go to work, go get different clothes and go back and do it again. But that is just what you do when you're a mom.  But,in the meantime I hear from my mom- that she will come to the hospital to see the baby today because she has Chemo later in the week.  Yeah- that shit is still going on.  There was a time when things were better with her, but it seems like the pill weren't working (if she was taking them, that is) and now it's back to Chemo every three weeks.  My mom- or the woman that used to be my mom, seems to have given up or can't muster up a reason to make the most of the present, not realizing that it is just that- a present.
We will celebrate he 80th birthday soon and we will enter into another holiday season  but this year with a new precious love of our life- but she prefers to dwell on the fact the chemo makes her tired and there she sits and chain smokes.  Yeah chemo and chain smoke in the same obnoxious runneth -on sentence,
Then- I found out that my dad has to have cataract surgery. Not a biggie- but I insisted on going with him to the doctor only to learn that he has been seeing double for a while. Yep, seeing double and of course he still driving all over east Jesus but, hopefully stopping at all the STOP STOP signs he sees. What the Fuck???  Of course, this is just one of the many things they keep from me and my sister. They take our concern and  our suggestions as "bossy" and intrusive and don't let us in on everything.  My dad still kind of has it together, other than the whole seeing double thing and the fact that couldn't hear the fire truck siren from Mr Holland's Opus- he is pretty sharp,  He goes with my mom to her doctors and scans and chemo appointments.  He has all the paper work, that I sneak over to read. (I diverted them with some homemade soup). There was a box full of doctor reports.  They have their own version of HIPAA in that house.  I guess we are still kids in their eyes and won't accept our help.
But since Virginia Slims over there, was in no condition to take him to the doctor, I took the day off to go with him. It was kind of nice to be there for him, although I had to practically arm wrestled him to sign the health proxy so I can be alerted to his health needs etc.  He is the primary caretaker in that house- a role I know first hand that he is not very comfortable with.
 Looking forward - there will be more than a few days where my dad won't be able to do a whole lot-(like see). So that means I will be spending  quite a bit of time down in Tobacco Row, making sure she takes her medicine, making sure she has groceries, and clean clothes, making sure they eat, taking her to her doctors and maybe hiding her lighter!  Yikes-
I have been in this sandwich generation situation for a while but now it is starting to feel more like a fucking panini press.But it's okay-I know where to go to get my fix.. After that morning of the eye doctor day, I spent time with my daughter and her kids....kids!!!
On that same day of eye drops and surgery dates, I was changing the baby and told my precious granddaughter how beautiful she is and she smiled at me...an honest to goodness, non gas induced smile! I love that when she hears my voice- her eyes light up and she looks right into my eyes and we ...connect.  Pure LOVE- it takes my breath away.  Also on the day, I witnessed my grandson become a "double showcase winner"... his words.  He apparently watches The Price is Right before pre-school and he seriously came pretty fucking close to winning both of those showcases. He also informed us that "Humira is not for everyone".  He's gotta stop watching that station.  Most kids would be drooling over cartoons before school---not my boy- he can tell you how an AARP reverse  mortgage works. It was one of those bi -polar days.  It began with aggravation and concern and ended with laughter and joy.

Now when I looked up the Cup Runneth Over phrase- it eluded to the fact that I have more than my share.  I'll take it!  I do have way more than my share.  The good  for sure and sometime- in weaker moments, the bad too. I have always felt so extremely fortunate when it came to the family that I created and now, watching them all moving on to making their own little families, it is truly overwhelming,  The other crap- -well- what are you gonna do?
To quote my dad- "well you just gotta go with the flow".
To quote my grandmother- "if everyone went to Front Park with their problems  (to trade) they would all come back with their same old problems".
To quote Mel Brooks- "It could be worse- it could be raining"
  
So yeah, my plate is fulleth and my cup is way runneth over- but that's okay-eth,  Those are just words, some are old and some are made up, but the meaning is the same today.  As for the words that have just recently become a part of my lexicon- well up until a few years ago- a Cooper was a barrel maker- Rory was a character in a story my grandfather used to tell  and Gaga meant to be head over heels over something.   I guess that last one still rings true ....just sayin'

I'm Italian-that's why!

Actually, if you must know I'm Sicilian...100% and proud of it!  I do though have to apologize to my non-Italian readers.  I'm sorry if you cannot relate to this blog.  I'm sorry that you may not agree or understand some of the things I write about.  I'm sorry , in fact, that you are all not Italian ,because being Italian is the best thing in the world....at least that's how I was raised.   I swear if you were Italian. you moved up a few places in my parents' book.
A couple years ago I went to a staff development in service about diversity.  We sat in a circle and the icebreaker for the group was to talk about how our parents brought us up and what they taught us about other races and religions. So one by one these people, these liars I thought, talked about how their parents told them that everyone is equal.  It doesn't matter what nationality or religion or race they are...you treat everyone the same. Bullshit!  Seriously everyone must have been raised by Gandhi or Mother Theresa or something. I started to get all hot and nervous- what the hell am I going to say?  Then I realized there was not one West Side of Buffalo Italian in the mix.. So when they got to me.  I said "well, if I am being honest, my parent were the most prejudiced people around- I was taught if you weren't Italian you weren't quite as good as we were" I got a lot of dirty looks-but  I have to say it was kind of cool to admit that,  Sorry Americanis, that was my childhood
.

My childhood consisted of sauce (not gravy )every Wednesday and Sunday.  On Sunday, we would go to my grandparent's-Mimi and Papa-that is.  We would go right after church and stay until  Ed Sullivan. We would have macaroni and meatballs and spareribs and beef and on special occasions, ox tails or braciole, Then we would have nuts and spumoni ice cream.  After hours of eating my sister and my cousins would go play to the sounds of  Vicki Carr (let it please he him...) or Connie Francis or Al Martino (more on him later). Eventually my grandparents had a taste for some non Italian music- Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass....I'll never understand what the connection was but they loved  that Dating Game theme!  Then we would watch THE BIG SHOW OF THE WEEK  ( I only remember seeing the same three movies on the Big Show of the Week, two of them starred Don Knotts...they just re ran them over and over)  After that "sangwiches " for dinner. And that was EVERY Sunday!  We didn't know any different,  I mean didn't everyone do this?

Didn't everyone live above, behind or next door to their grandparents. Grandparents who would think nothing of giving a seven year old a glass of brandy because it was cold out.  I wonder if I spent any part of my elementary school years a little drunk- who would know. We lived on the West Side- everyone was Italian  so probably our whole class had no problem at nap time- especially in the dead of winter.  If you went to School 49 in the 1960's  and you know who YOUS are- you probably can relate.

At Christmas we didn't make cutout cookies - we had cuccidatis (fig cookies) gigilani (sesame seed cookies) butter balls ( those powder sugary onse that if you try to sneak one in the middle of the night, you may or may not risk choking to death by  inhaling the sugar as you shove one in your mouth- yes I am speaking from experience, ) The food, oh the food!  My Mimi would make the most delicious food-half of the recipes she made up.  She made macaroni with....with peas, with broccoli, with cauliflower, with anything, And it wasn't pasta ...it was MACARONI -curly (rotini), spears (penne) unless, of course, it was spaghetti .  Anything breaded with Italian bread crumbs and fried  .... yum...anything that starts out with garlic and olive oil -which incidentally is the BEST smell in the world-hands down!  Can we talk about gardooni?   Okay so a while ago a fellow Italian brought me a big bag of gardoons and plopped them on my desk.  Gardooms are weeds that grow, as I remember my grandparent's saying, on the side of the road.  If you have never seen them I guess they kind of resemble rhubarb....you clean them, boil the shit out of them, dip them in egg and flour and fry them....to everyone else- wtf?   to Italians- heaven!    We do love to eat... In my kitchen the words Mangia e Statti Zitto are proudly displayed- translation- Shut up and Eat!!

Oh and for the record it's not MANICOTTI ...it's mani GO ti  - not RICOTTA - rig GO tha....and a colander or a strainer is a scolapasta.   As a little girl from Busti Avenue thrown into the suburbs it was kind of hard to realize that not everyone talked like that - doesn't everyone know what chichidee is ..(chick peas) By the way, there is nothing sweeter than my grandson (1/16 th Italian) grabbing his head and saying "oh my GAGOOZA !"

Whenever anything Italian related is on tv (and not those stupid Olive Garden embarrassing Italians) I can relate.  The Godfather ( and yes I have been asked a million times if my family was in the Mafia and yes the answer is NO) I love that movie and  Goodfellas- not so much for the story, but for the way the picked up on the nuances of being Italian. The cooking, the eating, the shouting (it's just regular talking) the slang or the way Sonny Corleone bites his fist when he's mad- just like Mimi used to!  Oh and the weddings....yes my wedding had a couple fights and an uncle storming out it,  but it goes down in history because my Uncle Jimmy pulled a gun on my sound guy and told him to play more Al Martino music. Yep...that was my wedding,  Like in the Goodfella's wedding, where they are all named Peter or Paul- my dad's side of the family you only need to know three names- Fred, Joe or Angelo and you've got just about everyone covered.

There is a certain comfort in knowing that a lot of these things are kind of universal among Italians. As an adult, I talk to other Italians and reminisce as though we grew up together -it's like we have  the same history.  I especially like when you don't realize someone is Italian - with me, it's pretty easy -dark eyes, black hair, year round tan- I was once referred to by a teacher as "the map of Sicily".  With some people, you're not sure then you start a conversation and they mention bleaching  their upper lip by the age of 10 or they knock stuff over with their flailing hands as they talk (I just did that the other day) or they do the gasp,  The gasp is the sound most Italians make which sounds like they are sucking all the air out of the room.  This gasp is done with the same intensity, no  matter what. If you drop a  piece of paper or almost get hit by a car...it's the same sound!  If you re Italian you've heard this sound a million time. I just did it now because I deleted the wrong sentence.
  

Now I've never been to Italy but I am perpetually saving to go and I know I will get there someday. But until then we should all try to be more Italian - instead of scarfing down lunch in a half hour-
Let's lunch like Italians.  Lunch in Italy they say, is the most important meal.  I hear store shut down between  1:00 and 4:00 for pausa pranzo (lunch break) throw a nap in there- I can so do that, no problem!
Let's hug and kiss  more. I remember it taking my family hours to say good bye. So much hugging and kissing because we would have to wait all the way to next Sunday to see them again.  The first time we met with my daughter's  "in-laws to be" (not Italian), they commented on how they have never been hugged or kissed so much- I can think of worse problems
Let's keep our traditions alive.  I want my my grandkids to grow up knowing about St. Joseph Day . When they get older I want them to celebrate that day as a day to eat as much as St. Patrick's Day is a day to drink. That middle week of March is very cultural for my kids!
So there you have it ,belle lettori- Italian! I've left  so much out I'm sure  and I'm also sure my   Goomadis will let me know and maybe there will be a part due someday.
And for those of you who are wondering how my parent reacted when I brought home a green eyed, fair skinned,  Irish guy home...never fear  - he's a part Italian....the best part- just sayin