“Your Honesty is Honestly just too Honest”

Can you honestly be kind when being honest? You can try. You can give your honesty with kind intentions. But, no matter how kind one is, honesty is the hardest thing to give and take.

“Honesty is such a lonely word. Everyone is so untrue. Honesty is hardly ever heard. And mostly what I need from you.”

No truer words have ever been sung by the great, Billy Joel.

When someone asks for your opinion what they are really asking for you to do is agree with their opinion. The one they already have their heart and mind set on. They are not asking what you really think; they just want you to agree with them.

We all do it. We ask for advice and then we get mad when we don’t get the results we are seeking.

You’ve heard the words, “If you don’t want to know, don’t ask.”

This is a good rule to live by. Sometimes it’s best to just make your own decisions. Other times it really is important to hear the wise words of someone else.

Hearing constructive criticism about you is brutal. It’s like going to the plastic surgeon and having him whip out his marker and mapping your face with all kinds of corrections he’s about to make to your imperfections. You only went in for some botox and he showed you more flaws than you ever saw in the mirror.

Sometimes you just don’t want to know.

Sometimes you would rather just go on and live in your bubble and just be happy and never see what someone else sees.

What someone else sees about you is just their opinions anyway. So, really it doesn’t quite matter. It’s like having an umbrella, it may help shield you from the rain but it’s still going to storm. The facts are the facts and no umbrella is going to stop Mother Nature from raining down on us.

People are always going to have something to say, so let them talk, and always know who you are.

But, if what you want is honesty and nothing more, don’t be mad when someone decides to be bold and bring it your way. You asked for it.

That smack in the face honesty that your family and true friends give you can be really hard to swallow. You know the answer deep down and you are asking them to confirm or deny that gut feeling. Sadly, they usually always confirm what you knew anyway.

It’s like a jagged little pill making its way into your calm stomach. It rattles you all up inside and creates turmoil. This pill is tough to digest, but once you do, the healing process has begun.

It’s like antibiotics that make you worse before you get better. They bring out all the bad before you get back on your feet.

Most times those friends and family members are the ones that helped you battle the beast (and you only have to take one honesty pill instead of three a day for ten days).

Honesty is best in moderation. Human beings tell little white lies all day long. Not to be malicious, but just to appear more likeable and less dramatic.

Not everyone needs to know how you are really feeling.

“How are you today?”

“I’m miserable because my head is spinning, I’m not sure I can pay my rent, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

I think the better answer is, “I’m great, you?”

This is why people lie. Honesty is too honest in a case like this. Spare them the details. Please.

So, what do you do when asked to be honest about something?

Be honest and bold no matter the consequences or be as honest as the person asking wants you to be.

What does that mean you ask?

It means you can always tell just how far you should go not to insult the asker. The inquiring mind leads you to their answer. It’s called leading the witness.

Unless you are under oath, maybe you should tell a little white lie because most of the time in most situations your honesty is honestly just too honest.

“My Right Now Resolution”

5, 4, 3, 2…HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2011 will be ringing in before we know it. Most of us will be at an overpriced gathering wearing something glitzy that sparkles and shines. Some of us will choose a quiet night with loved ones. Others will be a drunken mess at a house party. In any case, we all find our own way to ring in the next 365 days.

As your taking a bite at every food station pretending to be Sam Sifton, your stomach is yelling, “Enjoy this you glutton…it’s the last night you can stuff your face!” Well, because you know tomorrow you’ll be starting your first day of dieting for the long dreaded year ahead, or really for the long dreaded month ahead.

You won’t make it a year or longer than a month. You will join the gym if you aren’t already a member of the “Sweat it out and go home and stuff it back in club.” And, if you are a member already, you will decide it’s time to head back because you’ve been lazy all year long. The faces at the desk won’t recognize you or your new workout gear. For the past year your membership has only helped the owners of the gym pay their rent.

Don’t re-up your frozen status; just let your brain and all its thoughts thaw out for a moment. Ask yourself if you really want to do this, AGAIN? Year after year it’s the same pattern. And, that pattern is simply boring and worthless.

If you are a regular gym rat than you will notice every January 2nd the gym is packed. There are many hopeful contestants, but most of them are cut or quit before they even wear their free t-shirt awarded with their new membership.

I’m not knocking these people (even though they make the gym overly crowded for a good month). I am simply stating what I have been witnessing over many years.

People, the fact is New Year’s resolutions suck and so does exercise, and losing weight!

While you are sitting on your couch covered by your warm, soft fuzzy blanket this winter choosing a habit to break or begin…choose wisely.

Find one that you know you can absolutely stick to or one that will last for more than a month.

I must tell you that it should not be diet related. Dieting resolutions are just another advertising ploy to make big business big money. It’s like Valentine’s Day for Hallmark. It makes everyone money and doesn’t mean a hell of a lot.

January 1st should not be the reason you want to shed the pounds. It should mean nothing to you other than changing your calendars and your year on your checks.

It’s all pointless bullshit to make you think you need a BIG CHANGE in your new year to make you love yourself more or be happier.

Don’t give into the hype.

My End of the Year Resolution is to NOT have a New Year’s resolution at all, ever again.

January marks the new year on our calendars but any and everyday marks a new year. Today is December 2nd 2010 and December 2nd 2011 will make a year. And, if it were March 20th 2010, you can bet on the sun and moon and it’s position 365 days later, the next March 20th will be a whole year later.

Stop setting your new improved habits by the Egyptians, Romans, Mayans, Greeks, or Chinese calendars and their time. Set it by yours.

Do it when you mean it and when you really know you are ready.

I am deciding on this last month of the year that I should read two books a month. It will help my mind and my soul. It can only make me smarter. It won’t help me get into a size two, but it will help fill my mind. And, by next December 2nd, a whole year later, I should be twenty-four books the wiser (That’s big for me).

So, my “Right Now Resolution” is to absolve the idea of giving up anything ever again. For now on it will only be the addition of great things and the bad things will fade away when I say so, not when it strikes midnight on the clock. Nobody dictates to me what I should do and when I should do it.

Happy End of the Year and I hope you choose wisely and make it a year of self improvement whenever you wish to begin.

You marked your spot, Spike

I was a sad little seven year old strapped in the back seat of my parents Monte Carlo crying my eyes out because we had just left the pet store…with no puppy…again.

I left my little birthday buddy behind; an adorable cocker spaniel born on the same day as me.

It was fate…this dog was meant for me.

But, as my mom coaxed me out of the store after making me hand my best friend back over to the lady I knew it was a grim situation.

My older brother was ten years old and wiser. I looked up to him. So, I did whatever he did. As he was begging and moaning for that little doggy in the window I was chiming in with a high pitched PLEASE MOM AND DAD!!!!!!

We sat in the back seat of this big brown boat and pleaded our case all the way home. Our eyes were shifting back at forth. The first glance at each other with determination and anticipation, then to our parents with the saddest eyes you have ever seen. How could they resist the two curly haired kids in the back seat that were longing for a Lassie?

My dad finally burst out and said, “Tomorrow, tomorrow when you get home from school you will have a dog!”

We gushed with excitement like two adults that just won the lotto. This was big. We worked so hard for this moment.

I didn’t believe my dad completely. I thought he was trying to shut us up since we were making him insane in the membrane.

But, that Monday on the school bus my brother and I couldn’t contain ourselves. It was like Christmas morning but only four in the afternoon and…not Christmas.

My brother ran off the bus with me trying to catch up right behind him shouting, “Do you think it will be there?”

“Yeah, dad promised!”

We ripped through the house like a tornado and in my mothers hands laid the tiniest, teeniest, cutest puppy in the world.

He wasn’t a cocker spaniel, he wasn’t a she, but it was perfect.

The Furillo family added a mutt to the clan. My brother and I battled over who should name our new addition. He was set on Spike, and I was set on Brownie. I kept smelling his nose and if you ask me, even to this day, all new puppies noses smell like warm brownies (Or, maybe I just always want brownies).

I lost and my brother was victorious. From this day forward our little mix breed beauty shall be hailed as SPIKE.

The name didn’t fit him. He was small and cute. My brother watched too many cartoons. I thought the name was unfitting.

But, I thought wrong…oh yes I did.

As we grew fond of Spikey (We childproofed his name) he was growing a really big pair of brass ones.

This little doe eyed ball of fur that was the size of my father’s hand was testing us BIG TIME.

He was eating money, dollar bills to start and for desert some twenties.

If you put your socks on the floor for a second, they were gone. Only later to be ripped from his sharp canine teeth with holes everywhere.

He peed in the house because he was male and always marked his spot. He tore up pillows. We left for the mall and came home to feathers and fabric scattered all about the halls.

He was a madman on the loose.

My mother would scream with horror like her first born was just taken by strangers. She was so over this monster.

You could love him and hate him all in the same breath.

My mom and dad kept threatening to find him another home. I can remember begging and pleading with them. We were terribly worried they were going to send him to the man’s house with the chicken coup and crazy cars.

So, we did what any seven and ten year olds would do…we wrote a contract and signed it for our parents.

And this is exactly how it read, well, almost, my brother in cursive and me in very big letters:

“Why I Want Spike”

1. becuse we love him (Michael)
2. to play whith him (me)
3. becuse he makes us happy (Michael)
4. for conp any (me)
5. to make a good home for Spike (Michael)
6. to hug him and kiss Spike (me)

Now we promise to take good care of him. and to take him out. (Michael)

and I am not letting you take our dog. (me)

Mike Janine (Both)


I followed my brother in the kitchen with our promise in hand. We were like two little attorneys stating our case.

We won.

We got to keep the mutt, take him out, put up with his crap (literally), and love him to death (literally).

A few days later just when everything was going really well and Spike was laying low, he committed the Cardinal sin.

It was Christmas and the tree was trimmed and beautiful. Everyone was gone and he was HOME ALONE.

My mother walked in and the Christmas tree was crashed to the ground. Green and red balls were scattered all over the house. They were shredded by puppy teeth and paws. The ornaments were all broken to pieces on the floors.

My mother was livid. I think she turned red like Rudolph. She was ready to kill and I mean kill this dog.

My heart beat so fast I never saw her like this. She was angry and sad, she was screaming, and crying all in one. Spike was a goner.

He had his last supper. There was nothing left to chew. Nothing old and now nothing new.

She phoned my father and it was official. Spike would be gone in the morning.

We cried and begged her all night long to please forgive him. We promised the world. Nothing was working.

My dad walked in later that night from work and by the grace of GOD and only GOD he managed to save my mother from her hysteria and save our dog from getting kicked out of the house.

It ended up being a Merry Christmas. Spike went on to chew little things here and there. After his terrible two’s he was a great dog. He was a great friend.

We still laugh about our first dog, Spike. In the end his name really fit him. He was a spike in my mom’s side forever. But, she loved him so much and always will.

That little mixed breed runt that my dad paid twenty bucks for cost us a fortune over the years. But, he was worth every penny just in memories alone.

Spike's last night was spent in my bedroom. I had loved him for fourteen years. He saw me grow up from first grade on.

He laid next to my bed not in it, which was unusual and he had an accident in the hall that night (unusual at this age but not when he was young and marking his territory).

I knew something was terribly wrong. The next afternoon I went with my dad to the vet. We made an emergency visit.

Spike was riddled with cancer. One of the saddest days of my life. My family was destroyed. I knew he felt the love because he spent his last night with me.

It's been years since he passed and I still think about that little rascal. He chased my neighbor on her bike all the way down the street, bit my brother's friend, chased after his basketball in the backyard like it was a living thing, and barked so much you wanted to put a muzzle on him.

He was a rowdy dog no doubt about it. But, he was loveable and sweet too. He was my dad's best friend. My mom's, my brother's and mine. He was always ready to snuggle or sing you a tune. Yes, he was a singing dog.

He always gave me kisses with his wet nose and all. He protected us like we protected him.

Spikey, I hope you are in Heaven sitting on Poppop’s lap and chewing a bone the size of you, buddy. And, if nobody throws you a bone I will send up a Christmas ball and some twenties for you to feast on.

You always were good “conp any” and I hope you knew how hard we fought for you “becuse” we always loved you. And, don't worry you certainly marked your spot...forever.

“INSPIRED”

In my everyday travels I always find things that inspire me. I am optimistic.

A few days ago during a lunch with an old college friend I had an Oprah Show “AHA” moment. I was sitting at the table listening to my friend speak about his life.

This friend, Chad, I admire a lot. He’s a great guy. The kind of person that would be there for you in the middle of the night if you were broke down on the side of the road. Through space and time we never lose sight of our friendship. He’s intelligent, kind hearted, ambitious, and decisive. He knows what he wants out of life.

I sat and listened. I told him that I was feeling off focus. I have too many things I want to do. “I feel like I am all over the map.” I said with confusion in my heart and anxiety in my mind. He gave me the best answer anyone has in a while.

“Janine, that’s the thing that is great about you. You have all the qualities to succeed. You’re a dreamer, ambitious, and persistent; and all of these things are ingredients for success.” Chad poignantly stated as if he were my guidance counselor back in school.

And, you know what? Chad is right. I am all of those things. I do dream, I create, and I never quit. But, sometimes when you feel low, lost, and tired of trying you need to find inspiration somewhere other than your own dreams.

I left our lunch thinking a few things. I wondered why we only get together once a year, because, well, that’s just ridiculous. I thought about everything he said and I was back on track and I had even more focus than before. I needed a friend’s guidance to teach me that I can have many tracks. I have many interests and that’s what fulfills my life.

I left our lunch feeling INSPIRED.

I look at life and the chapters that have been lived thus far. I read the stories of the past and I laugh a little about what I know now that I didn’t know then.

I have always been that person that felt a little “Special.”

Possibly, a little “Different.”

I see things that a lot of people may not see. I’m spiritual and aware. I know that there’s so much more to this life.

Whenever I need some good old fashioned inspiration I look to my loved ones. But, it’s their job to inspire me and raise me up.

So, when I need more I think of people that have helped change my life or the ones who believe in me that are not blood related.

I think of a man that taught me while in college. This same man INSPIRED me.

The last week of classes before my college graduation I received the most beautiful gift from Mr. Howard Rice. He was my professor at Temple University for my intensive writing class. We had to write three papers a week. It was certainly intense but thought provoking and life changing. I loved it.

We also had to write a journal. This would be read only by Professor Rice. He just wanted us to get in the habit of writing how we feel and reading it.

Each class I knew I would be chosen to read aloud so I was always ready. Spilling your guts to your peers wasn’t easy at first but we all got used to it and by the end of the semester I think we even enjoyed it. It was therapeutic.

Each assignment seemed so simple. The topics were elementary, until you had to write about them. He gave us word or page limits and we had to put our thoughts on paper.

“What would you do with one day left to live?”

“My Best Friend”

“A Moment that Changed My Life”

“My Family”

These were just a few topics. And, there were so many more. I learned more in that class than my whole four years of college.

I learned how to be a better writer. I learned to let go and tell my stories. I learned to accept others. Most importantly, I learned who I was.

I was about to enter the “Real World” wide eyed and INSPIRED.

The last day of that class Professor Howard Rice had a message for me. He stopped me in the hall after class ended and told me what he thought.

“In all the years I’ve been teaching I have only told this to about three other people, but you are one of my best students ever and a pleasure to have in my classroom. If you ever need anything please ask. I know you are going places, and I want you to share your voice with the world. I enjoyed your journal entries and I want you to know that you will succeed. Promise me that you will always write and reflect on your life.”

He said a few more things, but this is all I heard. He was proud of me and that made me higher than anything in the world.

He believed in me.

His faith in me was just one of many inspirational moments in my life. It’s times like that when you realize you have an impact on people.

Clearly, my professor and I were both INSPIRED by each other.

Just as Chad and I are, almost fourteen years after meeting in a college classroom.

I never did keep in touch or ask Mr. Rice for anything. But, I never forgot him and never will.

I only hope he remembers me too.

And, that promise that he asked me to keep…I did.

It’s those moments in your life when just one person believes in you that doesn’t have to, but chooses to, that’s when you finally believe in yourself too.

I think I will look Mr. Rice up and thank him again. He did his duty as a teacher; he INSPIRED me and taught me one of the most valuable lessons of my adult life.

You can impact lives, you just have to try.

"Commercial Christmas"

Halloween has just wrapped up and all the unwrapped candy has been ingested by all the little trick-or-treaters. My mums are prettier than ever and my pumpkins are still sitting pretty in the patch I made for them. I just took down the scarecrows and witches from the spooky night when out of sight comes a Christmas commercial.

Are you kidding me?

It’s only the beginning of November and the greedy mongrels have forced Christmas down my throat already. I LOVE Christmas! It’s my favorite holiday. As children my brother and I were spoiled. There was no room left under the tree when Santa left our house. It looked like we had our very own Toys R Us in the living room. It was magical.

I loved everything about December and the days leading up to family dinners, cookies, snowmen, presents, and winter vacation! It was a glorious time of year.

I made my list every year. I wrote it in crayon and made it big so Santa could read it without any problems. I even ripped out magazine pages with the toys so Old Saint Nick would know exactly what I wanted. I wasn’t very subtle. Even as a child I got right to the point. (I guess some things never change)

I called the North Pole and spoke to some elves. I made sure I was a good little girl because I never wanted coal under the tree for me.

My childhood memories of Christmas were unbelievable. I love my family and everything about the holidays; with them it was always perfect.

Then, I grew up. It’s still perfect. But, let’s be serious. For a little while it changed. The magic was gone. But as I grew even older I realized that the magic is just beginning.

It’s really not about the gifts. It’s about giving. That is the best gift of all. Sounds cliché, but I know it’s true.

My mom called me this week and said, “Instead of gifts this year lets give to the children who need it most. We have everything we want and need.”

My mother is right. There is nothing we need. If I want it I buy it. I don’t wait for anyone to get it for me. I have all the handbags, shoes, jewelry, coats, and perfume I will ever need.

My house is furnished, my family is full, and my heart is happy. Life is good for me. I thank God everyday.

I am so tired of seeing the commercials on television. Buy, buy, buy and that will make you happy!

I’m not against the presents and shopping. I’m against turning this awesome time of the year into a job that you hate rather than a holiday you can’t wait to celebrate.

We have lost the spirit. We are greedy and materialistic.

Every year I do buy presents. I walk around aimlessly through the shopping malls and run from store to store to check off my list. I have toned it down, but I still have something for everyone I love.

Each year I try to top the gift from last year, but it’s almost impossible to do. You simply run out of great ideas.

However, I have the secret to the best gifts in the world. HOMEMADE!

A do it yourself number never gets old.

Since I was a child I loved to write. So, every year I made homemade cards for my parents. I used crayons, pen, pencil, and paint. Everything about them came straight from my little heart.

My parents loved them.

Now, that I’m older I still do it and I even branched out into the family. I do it for my grandparents, my brother, and a few others.

It’s important to me that the most important people in my life know what they mean to me. Now, everything is written straight from my big heart.

Every year they wait patiently for their cards. These days I print them on pretty paper. Maybe I will get creative with my Crayola again one day.

The cards are special to me. It’s a tradition and every year the night before Christmas Eve I sit up and type away until the wee hours of the morning. I love the pressure.

My cards make grown men weep. To them I write how I feel and from them I get the best reactions and feelings in the world. Proud parents…you could say that. Every year my mother’s same reaction, “Janine, you are a great writer; I don’t know why you aren’t doing anything about it.”

Mom, I am. I write to you and the ones I love. I have made our traditions greater. I have given you something precious from my heart that can never get old, go out of style, not fit, not be liked, or be returned.

This year if you can you should do something special not just swipe your credit card a hundred times.

Volunteer at a homeless shelter, sponsor a family in need, go to the hospitals, and invite lonely people over to celebrate. Whatever you do make it meaningful.

Nothing saddens me more than seeing people alone on the holidays. Maybe it’s hypocritical to say that about just the holidays, but that’s where the magic comes into play. That’s what the spirit is all about.

If you make it a homemade kind of year…I promise someone will shed a tear of happiness.

This thing we call Christmas has turned into a monster. It’s like a tornado that comes into town and leaves us broke, miserable, in debt, and out of touch with the true meaning.

Commercial Christmas is all about money. Make your holidays all about family and friends.

Make it count. I don’t remember all the toys I received. But, I do remember the memories of family, the traditions, and the warmth of the season.

On this beautiful Commercial Christmas, remember to give and you will receive. Turn off the television and turn on your hearts. Instead of commercial make it personal.



P.S.

Merry Christmas in November, put off the pressure till December, and try to
keep singing with cheer when your mountain of debt arrives for a wonderful Happy New Year!

“Mirror, Mirror on the Wall”

I love to decorate my house. I treasure hunt for little things that are unique. If it’s one of a kind, it’s mine. I like unusual and different. Somewhere during my decorating I have acquired a lot of mirrors.

I love mirrors. They go anywhere. I especially like the ones with beautiful frames. If they are antique they are even better.

How many times have you needed a mirror? You want to check your hair, face, make-up?

We check for bats in the cave; flash a smile to pluck that piece of spinach from our two front teeth, and check our hair to make sure it’s still there.

We can’t live without mirrors.

I get ready in front of mine. I brush my teeth, wash my face, pluck my brows, do my hair, makeup, and voila turn into myself in front of my mirror.

I have one in almost every room of my house. They hang in my foyer, hallway, family room, dining room, bedrooms, bathrooms, and even my kitchen.

They make any space look larger. Hang a mirror in any room and it becomes very personal.

More than a mirror adding dimension and making a room look larger, mirrors represent the most beautiful art in the world; human beings.

For centuries artists have tried to capture the human body and face in paintings, sculpture, and drawings. Some have done marvelous work, others miraculous. Michelangelo’s statue of David is a masterpiece.

Mirrors are self awareness. That image you see in the mirrored glass staring back at you is beautiful. It’s you. What you see in the mirror is how the world sees you.

I have looked for artwork. I bought a few paintings and pieces of wall art, but none really compare to my mirrors. Or shall I say the reflections in my mirrors?

My friends, family, my home, the space in which I live my life, can all be reflected in the beautifully framed mirrors that hang in my home.

It’s like photographs. That reflection is permanent. The vision we see in mirrors is permanent in our mind not on paper.

Even a photo begins in the mirror. You fix yourself up and make sure you are putting your best face forward. It all starts looking back at your self; staring yourself in the eyes.

Everyday you must face yourself. Answer to your conscience. Look to see what you love and hate. Stare at your flaws and your perfections. You must seek change. Stare into your eyes and gaze into your soul. That is where you will find yourself.

Seeing is believing and at my house you will see a lot.

Beauty comes in so many different forms. Art is what you make of it. We all find beauty in different things.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall who in the land is fairest of all?”

People are.

When you come to my house don’t look for the artwork. Look for the mirrors because with them you become the focus.

When you stare into the glass you find clarity, character, and color. The light sometimes casts shadows and lines that bounce off your face, but no matter what everything is perfectly placed.

Human beings are the most beautiful creation of all. It’s not just the mirror and its pretty frame, but you and your face that always entertain.

"New York NEVER Gets Old"

“Wanna go to New York for a night?” My boyfriend asked with excitement.

“Of course I do, dumb question.” I sarcastically replied.

“That’s great because I already booked us a room.” He said with childlike glee.

So, with that two minute conversation under our belts we just rolled over it and onto our daily business.

For the next few hours I had Jay Z’s voice pounding in my head and I was feeling giddy about all of the shopping that would certainly put a dent in my bank account.

UNTIL…I almost had a panic attack. I could feel my palms getting clammy and my body starting to itch.

I ran downstairs and blurted out, “BEDBUGS!”

“Huh? What’s wrong?” He asked me.

I wondered if he was on another planet. How could he not have heard the word on the bugs that bite through the night? New York City is having a bedbug crisis and I am not about to become victim to the critters that target helpless tourists sleeping in possibly washed sheets. Nope, not gonna be me.

We discussed it for a few days. I really don’t like to live in fear or let things like this stop me from enjoying life, but if you bring them home with you, you’re done. They invade your home, your clothes, carpets, sheets, body, and worst of all, your mind.

I stood firm on my answer to just skip out on this trip. I already lived up there on a part time basis. I know the Upper East Side like the back of my hand. It’s been three years since I have wondered the streets with wonder and joy. And, I was ready to let three more pass by until the city was bedbug free. Or, until Saks and Bergdorf’s were not hiring bedbug sniffing dogs to catch the pests.

Oh, right, Macy’s in Herald Square found some on the upper floors in office land. I guess they want me to think that the bugs won’t travel far and wide to the chenille scarves, men’s suits, or woman’s panties. They hit Victoria Secrets, Nike, and Bloomies! Macy’s is certainly easy prey.

To top off my bug paranoia I called a friend and as we were chit chatting she told me a story about her friend who really got bedbugs! Now, up until this point it seemed like an urban legend or something. But, now I actually knew a woman who had taken the hotel guest’s home.

I felt sorry for my friend, but I was victorious! After that story my boyfriend conceded and let me bass in my glory! I did.

We went for the day. I had strict rules for myself. No clothes shopping. And, most importantly as soon as I hit the door to my home, clothes off and in the dryer for twenty minutes. No bugs here! Not in my bed, and not in my head!

I got to the Lincoln tunnel and there was no traffic. Parked right away and we were off on foot for the next six hours.

I bought a few things but within my guidelines and rules. I had a fabulous dinner, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and ended in Times Square.

“These streets will make you feel brand new…” Alicia was singing in my head.

Sinatra too, “If you can make it here you’ll make it anywhere…”

I was so high on hope and dreams that I forgot the bedbugs were taking over the concrete jungle.

UNTIL…a very dirty man bumped into me. I looked up and I was horrified. Normally, I would be grossed out and just reach for some hand sanitizer but this time I wanted to strip like the Naked Cowboy in Times Square. I knew that wasn’t going to be possible, so I thought about doing a few forward flips to escape the crowd like the kids that come in from Harlem for the street shows. But, I would break a neck. So, no, no, no, no, nothing was making it better!

UNTIL…I walked a few blocks further out of the chaos and into the quiet. Yes, there are quiet city streets in Manhattan. I got a sniff of the roasted peanut aroma corners, the chicken skewers, and the pretzels. All right next to the fake Prada’s, Burberry’s, and Gucci’s.

I bursted into laughter and just said out loud, “God, I love this city!”

If you want it, you can get it...bedbugs optional. It’s New York! The Met! The Plaza! The Waldorf! The shopping (Not on this trip, sadly) The people!

I walked past The Plaza Hotel and felt like I was in a movie fighting with Kate Hudson because there was only one available date for my big wedding.

Remember, I’m dreaming.

I had flashbacks of when Carrie and Aidan ended because she wouldn’t wear the ring around her finger, instead on her necklace.

I thought about all the great movie scenes.

I thought about every good thing that makes New York City so lovable.

It’s full of hope. Everyone wants to make it and has drive. They want to find love and a career. They want to live the dream.

At one time I did too.

UNTIL…I had a taste of the Big Apple. I got my fill for a couple of years. I couldn’t get used to the grueling lifestyle; hailing cabs, rushing for the subway, climbing five flights of raggedy old steps, and no backyard.

I couldn’t imagine raising my children there one day. Not because it’s not rich in culture, and education, but, because it’s too hard, it’s physically exhausting unless you are Rockefeller wealthy.

I didn’t see Park Avenue in the stars for me at that particular time. I saw Philadelphia suburbs with family, friends, and my history.

Manhattan was marvelous like always. This germaphobe is happy to report it was a bedbug free visit.

As long as dreamers are being born, fashion is passion, and bedbugs only storm the city every so often, New York City will ALWAYS be exciting.

The city that never sleeps may get tired, bitten, and take a beating, but New York, New York will NEVER get old.

"Beauty Queen"

I thought I really skipped that addiction gene in life. I recently admitted I had a people watching problem, now I MUST add to the list. This one is written in ink not pencil. As a matter of fact this one is carved in stone. There is really no return to sanity, especially as I age.

What is this addiction, you all ask? I’ll tell you. I’m a proud “Beauty Queen.”

You might be baffled by this label I so proudly stamped across my forehead, but I can and will explain. I’m also willing to suggest you might be one too.

I love products. If it’s in the beauty and skincare sections I’m not leaving without a bag that has a little shiny cardboard box of something colorful or wrinkle reducing in it.

When you go to the skincare counter the newest ingredient of the year promises to be “Liquid Gold.” Hey, if they promise and they did studies and seventy-five percent of women saw clearer, more even toned skin in just four weeks…I’m sold. Why in the world would little ole me slow down the gold rush?

Moisturizer is my must have. Bare Minerals is next for an even complexion. My eyebrows are always in check. And, after that, a pretty pout.

I love products so much that on any given day you can walk into my home open up my bathroom cabinet and my closets and fine a myriad of “Girl Goo” for your face and body.

I just went on a trip to NYC and my first stop was Sephora. I have one near my house, but it’s New York, theirs is better. I will stay in there for an hour and just try on every lip gloss, eye shadow, and blush in the store.

I get a complete high. I want full lips that are luscious. I want my brows to have that perfect arch. I go crazy over the perfect eye shadow trio that all blends together for those smoky eyes.

I leave one store and hit another. I can’t stop. I go in the drugstore and buy more. I don’t neglect the normal brands. I don’t have just a soft spot for the specialty products. I love them all. I don’t discriminate.

I sell my soul to the devil every time I buy another lip gloss. I get home and what do you know? I already have it in one of my many makeup bags.

I walk through my door and play around for another hour with all of my new toys! I love the feeling of looking pretty. I’m a girl all the way, through and through.

If it’s promising beauty or if I’m seeing something I like in the mirror I can’t resist.

Blues, greens, grays, and purples are great for my hazel eyes. Simple black liner, Cleopatra like, or just bold and thick on top is fine. I use pencil, liquid, and gel for the look. I rim the lids well so you see to the windows to my soul. Oh, who am I kidding? I just want my eyes to look pretty and really POP!

I am into skin. If the skin isn’t good the makeup won’t make it much better. It’s all about the product that is right for you.

I buy, buy, buy, and buy some more. I am on a first name basis with all the girls at my nearby Ulta store. They even ask me for my help. Maybe I need my own line.

I can’t get enough of the goods. I work at QVC and well that’s not helping this addiction at all.

I see the face, the founder, and CEO of every awesome beauty and skincare companies you have been buying for years. If it’s on the shelves at the specialty stores, it’s most definitely on QVC.

I’ve heard their names and purchased their products, but now I know them personally.

God, my job is so cool.

I’ve read and heard about Peter Thomas Roth for years, now I know him. Kate Sommerville works on the faces of Hollywood’s leading ladies, know her too.

Celebrity makeup artists, Laura Geller, Mally Roncal, and Bobbi Brown are in the house.

I’m sure you’ve heard of a little company called Bare Escentuals…yup, Leslie Blodgett is in the building. She started a cult following with her cosmetic revolution and I bow when in her presence.

Her makeup changed my skin. My Bare Minerals foundation is one product I’m especially loyal too.

Mostly everyone that you have been reading about in beauty magazines for years is selling their brand on QVC. I’m more impressed with them than the celebrities that walk through the shopping channel doors.

Cetaphil face wash and Complex 15 moisturizer are my other must haves. If I go astray I’m always right back the next night washing and applying with my two oldest favorites. They never go out of style. Not in my house.

I’M A JUNKIE. I find it hard to “Just Say NO.”

I’m confident without makeup, I can leave the house without it, and I don’t hide myself from the world. I just LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it.

My theory: We are all naturally beautiful inside and out, but thank GOD for makeup. You don’t need it but why not wear something that defines your natural beauty even more?

Maybe I have a problem. But, if this is one of the worst things I do, then by all means I am going to keep on applying, lining, glossing, swiping, highlighting, tweezing, framing, smearing, blending, swirling, tapping, buffing, and LOVING my addiction.

God Bless the Beauty Queens of the world and may we always rule with our lip gloss wands and our long lashes.

Borders for Hoaders

We all hold onto things with special meaning. I am a very sentimental person. I keep a lot of things that loved ones and friends have given me over the years. I keep them because they have value, sentimental worth.

I am very clean. A clean freak is the best way to describe me. I like things in their place and perfect. I get this from my mother. She’s clean to a fault. You could eat off her bathroom floor and it would be just fine. Like mother, like daughter. I have followed in her footsteps.

I love throwing out things that I no longer need. I get a high from sorting through my clothes each season. I have a big black trash bag and I just toss the clothes that I haven’t worn in while into the big black hole. I make room in my closet for new and I give the older, but still nice things to charity.

Clutter equals chaos. I feel like I can’t breathe when there is clutter in my life. Not just with material things but with all things. I am over the clutter. I will never be a minimalist, but I can dream about it. My fifty pairs of jeans are holding me back from being simple. Trust me, I will never be simple.

I don’t watch much television, but the other night I was flicking through the channels and I came across “Hoarders.” This show is so horrific yet fascinating. People are being buried alive in their own homes. Their minds are being tortured while they live amongst clutter and trash.

And by trash, I mean trash. Their homes are covered in paper bags, empty food boxes, food scraps, animal feces that they can’t get to, clothes, dishes, videotapes, dirty tissues, and etc. Its plain filthy. It should be illegal.

I know they have a mental disorder and it’s a sickness but there are some things that I can tolerate and pity and some I cannot. While watching this disgusting way of life I find myself glued to the television. It’s like a train wreck and you must watch.

I cry every single time they show a child living in the landfill’s they must call home. I cry because they can’t help themselves and they certainly can’t take charge and be the parent.

I have declared some of the people just plain lazy. There’s always an episode with a person that I just don’t sympathize for or understand their reasoning for living in squalor.

I’m not mean. I have compassion. I am a bleeding heart. But, this is where I draw the line.

What is the difference between living with a physically abusive parent and being a hoarder? Not much. Either way you are harming your children, physically and mentally.

For God sake’s these children don’t have beds to sleep in because their guardian chose to cover the whole house in garbage. They sleep on the couch with three other people and trash sits along side them from the floor to the ceiling. They have an eight inch walk way to maneuver through the house.

How do they shower, get clean, and get dressed? How do they eat? Imagine you brought home take out Chinese and when you were done you threw it on the floor and it stayed there for twenty years. No way. No fortune cookie is giving that household hope.

This is sad. But, it’s also abuse. When children are laying on the floor covered with trash and they are breathing in animal droppings that are an inch away from their mouths and noses, it’s time to stop the insanity.

The best part is when the victim says, “I never should have let it get this way.” You think? The first year should have been a wake up call to someone. It shouldn’t take ten to twenty years to see this monumental problem.

If they can’t stop themselves the government should stop them. Make them get help; take their children until they can maintain a livable, healthy environment. Do something instead of just filming it and making money while we all sit watching with our jaws to the floor.

It should be illegal. It should be stopped just like we try to stop child abuse. Abusers don’t mean to beat their children all the time. They claim they are mental too. So again, why is this any better?

The children go to school embarrassed, dirty, hungry, and unhealthy. They have the weight of the world on their shoulders, literally!!! They are being abused. No way around it.

I pity anyone that is suffering from a mental disorder, but those of us not suffering should not let this continue. It’s our duty to help each other. I can’t stand when people say, “Mind your business and don’t get involved.”
Nope. Never. I don’t live that way. I certainly don’t agree with that in all circumstances.

Get involved. Hoarders are not just hoarding material things; they are hoarding bad feelings inside. They are locked up within themselves. I understand.

You wouldn’t want a child watching their parents snorting cocaine, performing lewd acts, or hitting each other. They shouldn’t live with violence and they shouldn’t live in trash.

I wonder what the right thing to do with these children is and how we can help them. Taking them from their parents seems mean to some people, but is it?

The parents can’t love them because they don’t love themselves properly. Something has to give.

Watch the show and see for yourself. The children are bitter, angry, and sick. Can you blame them?

While their parents are hoarding meaningless material things the children are hoarding and harboring some serious resentment and issues that will last a lifetime.

These hoarders need some borders, not just a one time clean up so they can start all over again. Their children and themselves should be all they are saving.

"Don't ask me what I do, Ask me who I am."

I love social events. Weddings, charities, anniversaries, fundraisers, and every function in between are usually fun for me. I love putting on my best dress and sliding the shadow over my eyelids while puckering up for some lip gloss. I feel so shiny and pretty.

As I walk into the room filled with people all in black, and the occasional pop of color worn by the person with lots of guts and glory I can’t help but smirk and say to myself, “Here we go…it’s time for the show!”

First stop: Coat check. Second stop: Powder room for one more glance at yourself. Third stop: Greeting the party’s host. Fourth stop: The bar if you drink. Fifth stop: The hors d oeuvres. Sixth stop: The loudest person in the place in your face. Seventh stop: Finding your friends. Eighth stop: Finding your seat. Ninth stop: Mingling. Tenth stop: Answering all the questions that are being fired your way, which apparently defines you as a person in just less than five minutes.

So, my eleventh stop is always the dance floor. I don’t mind the interrogation by inquiring minds that want to know. I do mind that people feel they can judge someone on what they do for a living. If you’re dancing you can avoid the firing squad.

You know the drill.

It’s always the same questions: What’s your name?

That’s a must have but I swear one night I’m going to use a stripper name, Sultry Season, and see how long people can keep a straight face. I’d love to see their reactions and see if I get taken seriously.

Next question: Where do you live?

Would you like my exact address so you can stalk me? Are you sending me a Christmas card? This is where they are trying to figure out what social tier I fit into.

The Third and best question: What do you do, Janine?

Now, here is where I would love to say some wild and crazy things. I want tell people, “If I tell you I would have to kill you.” But, that is played out. I would like to say, “I am a clown in the circus, or I’m a pool hustler, no a loan shark. I’m a regular everyday Bonnie and Clyde. Or, I’m a professional ping pong champion.” I really just want to say, “Would you like my bank account number so you can check my savings?”

But, I never do any of the above. I answer all the boring mundane questions like a good little girl does and carry on with regular mundane conversation. I give into society and the norms. I give in and let them place their judgment upon me. I let them classify me.

I tell people that I’m a television guest host and I sell products for a living. I also make hoagies for my family businesses when I’m not on TV. I give them all the dirt that they want so they can file me into one of their many categories.

I’d like to think I am in the “A” file for Awesome, but maybe that’s not the case in their opinion. I really don’t care what file they put me in. It could be “I” for Idiot and I still don’t care. I know one thing, if I used my above answers to the most boring questions in the world I would be put into the “F” file for FABULOUSLY FANTASTIC & FUNNY!

I do care that in five minutes people believe they can judge a person. I will never understand how the small minded people of the world operate.

I don’t care what you do as long as you treat me right and are an honest, caring, moral person. You could be a doctor or lawyer, actress or model, a plumber or electrician, you could be the CEO of a fortune five hundred company or the person working the front desk of the same company…I don’t care what you do.

I’m not impressed with the business you make your business. I’m impressed with the things you do in your life that mean something to you.

I sell products on television and I love my job. But, I am so much more than that person you see on TV. I write and it’s my passion. I’m a deep thinker. I’m a decorator. I’m a good daughter and friend. I’m my grandparent’s favorite grand-daughter because I call them every night and check in on them all the time. I’m the apple of my parent’s eyes. I’m a sucker for children. I’m a strong minded opinionated, independent woman with something to say, always. I’m someone’s shoulder to lean on and ears to listen. I’m a shrink for my friend’s when they need advice. I’m a nurse to care for my loved ones. I’m a teacher. I’m a singer and dancer. I’m a person. I am me.

The guy in the crowd that you just shrugged off because he was a trash collector is great. He’s a comedian that keeps his friends laughing. He’s a single father that raises his kids and never complains. He’s the best dressed guy at the wedding. He’s always smiling and helping others. He’s more than you think.

The woman that is sitting there with her Cartier watch and her huge diamond ring may appear to be the richest woman in the room. She’s dressed to impress but has not won over her own family. She’s greedy and self indulgent. She was more worried about tennis lessons, tea time, and everything superficial than her family. Her children hate her and won’t even speak to her. Her bank account is full but her heart is empty.

Then, there’s that man that looks a bit disheveled. He’s wearing pants that are a little too tight. His hair is a mess and he’s walking around aimlessly. Nobody is talking to him. But, he doesn’t care. Ya, that guy he’s been working ninety hour weeks trying to come up with the cure for cancer. And, you thought he was nobody. Pray you never need his services.

You don’t know anyone after five minutes. You don’t even know yourself sometimes so how can you label everyone else by their name, address, or career? You simply CANNOT.

If you want to know the definition of the person, ask their family and friends. They will tell you all you need to know.

Maybe you can skip the small talk and the pretentious bologna in the beginning of the night and ask what matters. And, sometimes if you don’t ask any questions after the introduction people just start to talk. No pressure and no gun to their heads to feel perfect.

Or, you could simply ask the person questions that count. Not questions that count the person’s worth in your eyes.

This is not the “Never judge a book by its cover” lesson. This is the “You can’t read the first chapter and know the end of the story” lesson.

And, in case you are wondering what category I put the five minute interviewers under I will tell you. They get mentally filed under “P” for pretentious.

I’d rather be on the dance floor with the person who collects trash and having a blast, than the person who tries to collect information about me so they can talk trash.

Oh and just so you know. While Mr. or Ms. Pretentious is gathering the facts about me, I’ve already filed them under “L” for loser.

The Instant Gratification Generation

The Instant Gratification Generation


WORK: Noun, adjective, verb: to labor hard hours and get paid to do it; to be proud of your accomplishments, earn your place, earn your stuff, learn to appreciate things more; to build character and personality.

This is definitely not Webster’s definition of the word, “work.”

It’s mine and those around me who have the same motivation and determination in life.

I’ve been working since I was tall enough to reach the cash register at the family business. I was taking phone orders at our hoagie shops as soon as I could say, “Hello Furillo’s, Can I take your order? I may not have been so eager to do it after the newness wore off but I still had to do it.

I was by all standards spoiled. I had everything I wanted and most of it was from my parents until I was a teenager. After that I was on my own to buy named brand clothes that cost way too much for my mother to rationalize.

The best part about it…I was perfectly happy to hand over my hard owned dollars for some Z. Cavaricci jeans in the eighth grade while other kids were still sporting their Levi’s I was onto bigger and better. But, it came with a price. Lots of teenage social sacrafice.

Working meant missing some Saturday morning high school football games and some weekend nights out with my rowdy friends. I was too busy making cheese steaks, filling ketchup bottles, doing a hundred dishes, and mingling with the customers.

I still played sports, got good grades, and managed to be social; maybe too social if you asked my parents. The phone never stopped ringing. Between my brother and me we gathered quite a bit of friends over the years. My dad used to tell me I should work for Bell Telephone since I was always on it or had one in my hand.

At our family business I learned the best lessons in life. I learned to deal with all walks of life. It was customer service at it’s finest. I had to take orders and make sure your food was right and let me tell you, people are crazy over their food. I promise.

I learned how to really appreciate those M.C. Hammer pants and those gold charms I wore around my neck on my charm holder. I also learned how to save that money I was earning.

My parents always said, “You are nothing without good credit.” They were right, again.

Working at a young age definitely fills your schedule makes you more organized because you become great at time management. To all the parents who don’t want their kids working during high school and college I say you are wrong…all wrong.

You can get good grades and work. Your child isn’t working a forty hour week in high school. In college you make your classes fall around your schedule. There is no excuse for our future generations. I guess some parents want their children to leech onto them forever.

And, that famous line, “Let kids be kids,” is only going to ruin them and they will never grow up.

Nothing bothers me more than seeing kids want, want, want and not work for any of there wants. They are so spaced out on cyberspace that they do not have social skills today.

When I go to the store and some computer taught teen is checking me out I am lucky if they actually tell me the total, usually they expect me to look at the computer screen for my balance. They don’t say, ‘Thank you,” or “Have a good day.”

Say something!! Tell me to drop dead or go to hell let me know that you have some social skills and that you can actually mutter some words to another human being!

I didn’t have a car when I turned sixteen and got my license. Not a new one, not even a used one. My father wasn’t having that either. He bought a used car that I was allowed to drive after school. He wasn’t cheap he was just making sure his daughter didn’t have too much freedom.

I didn’t want to buy one because clothes were more important to me.

At sixteen you don’t need to be behind the wheel all the time. You definitely don’t need your own wheels either. It’s too much power for kids.

Today we see shows where kids are getting BMW’s and Mercedes on their sweet sixteen birthdays. That is insane. I don’t care if you are a millionaire; you’re setting the wrong example. What will your children aspire to when they are already in the lap of mommy and daddy’s luxury?

Nobody eats with their families anymore. Dinner at our house meant dinner with all of us. Most nights my dad worked until ten o’clock, but the rest of us sat down together and ate our HOME COOKED meals. No fast food or eating in the car.

We’re family and my parents kept it that way.

A child doesn’t need a cell phone or any other technologically advanced electronic device in the first grade! Come on people. I hear so many people say that it’s for safety reasons. By all means if your child is in first grade and not with you or someone you deem fit to watch them or safe, then we have a bigger issue than them owning a phone at age six.

Kids don’t run around outside playing tag or any other games. There’s no bike riding, no fishing trips, or go cart races. Everyone is afraid to let their kids get hurt. We made it alive and never wore helmets and stayed outside until the street lights came on. We turned out just fine.

We used our imagination. Today’s instant gratification generation thinks everything is boring unless they have a computer screen in front of their faces.

If your kids want material things that are in excess let them work for it. Young kids should be doing chores around the house. Teenagers should be stocking the supermarket shelves or working at any number of fast food chains with “We’re Hiring” signs.

This generation wants to become an overnight sensation because they have the venue to do it. The internet is making life fast forward.

Nobody wants to work and get to the top. They just want to start at the top. No, they EXPECT the top spot.

What are we fueling this generation’s minds with? Why are we letting them down?

When we were young our parents were scared of the internet and computers. And, when Elvis took over the country he was poison too.

I realize that every generation faces adversity. The unknown is always scary and unpredictable. I’m not saying you should skip on the internet, just use it less. Don’t let your kids miss out on life. Not cyber life, real life.

Make your kids value a dollar. Teach them to value the people around them. Working will lead them to gratification, it may not be instant but it will be more gratifying if they have to earn things. And, not just material things, abstract too.

I worked since I was very, very young and will never regret it. My parents gave me wings and I took off.

There’s going to be plenty of rejection coming to our future generations and if we “yes” them to death, they will never know how to deal with the “no’s.” We aren’t doing kids any favors or justice by buying their love, trust, or adulation. We are losing their respect.

When kids are telling adults what to do it’s time to take action and get our heads out of the clouds. Two working parents isn’t the problem. Our laziness is the issue. Life is hard but your kids need you more than they need the computer and television that has become their babysitter, teachers, and mentors.

Both of my parents worked. I worked. My brother worked. My whole family, cousins, aunts, and uncles worked at young ages.

Maybe it’s in our blood. Maybe it should be in yours. Working is a good thing. Your kids will appreciate your decision to make them work in the end and they will learn a lesson and appreciate it for themselves.

I learned a very important lesson in life. I went to four years of college and learned more in my working years than in the classroom.

Education is key but working is learning too. I wouldn’t change a thing. I feel gratified when I can say I worked for all of this that I own and nobody can take it away from me. It’s mine.

I respect myself and others. But, if you don’t work for it you don’t deserve it. Stop the instant gratification generation from ruining themselves.

My Nana and Poppop are eighty-six years old. Nana retired a year ago and still volunteers at the hospital. She’s not a candy striper, she actually files and does work in the office. She has a computer and knows more about it than I do.

My Poppop still works at our family business. He runs around like he’s forty. All they have ever known is work and it keeps them young and up to date.

A devil’s workshop is an idle mind. That’s why they are constantly in drive.

If eighty year old something’s can still work why are we teaching our kids they deserve a free ride?

I do not have kids yet, but I was a kid. I know the difference between wrong and right. I had a family full of great examples. I idolized my parents not celebrities. I know things are changing and it’s not for the better.

Fasten your seatbelts America, it’s going to be a bumpy, long, selfish ride in the fast lane we call “life.”

When the instant gratification generation learns that they are disposable and their cries for help have run out they are going to fall to their knees because they never learned to stand on their own two feet.

And, like every generation, the spoiled, computerized kids of the future will place blame on their parents and our generation. And, will we really be able to say, “It’s not our fault?”

I think not, but at least it’s my own original thought and not a computer generated answer. God Bless the children and more importantly, their parents.

“People Watching…Addiction or Hobby?”

I don’t smoke, drink, do drugs, gamble, or have any other popular addictions. I used to enjoy a day of shopping much more than I do these days. I love chocolate, cheese, and bread of any kind. I do love my music too. I never really do anything to the extreme, do anything that breaks the bank, or that’s unhealthy.

I’m human so I know that I must do something too much, or something that I can’t control. There’s no way I beat the odds. Oh yes, I think way too much. It’s good and bad and gets me into trouble sometimes. I run my mouth here and there and always tell people what’s on my mind. My theory: take me or leave me, love me or hate me.

But, even this is not my hang up.

I have discovered what my true addiction is. I hereby declare myself a PEOPLE WATCHER! I’m sick about it. I’m really into it, can’t control it and sometimes I don’t even want to curb it.

I love to dine out. It’s the best place to watch all the people around you. You can hear conversations that are so personal and juicy. You can get so close in some of these Italian restaurants I frequent that you are practically sitting on each others laps. It’s too close for comfort for some people, even me. How dare you come into my personal bubble, but how dare you block me out of yours?

I sit there and my company will be trying to engage in conversation with me, but I am already too deep into the fight that the woman at the third table over is having with her lover. She’s accusing him of cheating and I am on his side by the main course and frankly, if I were him I would be ditching her and her dramatics by desert.

I love to see what everyone’s wearing and how they did their hair for the evening. I can’t take my eyes off the walls and I look at the décor. It’s safe to say I am VERY aware of my surroundings. My parent’s always told me to check out the scene everywhere I went. I’m sure I am making them proud.

Dinner out is a great place for me to get a hit or a high. But, the mall or out shopping anywhere is sometimes even better. The sights are too good for me to ignore.

I always have something or someone to feast my eyes upon. It could be an outfit that is just all wrong or doesn’t fit because it’s five sizes too small for the woman trying to squeeze her buttocks into it. Or, it’s a parent screaming at her children while she’s barely paying attention to the little rascals as they play tag and run into the knee caps of every shopper out there.

I sometimes sit and eat a slice of pizza and people watch as everyone takes main stage for me without even knowing it.

I do believe this started when I was a kid. I’m placing the blame on my mom. It’s her fault because she is the same way.

We are not sitting on our thrones placing judgment on common folks and being cruel. We simply can’t help ourselves from staring at strangers.

People watching really is a bad habit, or bad addiction. I can’t stop myself. I have had friends and family call me out on it and get mad at me because they think I am not paying attention to them and I am neglecting their company.

Well, that just irks me because I will have you all know that I can MUTLITASK! I get it done. I am listening to my companion and taking mental notes of the two side tables, front, and back ones too.

The other night I was out and right behind me sat a lovely young couple and the girl’s mother and father. It was obviously the first meeting for the young man and his girlfriend’s parents.

They were so annoyingly proper with their speech and it was such a show. I couldn’t see their faces because they were behind me, but I still got the entire evening agenda and a lot of laughs.

They even got my company’s attention and my boyfriend started speaking like an English man all night long. We had such a fun time and we all wanted a spot of tea after our dinner. Mummy and Daddy must have been so pleased with their little darling and her suitor. I was laughing so hard by the time we called it a night! Cheerio!

I didn’t know if I should be horrified with myself or happy that I have the ability to help others tune in and be just as nosey or rude as I am sometimes.

Either way, you know you all do it too. You might not get so deep into like I do, but you do it. It’s human nature. We watch, we listen, and we do.

Why do you think Facebook is so popular? It’s complete voyeurism and most of us are addicted to it.

I wish I would have come clean with my addiction many years ago because maybe, just maybe I would be sitting atop the 25 billion dollar throne of the Facebook Empire.

Instead, I people watch everywhere I go. I’m not making any money but I’m not losing any either. If I had to ditch my addiction I would be bored to tears. But, if I had to pick a hobby I do believe this is one to watch. And, fortunately for me, watching is what I seem to do best with my time.

"I am Somebody"

We face enough challenges in our life. We certainly don’t need anymore hate crimes, violence, or deaths due to the inability to accept others and their differences.

Being an adolescent is hard. It’s even harder to be a teenager. Those are the years where you don’t even know yourself, yet others feel the need to bestow judgment upon you. These are the cruel facts of life.

It’s our job as a compassionate society to help not hurt each other. Why is it ok for people to think they can publicly humiliate and torture others just because they are different?

Why are we sitting in America today and talking about the death of another homosexual male that took his own life because his personal life was put on the internet as a prank by his college roommate? What gives someone the right to spread hate? To breed ignorance? And, why would others celebrate in the demise of another human being?

I say it’s a sick world we are living in. Is the internet the core of our destruction? No. We are.

The minds of our youth need to change and we need to help make them realize their mistakes. Hopefully, we accept others and the challenges we all face. Hopefully, it won’t be too late for the next victim of bullying.

I am somebody. You are somebody. We all must recognize this.

Children with physical and mental challenges deal with it everyday. They are teased, picked on, bullied, and beat up by their peers. They are tortured souls.

Teach your children that it’s not right to pick on or place judgment on others.

Who do we think we are? Why should we LEARN to tolerate others? What gives us the right not to?

I actually hate the words tolerate, and tolerance. That means to put up with. What are we putting up with it when it’s not even our own lives? Where does this superior feeling come from within people?

Worry about your own life and let others live theirs. We stand in the way of ourselves when we think we are better than someone else. The person sitting next you holds a hundred secrets in their head. It’s not your business.

Teach your children that they are somebody. Love them for their differences even if it’s hard for you to accept as a parent.

Help them say I am somebody when they don’t have the power, strength, or ability to say it for themselves.

Bullies are the most insecure people out there. They find ways to hurt everyone else when they are hurting worse than the rest of us.

I am somebody. Say it out loud. Say it for yourself, for your friends, for your family, for the kids that are bullied, and say it even for the bullies who can’t find inner peace.

We are all different. But, we are all somebody. Accept not tolerate. Love not hate.

I am somebody. I am somebody. I am somebody. Say it loud and say it proud. Say it for the people who never had the chance to say it.

Say it so that somebody NEVER thinks they are a nobody.

Where do we go from here?

Recently I had an MRI done and my whole body had to fit into the coffin like x-ray machine. I am claustrophobic by nature and it was not a pleasant experience to say the least. I had to squeeze the little panic ball the nurse left in my hand a few times. I was anxiety ridden and not so sure I was going to be able to keep my cool for forty-five long minutes.

I made it through and went about the rest of my day. But, I couldn't shake the feelings of death and I just kept wondering what happens to us when we die. I was certain that when I pass on from this life that I never want to be put in a coffin and buried. I have been thinking about this ever since.

When I was a child I remember Sunday night Alfred Hitchcock movies. I will never forget the one where a man was buried alive. That frightened me to the core and stayed with me until this day.

I hate to sound morbid, but it’s a fact of life that we all must leave this earth one day. We come in alone and go out alone. Death is the one experience we cannot escape. Not even if you are Walt Disney and decide to freeze your body.

So, the hours after my freakishly terrifying, thought provoking x-ray I phoned a few family members to let them know if something should happen to me I never want to be buried in the ground.

“How the hell will you know, Janine? And, I won’t be here to do anything about it because you are going to live a long life.” My father’s reply.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Janine! Knock it off.” My mother’s words.

Then there was good ole Nana’s, “Honey, I am going to be cremated, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

None of their comments truly soothed my soul. “Dad, I want us all to go out the same way. I want to make sure we are all together again one day.”

“And how do you know I won’t know what’s going on when I’m dead. Nobody ever came back to tell us what happens next??”

“Mom, it’s part of life and I want you to listen to me when I talk about reality no matter how hard it is.”

“Nana, I’m not so sure what I want but the thought of being in the ground in a coffin is terrifying to me whether I am aware of it or not.”

I am not sure where we go from here, none of us are. I have faith in God. I can’t imagine that we never see our families again or forget who they are and what they were to us. I shiver at the thought that we just die and nothing happens after that.

I have always been spiritual and always thought that we go to Heaven and even if we don’t float on a cloud then maybe we just reunite with friends and family.

“Maybe we are dreaming right now. This thing we call life could be a dream.” I don’t know, dad. Not sure.

“I think we go to another planet.” My brother chimed in.

Maybe we fall asleep and go into dream mode and have happy dreams if we are in Heaven and nightmares if we are in Hell. I think I think too much sometimes. But, something really bothers me about not knowing where we go from here.

I can say with conviction that we will be in the kingdom of the Lord, but do I believe it with conviction? Do you?

I know that I am a believer in blind faith and I always look for signs from above. I believe in ghosts and guardian angels. I believe there is more. It’s the getting to the more and the being alone that scares me. The road trip to the unknown is what makes me wonder.

I do know that without a doubt I will be living life to the fullest. I will not be frightened by life and living.

Since the MRI and all of my deep thinking a few people I know have sadly passed away in this short time.

There’s this song that keeps popping up on the radio while I’m driving called “If I die young.”

The woman singing wants to be buried in satin, put on a bed of roses, and left to sink in the river at dawn while she’s sent away with the words of a love song.

Again, I think.

I’ve been touched by a spirit or two recently in my life. I’m in touch with a higher being. I know there is more after this life or this dream or this planet.

I know, I believe, and I pray.

Right now I am going to focus on all the things I do know for certain. I am going to live life, feel life, touch life, and see life.

Where do we go from here?

I don’t know. None of us know.

I will be thinking until God calls for me. I must admit that I would much rather be thinking than knowing.

I’ve been told hundreds of times in my life that I am an old soul. I do believe that about myself.

I have been here before. No doubt about it. And, that gives me hope.

Maybe that’s the only thing I should focus on, maybe that’s the only thing God wants me to know at this time.

Amen to that.

"Our Inner Winner"

“With you kid I got a reason to go on and I’m gonna stay alive and I will watch you make good and I’m never leaving you.”

Mickey’s word’s to Rocky. That inspirational moment that makes movie’s magical and makes our hearts melt.

It was undeniable love between a boxer and his trainer…a man and his best friend.

I watched this movie with wide eyes and every emotion in my soul was stirred. I had the eye of the tiger. Something about this movie scene made me believe in myself. It made us all believe in ourselves.

Mickey always believed in Rocky.

Who believes in you?

When Denzel Washington played Coach Boone in “Remember the Titans” and he brought his racially segregated team to the scene where the Battle of Gettysburg took place and gave his speech, you listened.

“You listen and you take a lesson from the dead. If we don’t come together right now on this hollow ground we too will be destroyed just like they were. I don’t care if you like each other right now but you will respect each other and maybe, I don’t know, maybe will learn to play this game like men.”Bringing American history and one of America’s favorite pastimes together gave this scene monumental power. It made you realize that life too is a game and we are all brothers and sisters.

Who’s on your team? Who has your back?

Remember when Rudy got his speech from the janitor, Fortune? The kid was ready to give up until he found out Fortune played for the team. He wanted to quit because it’s easier to fail than it is to win sometimes.

“In this lifetime you don’t have to prove nothing to nobody except yourself and after what you’ve been through if you haven’t done that by now it ain’t gonna never happen!”

Amen, Fortune.

Are you a quitter?

So many movie moments come to my mind when times are tough and I want to throw in the towel. My emotions rise and fall with every good film ever made. The emotional roller coaster is what makes them great. Every movie that ever moved you deep within had an immeasurable message. There’s a moral to every story.

I often wonder what drives our inner winner to succeed. What happens when you fight till the bitter end and never give up on yourself?

You challenge not only your body and mind, but your soul too. You also challenge people around you. You become the idol, the mentor, the coach, the athlete, and the leader. You become the winner. You become the person you were meant to be.

My favorite speech. It inspires me and makes me want to change the world by changing myself first.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Nelson Mandela eloquently spoke the above words. Marianne Williamson wrote them. We should all live by them.

I truly believe we all have a light that must shine and sometimes we fear the unknown. We fear that we will become the best we can be. And, that is what raises our conscience awareness and stops us from forging ahead. We scare ourselves. Greatness is out there for each and every person. Everyone’s greatness is not the same. Not everyone desires the same things.

Our goals can be large, small, personal, professional, life changing and even earth changing.

What moves you will move others if you are passionate about it. If you do what you love, you are already winning.

Push yourself to the limits. Dig deep. Move mountains. Fight harder. Dream bigger. Do more. And, most importantly, get out of your OWN way.

We all have an inner winner within us. We were not born to fail. We were brought here to stand up and be seen, heard, and remembered.

You believe in yourself when nobody else does.

You watch your own back when your team doesn’t support you.

You never quit.

Find the fighter in you. Your heart and sheer determination will empower others.

Find the coach in you. You will be remembered for your wisdom.

Find the leader in you. Your footsteps will pave the way and inspire humankind for a lifetime.

Make that movie moment come to life. Be, live, and die with a purpose.

Make it powerful. Make it passionate. Make it personal.

When your inner being finds it’s way in this world you will finally become the winner you were born to be.

“All is Not Fair in Love and Whore”

Life is not easy. Love is even harder. When we are single we want commitment and when we are committed we want our freedom. Are we ever happy?

I’ve done some deep thinking about sex, love, and intimacy. All of which are related but the three don’t always find their way into the two that should share these. Unite and become one for a long time or unite and become one for a moment. It’s your choice.

Never mistake sex with love or expect love to follow sex. You could be the most intelligent, emotionally sound, and confident person on the planet and still make one of the prior assumptions.

If you are reading this, sitting back and thinking you have beat the odds and used someone a time or two for a feel good fast one…think again. He or she probably used you too and you both aren’t any further ahead then you were before you rolled around in the hay, on the floor, or between the sheets.

Let us use one of my all time favorite shows as an example, “Sex and the City.” All of the characters are single well into their thirties as most women of this generation. The show portrays some true to life stories that you know you and your girls can relate to from time to time. That of course is why it’s so successful.

The character, Samantha is beautiful, successful, independent, funny, and sexual. Well, who am I kidding or NOT kidding. If you watch the show it’s safe to say she’s whoring it up all over New York City. She’s exploding with testosterone in a fabulous, female body.

Maybe her character is how some women really choose to live their lives and that is perfectly fine. I’m not suggesting you should pack it up move to the convent and abstain from sex. Everyone has the right to be sexual and free with their actions but if you keep hurting yourself over and over somewhere inside something’s not right and you are doing it for all the wrong reasons. If the feel good act is not making you feel good than it’s not good for you.

Thou shall not let television fantasy confuse our values and become our moral leaders. Ladies, you and I both know you can’t give your love away for free, or anything else you want to give away. I see people throwing it away, laying it away, tossing it away, and finally, they just lose their way.

You can’t keep bed hopping around and thinking you are going to be able to respect yourself or have a potential partner respect you either. It’s 2010 and women have more freedom and rights now than ever before, but if you are looking for love and losing yourself in sexual encounters along the way then you will never find what you truly need. The fact: some things never change.

The argument that men do it to isn’t going to hold water or hold your head up when you are doing the walk of shame. You don’t typically see men crying over being used for sex, having a one night stand, complaining that all a woman wants is his body, or being upset that you are sleeping with him and someone else when you both know you aren’t committed.

If you know these men, I have yet to meet them. Men and women are different creatures. You know it and if we were the same it just wouldn’t work the way it does.

When it comes to being single I think it’s safe to say most men will always want sex and most women search for love. Women may not fall in love with every man they sleep with but I would make a bet they are hoping it turns into love or something serious.

The truth is that we all get burned and we all get played somewhere along the way. Pleasure is a treasure and we all want it. I’m just saying that we can’t whore it around and think that love will be found.

When you are truly in love with each other you will know it. You will do anything for each other and nothing will keep you from one another. Men are hunters and women are their prey. If you want to get caught just run away.

It really is that simple. It’s tried and true and sometimes it’s even easier than that. Sometimes you just meet and it works. No running required, no chasing the challenge.

If love is what you are looking for…stop looking. If sex is all you desire then find someone that starts your fire.

Just don’t pretend not to care when you know you do. All is fair in love and war but all is not fair in love and whore. Know the difference so you can save your self respect, your intimacy, your reputation, and maybe even save your life.


WARNING: This article was not written by a saint or a supreme being. It’s not intended to appear judgmental, or condescending. It was written with careful observation, caring, and love.

God's Test

I believe in God and everything around me, even the things that I cannot see or touch. I believe in life’s greater powers and I know that they are out there. Somewhere along this journey called, “Life” we become jaded and we develop tunnel vision.

Miracles are made, signs are there, and God may even test us every now and then. We have to keep an open mind and never ignore that inner feeling that is so strong it makes you do things out of character from time to time.

I was driving through a very underprivileged area not so long ago and a man was sitting there begging for money. I have witnessed this scene many times. I’ve seen it on city streets so often I’ve become immune to the noise of the homeless, desolate, and mentally depressed and their cries for help.

But, on this one day I was simply driving past a man and as I waited in my car at a red light I felt a chill through my bones. The man looked beat down and worn out from head to toe. He was a disheveled mess and sat with his head in his hands. In an instance I felt pity and in a minute my mind drifted to the minute of his life that quite possibly changed him and lead him to a life on the streets.

I wondered if he was a war veteran, a child of abuse, a drug addict, a mentally ill soul locked up within himself, or if he was God. Could he be God walking around in this man’s body testing mankind to see what we would do to help?

If we are all sisters and brothers why do we walk away, shrug off the victims, say, “no,” sneer at their moaning, and look right through these human beings as if they are not even there. Why do we judge and what right do we have?

I myself have wondered and commented to my friends on how they should get a job. McDonald’s is always hiring. They should make an honest living. Why don’t they get help? But, why should I ask why and why do I have the right to assume what they have gone through? I don’t. You don’t. None of us will know unless we walk a mile in their shoes.


Through the years I have offered food and sometimes even money. I could never turn away a hungry person. When I dine out in the city I always get my leftovers boxed. Many times I have given it to a random person asking for food. Many nights I have placed it on the top of the trash can or next to it so that someone doesn’t have to rummage through the trash to find their dinner for the night.

I have been in my family’s company when a man asks for something to eat and he has no money to pay. We never say no at our family food business. If you’re starving the hunger is in your eyes. There is no denying it.

Many people have come in and out of our business looking for a few bucks and my father or my uncle always dig deep in their pockets and offer up what they can for the poor souls that need it.

They have been known to give out a food, drinks, money, advice, and even cigarettes. And, if you asked I would bet my life they would give you the shirt off their backs too. That’s just the way they are and I’m glad they’re my family. I learned a lot about compassion over the years because of their kind hearts.

I asked, “Dad, why would you give that man cigarettes? You know they are bad for him?” His answer: “If that’s all he has in life that he really enjoys, let him enjoy it.”

That simple answer resonates with me until this day. It may not be the Surgeon General’s recommendation, but my father seems to think this man deserves to do what he wants to do and if he can help, he will.

I say, “You’re a good man, dad.”

I also say he has passed God’s test. He never judges and he takes care of the less fortunate whenever he can.

I know that a dollar may not make a difference, a soda, soft pretzel, or bag of chips from the street vendor will only satisfy the hunger for a little while. But, a smile, eye contact, and acknowledgement will satisfy their soul for a long while.

That homeless person could have been a millionaire on Wall Street, the mother of a murdered child, a mentally ill man that was given up on, a Viet Nam veteran that never really came home from war, an orphan that never knew his parent’s and never had a family, a person without anywhere to turn for help. It could be God undercover. It could be an angel on earth. It could be you if your life changed in a minute.

I ask myself what Jesus would do. But, I already know because there is a higher power in all of us. We are the greater power and we should use our strength to help everyone.

Act first when it comes to compassion, and if you must, judge later.

It takes a second to help one person and if we all did our part every man, woman, and child would have a little more hope in their hearts and we would all pass God’s test.

And, if you believe in God, then you know we could never fail his test. He forgives us of our sins. But, if you do nothing you will fail yourself and your conscience will always be there to judge you like you have done to others.

"Up the House"

When I was a little kid there was a place that I really liked to visit on the weekends- my grandparents. Or, as my family and I called it, “Up the House.” Mommom and Poppop lived in Elverson. It was just minutes from Reading, Pennsylvania. Their names are Nick and Josephine.

There was something about their house that was really special to me. It was a rancher style home with a reddish color deck and a huge pond outback. It was the country for my brother and me. We had a blast up there. The house sat along side a busy road, not a residential road. You could hear the cars whizzing by, but it was still congestion free and open land everywhere. We could see farms as far as the eye could see.

My poppop, Nick was a burly, strong man. He was so strong that one time he stopped a running bull on Kerlin Street in Chester, Pennsylvania. The circus was in town and the bull got loose until Nick got his hands on the horns and tackled him down to the ground, hence, his nickname, “Nicky the Bull.”

My Poppop would eat anything. And, I mean anything. Raw sausages, sardines, sour tasting fruit, and lots of pasta and meat. He grew up during the depression and nothing went to waste.

Our family hoagie shops were started by Nick and Josie. There I learned so much. I learned how to deal with all walks of life and to earn an honest dollar. It was my family and this will become our legacy in this small town.

I was very fond of my grandparents. I loved when it came time to visit them. My Poppop would come with his big truck that he affectionately named, Betsy. He and my Mommom would pick us up on a Friday evening for the long weekend. Our favorite place to sit was in the truck bed because Poppop always had the cabin on it and he would leave the window between us open to chat. My brother and I would take turns popping our head in between our grandparent’s seats to talk.

First stop, greasy McDonald’s. Grandparents are always good for giving you what your parents won’t. We ate on the way because it was an hour long drive that seemed like forever for me and my brother.

When we pulled in the long driveway we would get slightly giddy. We knew we would be spoiled all weekend long. I would wake up to my bacon and tomato sandwiches made with love by Mommom. After my cholesterol breakfast it was time for Saturday morning cartoons.

The thing that made Saturday morning cartoons so much fun was seeing which one of us got to my Poppop’s big brown, recliner first. It was his seat in the house. He wore it out with all his naps and it was so big and comfortable. There was just something about that chair that we all loved. Me, my brother, my cousins and everyone else always wanted to sit in Nick’s chair.

By the afternoon, my brother and I were down by the pond. We really enjoyed fishing. My Poppop would be out by his garden and I would always walk over to help him pick his tomatoes, cucumbers, and corn. A little girl could only fish so long. I loved helping when I was “Up the House.”

After the garden, Poppop would make his way into his wine cellar. Homemade "Diego Red" is what us Italians called it. It was the strongest wine you ever tasted…I promise. One sip would put you on your butt! He always let us try a little. I never did take a liking to it. Sorry, Nick.

Mommom and I loved to play bingo with her sisters. I was the little girl with all the old ladies yelling out “Bingo” for all the winners. I never really liked the prizes. A kid can’t really get excited over a turkey, ham, or crock-pot. Now, the places that paid money…I could totally get into. A kid has to have a stash to pay for Barbie’s and dolls.

One of my favorite places in Reading was Farmer Brown’s. It was a grocery store with a Wagon Wheel in the front and they had games for kids in the front like most grocery stores did. They had a little gift shop too. I still have the two hugging koala bears that Mommom bought me one time. I loved that stuffed animal. It will forever remind me my childhood.

On occasion we would go see my grandparent’s siblings. Carl Furillo was my grandfather’s brother and we would go visit him. He was a major league baseball player for the Brooklyn Dodgers. He was on the 1955 World Series team. We have baseball in our blood. My grandfather taught him how to play the game. Nick played in the minor leagues until he had to leave for World War II.

Every time I watch “Field of Dreams” I think of my family. It’s just one of those feelings that I get made by memories we’ve made.

One time Carl and his family were cutting corn off the cob and freezing it. I thought this was really interesting. I guess as a child I was really amazed by this. It’s the simple things in life. My brother and I often laugh at my excitement over this.

We would head up to Mommom’s sister’s house a lot. It was there that I would walk around this very old home and look at all the handmade quilts, antique furniture, old family pictures, and get lost in time. I always had a very good imagination. Maybe it’s where I get my affinity for antiques today.

When you are a kid, you’re the apple of everyone’s eyes. You can’t do anything wrong and you get spoiled by all of them. If you take the time to listen to what your elder’s are truly saying, you will definitely learn about life. I know I did.

Josephine had a collection of old scarves, they were little handmade handkerchiefs that I adored and used to love to go through. Nick had quite the hat collection in his spare bedroom. He kept them in the room we all slept in when we had our sleepovers. One by one we tried them all on and would pick one to where everyday.

Mommom gave me bubble baths and let me stay in the tub for a real long time. I loved it. She would run the hot water and put some Palmolive in it. Not so sure that was a good idea, but this was at least twenty-five years ago. And, well, the suds were bubbly. Better than the bubblegum junk other kids got to use. I still love the smell of Palmolive today. It’s the only dish soap I use and I only use it on dishes.

The town was small, the house was perfect, and the pond was enormous. The lessons I learned from an early age will never be forgotten.

Lots of lessons came from the pond. One year I pushed the neighbor in the muddy water with her new sneakers on because she was picking on me. She cried all the way home and I got in a little trouble, but nothing too bad. One time we tried ice skating on thin ice. Never a good idea. We must have had angels by our side that day. Nick almost killed us for that one. And, during a heat wave one summer in the eighties the shallow end dried up and we could actually run across the pond. That was really something to see.

I learned to play cards with Mommom. Every night we sat down with a deck and played for a while before bed. Everyday Poppop tried to get me to bite into a grapefruit. He seemed to enjoy it. I wasn’t fooled by that or the lemons he ate like candy.

One night in the dense thick fog my Poppop was craving pizza. He sent me and my Mommom out for it. We couldn’t even see six inches ahead of us. Since I was super bright I told her to turn around and let’s go home. We still laugh about that today. No pizza for Nick on that night.

You could always find Dentyne gum in the kitchen drawer. It was Poppop’s favorite and mine too. Lots of memories were made “Up the House.” Memories that will remain in my mind forever.

Nick’s garage always smelled like gasoline and oil. He was always fixing or making something. He was a working man. He was part of the generation of men that could do it all. I miss him all the time. He died when I was eleven, just eight days before my twelfth birthday. I wish he had been around a lot longer. He missed out on so much. He was only seventy years old. When I was little that seemed so old, but now I know it’s too young to say goodbye.

Josephine is eight-nine years old. She’s doing really well. After my Poppop passed she moved out of the house. It was so hard to say goodbye to the rancher with the reddish deck, long driveway, and huge pond outback.

It was so hard to say goodbye to the memories. It was one of the saddest days of my life. Easter egg hunts, Snowy Christmas days, and fireworks on the fourth, would now just be a memory of what used to be.

When I think about “Up the House” I think about my life. These two people were part of my creation. They’re my father’s parents and my blood line. They are part of what makes me who I am today.

I think Nick would be proud of how I turned out. I have guts, I’m not afraid to speak my mind, and I am independent. Maybe some of those qualities come from him.

Poppop, if you are listening, thanks for being you. I wish we had more time.

You can search far and wide to find yourself. You can look up, down, side by side, and all around. You can read books, listen to psychics, travel the world, and try new things.

But, to really find yourself sometimes you have to go back to the basics. You just need to look at your family. Sometimes you just have to go “Up the House” and you will remember who you are and where you came from.

And, if the house isn’t there or the people have moved on, you can still go there in your mind. Your memories will never leave you. I haven’t been to Elverson in years, but I promise I still go “Up the House.” That’s one place that I will never forget how to find and one place I will never lose my way…even if it’s only in my mind.