E Noi Dovrem Ahime, Morir....Morir....

"Il nome mio nessun sapra"

In English: "and my name no one will know"

What irony.

"Dilegua, notte! Tramontante, stella! Tramontante, stella! All'alba vincero...vincero...vincero!"

In English: "Disperse, oh night! Vanish, oh stars! Vanish, oh stars! At daybreak, I will win, I will win, I will win!"

I remember my Grandmother and my old Aunt Raimonda vividly...sitting in my Grandparents kitchen singing Italian songs...and this one always stood out. It's one of the first songs I learned completely in Italian, and even though I didn't know what I was singing, I had an inkling that there was something magical about it.

It wasn't until many years later, when I finally saw HIM sing it, and grew to learn what the words were and meant, that I realized exactly how magical it was.




Riposarse nella pace, Luciano.

My Memory Has Never Been the Best...

You know, today when I was driving to the store, I had a really good idea for a blog, but I've since forgotten what it was.

Which begs the question:

Was it really a good idea?

Because, you know, if it was so good, shouldn't I be able to remember it?

I guess some synapses must have misfired today. Or I have one less wrinkle on the old brain. Or maybe, I shouldn't think while driving.

Ghosts Appear and Fade Away

I hate introspection.

And hormones.

I hate those, too.

They both suck.

And having him in my head doesn't help either. He comes and goes. Comes and goes.

For Baby (For Gigi)

So, officially, in one day, I will be sending my not-quite-5-year-old daughter off to her first day of school. She has all of her supplies ready, her Tinkerbell backpack, her first day outfit all picked out. She's ready to go.

The problem is, someone is actually going to have to pry her from my arms Wednesday morning because there is no way in H-E double hockey sticks that I can let my baby get on that big bus. No way. She's too little. She's still just my baby girl....isn't she?

She was born on a Thursday, early in the morning, after much pushing and pain, and the moment I looked into those licorice eyes, it was all over for me. She was so beautiful, with that head of black hair and her tiny, grasping hands and baby feet. She slept and she ate and that's all she did for months, until slowly, surely, things started happening. Rolling, lifting, crawling, walking, talking. Emerging was a wisp of a girl with a very big personality. Now, nearly 5 years later, she's confident, intelligent, bossy, funny, stunningly beautiful, and so much like me it's actually scary.

I'm not ashamed to say that I don't want her to go. If I could keep her here with me forever, sheltered in her little pink room with her duckie blankie I would. I'm still not accepting that she's a school age child now, and my time as a parent to babies and toddlers is over. I guess I'm mourning a little bit. No one is completely dependent on me anymore. I don't have to feed or bathe or diaper or carry. No more soft lullabies, no more quiet moments sleeping in my arms, no more stroking her hair as she dreams in her bed.

She might cry and I won't be there to comfort her. That's my job. That's what I'm supposed to do. How do I get through the day knowing she might be sad without me and I have no way to help her be happy? How do I make it from hour to hour knowing the uncertainty she must feel?

I don't know. Maybe I'm underestimating my daughter. After all, she is one confident little chick. She'll probably be fine, playing and laughing and making friends while I'm home clutching her blankie and weeping into her pillow. Wednesday morning at 8:35 will NOT be one of my finer moments.

She's not just Daddy's rainbow, not only his pot of gold, or precious gem. She's all of those things to me too.

She's truly my bright and shining star.

I guess the house will be a bit darker during the days now.

Good luck, my girl. My little barrelina, my princess and the pea, my Gi-liscious.

You make your Mommy so proud.

Might Be Getting Crazy, Might Be Wise...

It's official.

My mother has lost it.

We've spent the last two weeks touring houses, searching MLS listings, speaking tirelessly about real estate and the pros/cons of eat in kitchens and she hasn't found one single redeeming quality in one single house we've looked at. It's because she's not mentally ready to sell her house and move and retire and all that, but she needs to get mentally ready or she's going to drive me bat shit insane.

I feel for her. I really, REALLY do. I can't imagine what it's like to have to sell the house you built, the house you brought your children home to and raised them in. She's extremely attached to her things (and as evidence of such, she hasn't actually changed any decor in the house since 1968) and she doesn't actually WANT to do any of this. But she has to because that lovely, wonderful institution called Social Security--you know, the program that was supposed to take care of my mothers generation during their golden years--is barely giving her enough money to buy toilet paper with...and wiping your ass is a pretty important thing! (If FDR was alive today, I'd beat him with his own leg braces.) Along with her pension, and the fact that my Dad has a couple more years to work, they'll survive, but there's no way they can keep their house, sadly.

So, our solution is to go in on a house together. A mother/daughter type deal for a mother and a daughter. We even found a mother/daughter real estate team! No shitting! It's the type of residence that can benefit all of us. They can live peacefully knowing they'll be taken care of in their old age, for a meager amount of money, and we can finally get our butts into a bigger place. Works out for everyone, right?

Not.

Every house has a problem. Every house is unsatisfactory...for her. I've seen some doozies that I LOVED that would work out great for us, but in the spirit of compromise, they're overlooked because it wasn't right for EVERYONE. Okay, I can deal. But in the meantime, my house is going on the market in a couple of weeks and if it sells fast, I'm up the proverbial creek without a paddle in sight. It'll be back to renting for a bit until we can all settle on something, I guess. And renting sucks.

I've tried talking to her about it all, and I know she's not purposefully trying to be difficult, but if she doesn't get herself into the right head space soon, I'm going to abandon the whole thing, because frankly, babying my mother is having an adverse effect on me. The more I baby her, the more I want to curl up into my own fetal position and cry.

Don't get me wrong. I love her. I would do anything for her. I owe her my life, but holy, HOLY LORD, I guess I'm just not compassionate enough to get her through this. Thank God for my brother. He's the same kind of emotive-never-wants-change kind of person that she is and he's been good for her to talk to. I think it's because I'm too close to the whole thing. I'm so anxious for my OWN change, that I'm not seeing how anxious this change is making HER. Or at least, I'm not as soft about it.

Dios Mio.

I'm even speaking Spanish. It must be bad.

I know that something will work out eventually. I know that everything will fall into its own karmic place in it's own due time.

I just have to stop checking my watch.

Standing On A Wave....Again

Off to the beach, chicos y chicas! Rhode Island, here we come. I need more sun and fun before the fall claims us.

That is all. Carry on as normal.

I Was Standing On A Wave...

HBO just canceled "John From Cincinnati".

In the words of my Australian friends, "This shits me to tears."

God forbid they invest in an intelligent, well written, perplexing, complicated hour of television when they can just keep showing drivel like Flight Of the Conchords. And that's not a jab at Bret and Jemaine....I like the boys much, but the show is just not that funny.

So, I guess we'll never find out who John REALLY was, what his purpose was, what happens with the Yost's, Barry, Ramon, Dickstein, Doc Smith (hottie), Cass, Link, Tina, and Stinkweed, The Chemist, Vietnam Joe, Steady Freddy and Palaka, Jerri and the Harelip, Kai, and my favorite character, Bill Jacks, played by the unmatched and unparalleled Ed O'Neill. (The man was genius in this show. Give him an Emmy, canceled or not.)

I'll just spend the next 5 years speculating, thank you very much.

So, that's it. I'm not investing myself in anymore new shows, because I keep getting screwed. I loved Deadwood....dead. Rome...leveled. Lucky Louie...not quite so lucky after all. John From Cincinnati.....wiped out. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm a curse to potential HBO series everywhere.

At least I have Curb to look forward to now. It's what I like to call "Train Wreck TV" because you just KNOW it's going to get ugly, but you can't turn away. Larry David is the master of cringeworthy television.

So, sayonara John. Back to Cincinnati with thee. I cast you out.

I don't know Butchie instead.

I'll Find You A Shelter

I. Need. To. Sleep. Soon.

Maybe if I keep repeating the mantra, my body will be ready to relax. Until then, I still just have that memory ricocheting around my brain...you know the one I mean.

How am I ever supposed to sleep again with that in my head? It's bad enough being a borderline insomniac, but now...now, the ante has been upped and whoever bet on me barely sleeping again for the next year is probably going to take the pot.

Every time I close my eyes, there he is.

Haunting.