"Sense Makes Life"

My ears hear music and I’m instantly inspired. Music is my life. A song can take me back in time or move me to the beat. It can rattle my emotions and awaken my soul. Music is my drug of choice. Have you ever watched a movie without sound? It’s on mute or there’s no music? There’s no excitement, there’s no emotional connect, frankly, it’s boring. Music leads you to the climax, the fall, the sadness, the happiness, the lust, and the love. Music moves you inside and out.

I hear the sound of a loved ones voice and I feel safe and comforted. I hear voices, laughter, crying, screaming, sounds of nature, and I know where I am. I can communicate and find my way. Hearing allows us to naviagte through life.

My eyes love sculpture. I’m in amazement with each line and curve that every particle of the stone forms. Sculpture can be small or large in actual size, but it’s grand in its meaning. Painting and photographs are powerful proof of our existence. Our own image is the most beautiful art we each come to know. Our faces have so much to tell and so little to do with our physical features. Our faces tell our life stories. You don’t where your heart on your sleeve, you where it on your face. Our eyes are the windows to our soul. They never lie and they always show your character. Our eyes let us see the world and all its wonder.

My fingers love to touch things. I love the feel of skin on skin, lips on lips and bodies embracing. I love to hug and be held. One of the best feelings is fingers running through your hair, massaging your head while gently soothing you to sleep. When you are sick its touch that helps heal, your mom’s lips on your forehead, your lover’s hands holding yours tightly, someone you love rubbing away your aches and pains. Shut your eyes and just feel things around you. Touch someone’s face and run your fingers slowly over it. Feel someone’s breath in your face or on your neck. Feel their heartbeat and put a finger on your own pulse. Touch lets you know you are alive and surrounded by life. Touch lets you know you are not alone. Touch is love.

Eating is not just for fueling the body. Eating is life. We need it for energy and survival. Life is centered on food. There may be no greater art form. Everyday you eat and everyday you taste the riches of each flavor in your mouth. You don’t just eat with your mouth you eat with all of your senses. Taste is personal. Food is family. It takes you back to a moment or a memory. It’s a holiday dinner with family, a night out with friends, a breakfast of champions, a lunch with clients, a mouth watering hunger that’s been satisfied, and a heavenly sweet tooth sensation covered in chocolate. Food makes an appearance everyday, several times throughout helping you taste your way through life. You will taste the good and sometime taste the bad but there is no greater love than the love of food.

Smell is known to promote memory. It’s powerful. Shut your eyes, hold your ears, tie your hands, close your mouth, and smell. I guarantee you can recognize someone by their scent. You will know it immediately. Scent resonates with us. I remember when I was just a child and my father found a pair of winter gloves in his car. He said out loud, “I wonder who left these in here?” I had them up by my nose and knew right away they were my grandmother’s because they had her scent all over them. My father thought that was the greatest thing. Everyone has a scent, their own personal musk.
When you are in a relationship with someone you are most likely attracted to their scent. When you smell the aroma of food you want to eat it. You know if something is clean by the smell of it. You know if you are in danger or harm by the trace of scent. A certain cologne or perfume takes you back to a person, maybe an old love or a friend. It brings you back in time. Scent is sensational.

All of our senses are powerful beyond belief. When God takes one away he makes the others much stronger. We rely on our senses yet we take advantage of them too. We forget that in an instant they can be taken away. I love anything that ignites my inner fire. I love to be on sensory overload. I’m a sensual person. We are all sensual beings, some more than others. I love any sensation because it lets me know I’m alive. Everything in life revolves around our senses. Sense makes life then life makes sense.

The Stars on The Wall

Every night on my way to bed I climb the stairs to my third floor. I usually run them because I am trying to keep myself in shape and prove to myself that I can still hang. No matter my choice of travel, I pass the stars that line the wall on my staircase. They are two dimensional, mirrored stars that glitter in gold and silver. They are strategically placed. I hung them there to remind me to dream.

I must admit that I very rarely remember my dreams from the night before. I do, however, dream the days away. I am like a baby that has come into this world and still has their days and nights mixed up. I’m that person that can stay awake until four in the morning and sleep until one in the afternoon. I don’t ever feel like I am missing anything in the early morning. This late bird never feels the need to catch the early worm. I like to be awake while the rest of the world is sleeping. I like the sound of nothing at night- just the sound of the crickets and my keyboard. It’s when I do my best creative writing. My best thinking is at night because my mind is clear from the worries that the daylight hours imposed upon me. I’m a creature of the night and I love it.

So, I don’t dream at night as often as I do during the day. I can perfectly recollect my dreams from six in the morning until noon. They feel so real and waking up in the middle of one is such a nuisance. I start my day with a “To do list,” and never get to the “do” until the sun goes down. It doesn’t matter what the hands on the clock say I still pass the stars on the wall. They remind me to make strides and progress toward my goals. They keep me in check. They are the motivation to do the “do.” They are the mirrors to look in and see my truth. They twinkle with each ray of sunlight coming through the windows. At night their reflections from the lights give a beautiful glow. I never need to stand outside and look up because my stars aren’t hung with the moon, they are hung in my heart and my home.

I’m really good at dreaming. You should be good at something. We all have a talent, if dreaming is one then I take first place. It’s not easy to be so imaginative. Ask any left brain person and they will find it not right to waste time in “LaLa Land.” I am a permanent resident of this community. I love lollipops and roses. I love rose colored glasses and my glass is usually half full.

I’ve actually made some dreams come true. I don’t just dream them up and let my left brain talk me out of them. My brain and its’ two sides work pretty well together. They have been good to me. Quite possibly, it’s because I have been good to them. I do believe that we can be or do whatever we want. We were given a mind to use it and fill it with knowledge. We use a ridiculously small percent of our brain. I really try to fill mine up. That’s why I dream. I think my “lefty” and my “righty” like it. They enjoy the entertainment together. They probably have some popcorn and peanuts while I create some outlandish thoughts all day long. I never bore them or myself. I am good for them. I bring myself up and they bring me back down. I put myself down and they bring me back up. I think too much, but if I didn’t I would be doing a serious disservice to my brain.

The stars on the wall keep me going. This all may seem odd to someone else but I like to dream big and if they don’t come true they can break big. Broken dreams turn into another, sometimes bigger and better dream. All the pieces come crashing down and break, but somehow if you continue to hold on and persevere they all come together again. Whether its day or night the stars on my wall will be there reminding me to dream and that anything is possible. It’s just that in my house they shine a little brighter at night making me and my right brain happy with nothing left brain to care about.

"EVERYONE’S AN EXPERT "

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Do you want my opinion?”

“The same thing happened to me before.”

“Here’s what you need to do.”

“If I were you I would…”

Does this all sound too familiar? Of course it does. How many times in life have you found yourself in a situation where you needed some serious advice from friends or family? I’ve sought out so much advice that if I paid for it I would probably be in the poor house. Some of it has been useful and actually helpful, some has been put there by others that I swear on my life wish me nothing but bad things, and some is just for the sake of talking. Why I still bother to ask, I have no idea. Oh wait, I sure do know why…because EVERYONE IS AN EXPERT or thinks they are!

Yes, I am guilty of giving my two cents too. We all want to help when we can. When friends are going through heartbreak, divorce, pregnancy, marriage, school, jobs, successes, failures, and even death, we all have been there or know someone that has. We all have a story to share and some advice to give whether wanted or not.

It’s the people that act like they are the only ones who ever lived life that make me laugh. They must be brilliant because they always have the answers and assume you don’t. I often wonder why they are so interested in other’s trials and tribulations. Maybe when they act like they wrote the book on life they feel superior or better about themselves. Who knows? Who cares? When you are on top of the world everybody wants to be there with you, and when you fall those same people are not there to catch you. The success seekers only care to be there if you have something to offer them. And, you know that you have those frauds in your life posing as friends that only come around when you are down and out and your life is way more miserable than theirs. They are gossip hounds, they just want to talk about you and bring you down further. Sadly, the old saying, “Misery loves company,” is true. They are the poison people.

I have recently cleaned out the clutter and realized that not many friends are friends at all. You will have hundreds of companions but true blue, honest, sincere friends are hard to find. My mother always says, “You can’t trust your friends like you can your family.” Mom is right again. She never ceases to amaze me. My mom is my best friend. I trust her because she knows me better than I know myself sometimes. She knows my every move and honestly she knows I’m going to make it even before I do. She’s on to me, no fooling her. She just wants the best for me because she's my best friend. I trust nobody like I do my family. They have never steered me wrong yet.

Some friends will tell you what you want to hear, but they will shoot you straight if they are good ones. I’ve noticed that some of my friend’s advice changes depending on where they are in their lives. The same topic gets different results on different days. When I am miserable everyone is there to listen to the ranting and raving, but dare I am happy and drama free the phone doesn’t ring as much. The thrill is gone, no juicy news to dish, no “Experts” needed. Once they can’t help you on a subject they think they know more about than you, they fade out.

Throughout my life I have made many decisions. Sometimes the outcome was good and sometimes bad, but it doesn’t matter as long as I learned something. You have to travel your own path and learn for yourself. Everyone’s advice will mean nothing until you see things with your own eyes. You don’t need advice from the “Experts.” You just need to follow your own gut. Your head will lie to you, your heart will steer you astray, but your gut is the best guide we have in life. I believe it is God’s way of giving us our answers. That gut feeling is undeniable. There’s no mistaking it. If you look back at all the times you didn’t follow your gut, you probably have regret because deep down you knew you were on the wrong path. It’s our natural compass.

The “Experts” just want to talk for the sake of hearing themselves. They don’t really care all that much about you. Their lives stay the same whether you are happy or sad. They just don’t have that much invested in your life. They have their own to live…so they should live it. At times I’ve been wrong for asking their opinions and giving them so much power over my personal life and thoughts. I am learning to stop seeking so much advice from so many friends. I love my family and friends, but there is something to be said for privacy and making your own decisions with no interference.
We only have ourselves at the end of the day. If you pay attention to your gut feelings you will have all the answers you need in life. People have no idea how you REALLY feel so stop giving them the chance to try and be your “Expert.” The only “Expert” in your life is YOU.

"MAGGOTzines"

As I quickly looked through the pages of “Teen Beat” magazine I saw every “A” list celebrity from the eighties. I focused on the adorable famous faces of Corey Haim and his right hand man Corey Feldman. Kirk Cameron was my all time favorite back then, any cover with him on it was sold! But, it wasn’t the hot boys on the pages with their bad boy smirks that captured my heart it was the beauty queens that captured my attention. Do I look that way? Or, why is she so special? Every little girl from Philadelphia to Timbuktu probably asked themselves the same questions.

Alyssa Milano’s beauty was undeniable. Christie Brinkley was model perfection and Kathy Ireland was new on the scene. I was young and impressionable and this was my perception of showbiz and the world of young stars. Each one of these super stars had risen quickly to the top and that is where they would stay until we the people got tired of their faces gracing countless covers of magazines or as I call them “Maggotzines.”

I was a pre-teen and wanted to be perfectly pretty like all the young Hollywood starlets. Every page I turned I saw babe after babe in high end fashion, long beautiful hair, magnificent make-up, and awesome air brushing. Ah, if only they really looked that good in person. Seriously, it would be so much more realistic to see their everyday flaws rather than cover them up with some magic editing software.

Technology is the key to fame and fortune. It makes you look amazing and it sells your albums, movies, and magazines. It sells you but not the real you. If we could bottle up “perfection” and sell it to the masses, it would be a really boring world, quite honestly. And, what is perfection? Who are “They” that define perfection? Who are “They” that cause the media blitz and buzz? “They” are people who got into positions and have power to persuade those that want to be lead. “They” love the people that hop on the band wagon and don’t think for themselves. “They” are poison if YOU aren’t careful with what you ingest into your life.

“They” are like little maggots eating away at your security, your sensibility, your power, dignity, and self-esteem. Those little maggots will eat at your decaying soul until there is nothing left of you. Just because the woman in the spotlight is trying to be something she’s not doesn’t mean you should follow in her shallow footsteps. She’s lost and she can’t guide you anywhere because she can’t find her own way. Countless plastic surgeries won’t make you pretty or perfect. Again, it just covers up the bruised and battered opinion you have of yourself.

Today people are going in to the doctor’s office for a quick fix on lunch breaks. It’s quick, easy, and it will make you feel good- NOT. You don’t have to skip on all of the maintenance if you really want to go for it. If you really want to turn back the hands of time and you work hard and nothing is happening maybe you’re not working hard enough. You probably forgot to work on your inside first.

Those “MAGGOTzines” will only make you think you are inadequate or give you a bad sense of reality. They will contour your mind to believe fake is real and real isn’t good enough.

When I think of my perception of beauty it’s not the Cat Woman who had hundreds of plastic surgeries, Heidi Montag, or any of the Jackson’s. All by the way have been spotlighted on many “MAGGOTzines” for you to buy. I truly pity them. My ideal of beautiful is someone like my mother, she’s plain and perfect. She let her hair turn gray, and has very few wrinkles without ever trying to turn back time. She’s growing old gracefully and she’s setting a perfect example for me.

Don’t worry about the laugh lines on your face, it just means you have laughter and smiles in your life, so go on and show the world how happy you are in your skin.

The next time you find your eyes drifting toward the “MAGGOTzine” shelves in the grocery store line or you Google the latest buzz on Hollywood’s latest, remember that those maggots will eat you up inside and out.

Maggots aren’t pretty, yet they are trying to sell us on what pretty should look like. There’s only one way you can save yourself. Never let yourself get wrapped up in everybody else’s opinions and ideals. If you do what works for you…I PROMISE it will work for everyone else too. “They” will try to shape your mind with materialistic, and meaningless matter, but only if you let them.

What You Will Become

Remember that dream you had when you were little? I wanted to be on TV. I wanted to be a singer or actress. My brother wanted to be a Major League Baseball player. Some kids on our street wanted to be NASCAR drivers, football players, models, teachers, and doctors. Whatever we wanted to be, all of us did NOT do it. Only a small percent of us followed our dreams.

Somewhere along the way we change our minds or we lose sight of what we used to want. We sometimes give up on ourselves or others lose faith in us too. Maybe we don’t think we can do it or maybe we fear what we really can become. Whatever the case, we use the word “maybe” too much. The only words coming out of your mouth when you are chasing a dream should be “I Will” not “Maybe I will.”

It’s funny how life turns out. Sometimes you can really nail a child’s personality from the time they are a toddler. You can sense they are going to be a leader or a follower very early on. You know if they are passive or aggressive. You learn quickly if they are strong or weak minded. I have news for you, sometimes they become the exact opposite and sometimes they stay the course. You really never know how you will turn out. But, your personality doesn’t change too much. I once read that we develop our personality by the time we are seven years old. After that age you are stuck with yourself.

I think back and wonder what I was like. I certainly was the leader. No doubt about that one. I wasn’t following anyone and I still don’t. In high school I wasn’t giving into peer pressure and in college I was too busy dreaming about the dream.

I look around my neighborhood and see little kids and wonder what they want to be when they get older. I look at the grown ups and I see what those same children will be. We have a nurse, a construction worker, a teacher, a professional soccer player, a doctor, a lawyer, a pharmacist, stay-at-home moms, sales reps, restaurateurs, and me the girl on TV selling you some quality, value, and convenience.

I wonder how many people’s dreams came true and how many people quit? I know I am still chasing and evolving. I am never quitting. It’s not in me. Everyone can’t be happy in the rat race. But, everyone should be happy with what they are doing. If it’s not your forever job then I hope it’s getting you to the next step if there’s more to climb.

My parents’ great advice for me and my brother: “You can be whatever you want to be but just be great at what you become.”

The next time I see a kid and they tell me what they want to be, I will encourage them like always to pursue the "Pie In The Sky." I will insist they chase the dream and beat the odds stacked against them. I’ll also tell them to pay close attention to the adults in their world. You can aim high or shoot too low, you can get in the game and have people know your name, or you can let your dreams fade out of sight and have regret every night.

Look around at what you will become. You have the choice. You have the voice. You have the power. You can become the “One” you want to be.

"Deer" God, What About Bambi?

At three in the morning you sometimes see visions of things that don’t exist while you’re driving. Or so it seems when you are exhausted. I have a work schedule with super crazy hours and no turn around time. While driving to QVC last night I saw big doe eyes piercing right at me through the thick, green, summer foliage. I stepped on my breaks because I am known to have quite a heavy foot. As I rounded the turn I took a breath and sighed with relief that I didn’t hit “Bambi.”

The local deer seem to think State Farm Insurance Agency is their hang out. It breaks my heart every time I see them making a run for it in the dark as headlights shine brightly on their faces. I’m an animal lover. Wild, domestic, and even the human ones too. I am just a lover. Period. I often spot deer strolling along the edge of my nearby highway. They have nowhere to go. They are left with no land to play. This is why they creep out reluctantly at night into the less busy streets. I feel bad for them because we are leaving behind nothing but cinder blocks, wood, and huge debt.

Animals are God’s creatures and for some reason we think we are so much more important because we are humans. I can’t help but wonder with all the natural disasters if our Lord is trying to tell us something. Is he giving us a sign? I sure think he might be telling us that we are getting way too ahead of ourselves. We are definitely putting ourselves in front of his four legged and flying friends. We are cutting down acres and acres of trees to build more overpriced housing. In the wake of our over indulgence and greed we are tearing down “Bambi” and his fellow friend’s homes.

The “Man With The Plan” goes to “Mr. Banker” to get a loan than he goes to “Bob The Builder” and before you know it the next big attraction is built before you can say the word “go.” And, well, you know, bigger is always better in this country.

I know a few people that hunt. I often hear them saying, “We need to control the deer population. They are causing accidents and killing people.” Well, to that I respond, “And we aren’t?” The human race is overpopulated. Should we start knocking people off on a weekend afternoon dressed in camouflage? Just start shooting families while they are out on a Sunday stroll. Sounds ridiculous, but humans do it to animals all the time. What gives us the right to kill for the sake of killing?


All I know is that we have a problem when Bambi and her clan’s local hot spot is the State Farm Insurance parking lot. Dear God, please give them better sense of direction. If we can’t stop the builders and bulldozers can we at least keep the animals away from Corporate America’s property? Getting that close to office world might bore them to death-no need for bullets and bows and arrows.


It truly saddens me to see land disappearing. Everyday a little more dirt is covered with concrete and a tree that houses a flock of birds is cut down to the ground. All of this to make room for more excess. Our INSTANT GRATIFICATION culture needs to think before we blink it all away. One of my father’s famous lines “You can’t make dirt!” So true my dad. America’s wide open spaces are quickly turning into more money making places.

Next time a deer or any other creature darts out in front of you don’t get mad at the animal. Get mad at those other animals that are tearing down the “homes” of God’s living, breathing, beauties.

It's Our Business to Save Small Business

Today it seems like we are all about bigger is better. We live busy lives and one stop shopping is best. We don’t have time to run to five different stores to get all the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. We can’t stop at the local pharmacy to pick up our medicine, we don’t stop at the corner store for milk and bread, nor do we really need to go to the malls for our clothes nowadays. The internet is killing businesses because we never have to leave our homes to get the latest designer jeans or shoes, we just click, “Add to Shopping Cart” on the computer screen and than “Checkout.” In three days it’s at our front door. No trip in the car, no gas needed, no mileage being put on your engine. But, did you ever stop to think about the small businesses in your area and how they will survive when the big businesses monopolize the world?

I can speak from a lot of experience when it comes to a family owned and operated small business. My family owns hoagie shops. We have three delis and they are in Chester, Pennsylvania. Ask any local and they will know the name, Furillo’s. My grand-father started the business and we have kept it going strong for over fifty years now. It’s our livelihood, our family tradition.

We always give back to the community. We are there to sponsor sport teams, churches, schools, and the people. We get raked over the coals with big taxes considering we are a small business. It’s hard to find people to work, be loyal, timely, and honest. It’s a tough job, but it’s what my family does so you take the good with the bad.

I like shopping at Target. They have everything you need: designer named clothes, shoes, handbags, accessories, electronics, outdoor living, kitchen appliances, and so much more. As if this were not enough, now they have added a supermarket to make it a “Super Target.” You can buy frozen food, fruits, vegetables, meat, canned, and boxed food. It’s a grocery store just an aisle away from Isaac Mizrahi’s trendy new trench coat. Oh, and don’t forget your beauty supplies, and your on the spot pharmacy while you shop! Wow, this is a real time saver for the average shopper!

But, to the small businessman who has been working his hands to the bones his whole life this is-the end. It’s the end of an era, the end of his career, the end of his life as he has always known it. He now has to raise his prices to compete with big business and once he does that nobody wants to come buy his products because the price is too high.

Everyone wants a sale and on the flip side of that coin, everyone else wants a job. Yes, things change and the ways of the world are certainly proving so. Big business has taken over.

Do we really need “Super” Wal-Mart’s and “Super” Targets? Is it necessary to have a drugstore on every corner? If I see one more CVS, Walgreen’s, or Rite Aide go up alongside each other…I’m going to boycott. Seriously, do we need another bank on the local busy strip? I can’t even count how many are on the main road in my town. Bet you have more than enough of these big businesses too.

I needed some cold medicine so I stopped in my local pharmacy. “The Boothwyn Pharmacy” is an old fashioned pharmacy that I have been going to since I was a baby. Whenever I walk into this place it smells like Bengay, Luden’s cherry cough drops, and rock candy that’s been in the glass container for years. I love it. They know my name and my entire family. They remember when my grandmother used to bring me in to get prescription medicine because she picked me up sick from school. They have known me for thirty-three years. It’s nice to go where everybody knows your name. And, I still go there even though I moved a little further away. It’s not super convenient, but I’m loyal.

How about the local hardware store in your neighborhood, do you still have one? I bet you do not. Lowes and Home Depot killed the little man there too. I can think of hundreds of businesses that the big businesses have put out of business. But, you would be reading this far too long.

I have watched my father, mother, aunt, and uncle go to work and break there backs day in and day out. They stand on their feet all day long with aches and pains to put food on the table, clothes on their children’s backs, and education in our brains. They have worked so hard with little vacation. Someone will say, “That’s their own fault, or they should enjoy life more.” I say, “Having your own business is good and bad, if you aren’t open you aren’t making money, and without money you can’t pay the bills.” You will never know until you own a business.

Working hard is all my family has ever known. That small family owned and operated business has given we the wings to fly. It’s there that I learned to deal with all walks of life, where I learned to appreciate the value of a dollar, where I most definitely formed my personality, and above all, where I learned to work hard for myself and my family. No other lesson in life was or will be greater than this for me.

I say to every shopper out there- take time for the little people. Take that extra five minute trip to your meat market, your local grocery store, the pharmacy, the hardware store, the hoagie shop, the pizza place, and your corner convenient store. Make small business your business.

Every time I see the bull’s eye on the Target store I get a little sick because smack dab in the center is every small business they have killed. Not just Target but every big business. It really is our business to save the small businesses in America. The mom and pop stores need our help to survive. After all, that is what once made America strong and opportunistic…the small businessman.

Bye-bye Barbara Walters

Dear Mr. Big Shot,

“I am writing you with high hopes that I can be a guest-host on “The View.” I think I would be a wonderful fit because I am outgoing, full of personality, and have something to say about everything. I have television experience on and off camera and I am ready for something new and exciting.”

This was a few lines from one of my many letters to the Executive Producer of daytime TV’s talk show, “The View.” I was ready for my shot in the hot seat. I wanted to talk about every hot topic and voice my opinion nationally. So, I sat in my boyfriend’s pre-war apartment in New York City and wrote my heart out. I even hand delivered my resume to the front desk of ABC one day.

On this day as I sat down to write my “Hope this gets me somewhere big” letter I was totally distracted by the summer heat. The temperature was on “Hell.” Calling it an apartment was generous, it was really a room. A bedroom if you lived in the suburbs in a single family home. It was far from a great place to lay your head. It was old fashioned and hot! I felt like I was melting. I decided to troll down four falling apart flights of stairs. They were crooked and cracked but freshly painted white. That was to cover the termite holes because surely they were being eaten away by the bugs. At $2300.00 a month they were living large and the humans were living small in this brownstone.

When I got to front door and stepped on the sidewalk I felt like fire balls were raining from the sky. The blacktop was smoking and the soles of my rubber shoes were melting.

I could hear Sinatra every time I walked to the beat of the streets, “If you can make here you’ll make it anywhere…”but I wasn’t feeling Old Blue Eyes’ advice on this day. I decided to call it quits for a few days. I had already sent about ten letters and the next week in New York was going to be humid, hot, and a buzz kill for everyone’s bright light dreams. I decided to just enjoy my days shopping and eating at different restaurants from 59thStreet down to 81st.

That following Saturday my boyfriend and I decided to go to dinner with his friends. Just as we were turning from his 61stStreet apartment onto Park Avenue we hit a red light. The four of us sat waiting, all starving and yes, hot! All of the sudden I looked to my left and I saw my “God,” Barbara Walters. She was wearing big sunglasses and a pant suit. She was scooting across Park Avenue as if she were being incognito. I freaked out in the back seat of my friend’s Audi A4 seatbelt restricted and all! I yelled out “Barbara!” She just smiled and gave her best Miss America wave and kept moving. Cabs don’t care if you’re a celebrity or not, they will run you over in the concrete jungle.

Everyone was beating my ear to get out of the car and introduce myself to the famous Ms. WaWa and I was stuck. Stuck in the back seat at a now green light with honking horns and struck with horror! I couldn’t believe my dream was cruising down 62ndStreet on foot. That was my minute to win it in the Big Apple and I lost my American dream in the back seat of a foreign car. I was mortified and outraged at myself the rest of the night, week, and month. I walked down that street scoping the scene for the next few hours hoping she would reappear. No Barbara in sight, not even her ghost. I was mad, more than mad. I felt like a loser so I did what anyone would do. I rationalized my weakness and made it better. I had conversations with myself and all my friends at dinner, “If I went up to her she would think I was some nut and probably call for help, right?” Nope. That didn’t really work because I am an eternal optimist and my brain and supportive friends just responded with, “Or she would have loved your spunk and spirit and told you to come in for a meeting.”

That was about four years ago now. I have since given up on “The View.” I sell products on QVC and see so many celebrities come in and out of the doors. Just about two months ago I was standing in the studio setting up one of my many products and I was shoulder to shoulder with Elisabeth Hasselbeck. She gave me her best pearly white smile and said, “Hello.” I just gave her a “Hi” back and went about my day.

Maybe I was overly tired due to our crazy QVC schedule or I was over trying to be one of the next opinionated ladies of daytime talk. Back then I was even on Rosie O’Donnell’s website trying to win her over as she often wrote to answer fans questions. I was willing to try anything. Now, I had a huge opportunity to strike up conversation with Elisabeth and couldn’t even muster up any excitement.

I walked out of work to my car after a long hard day and realized that I hadn’t given up on my dreams just gave up on that goal. Or, was it that I gave up on trying to get through a door. I was knocking and nobody was answering. You know the saying “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” I really started to feel that way about the business of show biz. I am tired of trying to sell myself. Celebrities should start selling themselves to me. They are the ones that need us-the fans.

At one time I saw nothing but “The View” and now I see things from my view. It sure was a sad day seeing Barbara’s back as she was walking away…I just cried inside, “Bye-bye Barbara Walters.” One dream gone and a million more till you see me through your view. Put on your best pair of shades because this bright light left that big city but it’s not over because if you can see it you can be it.

I fastened my seatbelt, spun my finger round and round on my IPOD till I found Journey’s, “Don’t’ Stop Believin’.” I blasted the volume and just drove off laughing at myself the whole way home.

"Muscle Heads"

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good. Working out and hitting the gym on a regular basis is commendable. Having a nice figure is, well, nice. Men and women of today now have so much more health news and facts than we ever have in the past. White bread helps end your life, while brown keeps you around. Thirty minutes of cardio each day speeds up your heart rate and thirty minutes of pure laziness speeds up your death date. Outdoor activities like surfing are good for your body, so ride the wave. While channel surfing is mundane and kills your brain waves. Keep it right for a fit and long life.

This information is great. But, is there a point when too much is just too much? I think so. Let me use my example of “Muscle Heads.” Its summer and everyone is heading to the shore on the weekends. Mainly around here, the Jersey Shore. Yes, there is a show on MTV that has become a pop culture phenomenon and is breaking the bank and records on the Nielsen ratings. Mike, “The Situation” is a “Muscle Head.” He has a toned body and a washboard stomach that you could seriously wash your clothes on. He makes sure that every hair is in place and that his tan is perfect.

Are you kidding me? Is this for real? I watch the show like everyone else and get a good laugh each episode. I really do. But, somewhere inside I wonder if these people are just not right in the head. Looking good need not be a career choice. It should not be your job. You should look good for yourself, not to put on a show. People like this are just insecure. It’s like being a shiny red apple with a rotten core. Health and beauty comes from the inside out. You can fake your own happiness for only so long.

At the shore you can spot many “Muscle Heads” on the sandy beaches walking around with their chests out. They might as well be fist pumpin’ down by the water as they walk by all the normal people sitting there laughing at them. They are obviously “juiced” up and telling everyone that they never did steroids in their lives. Um, ya, no, we aren’t buying it. Anyone with a brain can see your head doesn’t fit your body now. Just six weeks ago you were a toned skinny guy and now today you’re the beast on the beach? Again…no.

What’s with the obsession to have the best body around, the biggest muscles, and best tan? Skipping on carbs and cake for beauty’s sake just isn’t my idea of living. I want to look good like the next girl or guy on the beach. But, I want to enjoy life. So, I could lose an easy ten pounds and get a toner stomach for my bikini to cling to, but I like, no strike “like”, LOVE brownies. I LOVE pasta and bread-I LOVE to eat. I am not going to walk around with shame and guilt because I indulged in some good grub!

Now, I’m not saying to be unhealthy, binge on too much junk food, or skip the workouts. I am just saying that you should have a healthier mind set than physical set of muscles. If you want the cake, eat it! Nobody cares if you are a size zero, if you’re a 30 waist, if your muscles are the size of most girls’ heads on the beach, and if you are sporting double D’s in your bikini tops. What really matters is that you do not ever take yourself too seriously and think you are the ONLY babe on the beach.

It’s not the size of your triceps or biceps. It’s not the size of any of your anatomy. Some of the best things come in small packages while the most important things in life should be big! Like…the size of your heart and your brain. And, personality is a must, so the bigger the better. (And, you thought I was going to be x rated!!!)

Remember, the “Muscle Heads” will turn into saggy skinned old men with B cup breasts and the “Beach Babes” will look like leather and have a face full of wrinkles. Looks fade but your inner beauty never will. In order to stay healthy you must have a healthy opinion of yourself and you will never have to struggle with the worries and demons in life like these “Wanna-be-too-perfect-people.”

For the “Muscle Heads” I recommend that you just be normal and fit into your clothes, by that I mean: not bursting out of your too tight T-shirts. Stop juicing, and just be confident with who you are. And, for God’s sake stop thinking with the wrong “Muscle Head.”

The "PeePee PooPoo" Drive -Thru

I was about four years old and my brother was seven. We were pretty excited because we were going to the nearby Wendy’s for some all American fast food. If you are going to eat slop, this seems to be the chain that tastes the healthiest for some reason. Their meat actually resembles meat!

It was probably my dad that was taking us while mom was at work. His idea of cooking was making me an egg salad sandwich for lunch. He occasionally made breakfast with eggs, ham, and potatoes all in one frying pan. This was the extent. Mom was the chef at our house. As you can imagine our rare trip to Wendy’s was a treat when dad was babysitting.

We got to the drive-thru window and we heard, “Welcome to Wendy’s can I take your order?” Just as my dad was ready to answer his two well behaved children blurted out obscenities! Our idea of obscenities…I was under five and my brother was under eight. I squeezed my head of curls under the seat belt and out the driver’s side window of the brown Monte Carlo to shout out, “I want an order of PeePee!” My brother just shouted from the passenger side, “Don’t forget the PooPoo!” Well, this did not go over big! My dad looked like he was dying with embarrassment! But, somewhere behind his scolding eyes and snarled face we knew he wanted to laugh it off! We certainly thought it was hysterical. Is there anything better than innocence? I know my dad was laughing inside once he heard our belly laughter! How could he not?

Me and my brother have since grown up and don’t yell out nasty things at drive-thru windows anymore. I try not to even eat that fake food. I try not to indulge in any kind of fakeness at all. No fake friends, no fake lovers, no fake family too. I like 100% raw, real, people and things.

Life is full of wasted anger. We spend so much time worrying about what he or she said, and how can “so and so” be so mean? My boss is a jerk, my parents weren’t there for me, and my older sister picks on me. My boyfriend cheated, I work too hard and get treated poorly, and so forth and so on. After the initial hurt and pain that others cause us, why do we continue to waste time worrying or caring?

The people who hurt you were probably not your real friends, don’t care enough about you, aren’t good family members, and, are FAKE. So, why do we waste time on “WASTE?”

My brother and I may have been onto something at very young ages…life is better when it’s fun. Life is better when it’s not so serious. Life will always serve you some PeePee and PooPoo moments to deal with, but you can choose to laugh them away or worry about them until you realize you can’t fix them anyway.

Life is like a “PeePee PooPoo” drive-thru. Order wisely, expect the worst, realize that everyone is full of bullshit, and be thankful that you got the toy in your happy meal. It really is the little things that matter most. And, last but certainly not least, what a waste it is to waste time on waste!!!

Every Good Boy Does Fine

It was 1984 and Madonna was topping the charts with “Like a Virgin.” I was topping the charts with all A’s in second grade at Hilltop Elementary school. I was a good kid, not a nerd. Do not get it twisted. I had the yearning to learn and my brain was like a sponge. I was getting chased on the playground by all the cutest boys. They were teasing me and that only meant one thing…they liked me. Life was as good as it gets for a seven year old girl. But, my music teacher was screwing it up. He was not hitting any high notes with me. He was flat and I couldn’t stand to hear his voice. We will call him Mr. “W”, I’m kind enough to give him anonymity.

It was another boring and frustrating day in music class. We had our desks in a “U” shape and one by one we had to play our little recorders. For those of you who do not know, the recorder is a flute like instrument and made my life hell! I was perfect in all my other subjects, but this recorder was making me a nervous wreck! I hated the little brown tube with holes that had a blue, little thin case. So, without a doubt all the other kids from A to E seemed to speed through their music scale, and it was my turn. I was up, front and center and looking back, probably over prepared. Mr. “W”, always found away to take the wind out of my sails. “Janine, Every Good Boy Does Fine. Can you remember that, Janine!!!!!” I wanted to scratch his eyes out and stab him with that damn recorder. I knew I was not this teacher’s pet and nor was I ever going to try and be his little musical genius.

I went home that night after he embarrassed me in front of the entire second grade class and was steaming! My poor mother felt bad for me but she hated listening to it too. She knew that recorder was a piece of junk, so she graciously listened as I screwed up every note. The musical scale didn’t sound so pretty. Every Good Boy Does Fine sounded more like Every Good Boy Does Awful! I didn’t care about the notes! E, G, B, D, and F were not my friends. Neither was Face, which stood for the notes F, A, C, and E! That one’s obvious, huh? I just kept practicing and doing my best and Mr. W could keep thinking my skills were mediocre. In my opinion he was a loser and scary. So mediocre was fine for me in that classroom.

The next few weeks of class came and went, then one day he announced we would have a talent show. We each had to get up and sing, play piano, or play an instrument. Well, this made me smile from within. This was my chance to shove the recorder straight up his, well, you know, where the sun doesn’t shine! I went home and announced to my mom that I would be singing Madonna’s, “Like a Virgin” for the second grade class and Mr. “W.”

My mom said, “Oh no honey, not that song.” I cried out, “But why Mom, I love it?” This went on for quite some time as she tried to explain and not explain all in the same conversation why I could NOT sing a song with the word “Virgin” in it. I was seven. She wanted to keep it that way. I understand now, Mom. So, I went with the next best thing, “Material Girl.”

The whole week I practiced my song and I was nailing it. Every note the best a child can do. Everyday until my turn I heard horrific versions of the latest Top Forty songs from my classmates. I must admit, I even heard “Like a Virgin” being belted out by kids whose parents should have known better! That caused quite a few temper tantrums as I went home and told my mom, “See everyone else is singing it!” And, her famous response always followed, “So, if everyone else were jumping off a bridge, would you do it just because they were?” Love that one! You know every one of your mother’s threw that at you more than a couple times growing up.

The day finally came and I got up in front of the class and I did it…”Material Girl” rolled off my tongue and I hit the notes almost perfectly. I even did a little dance to go with it. All appropriate, my mom was the choreographer. So, it was rated G.

Mr. “W”, simply said, “Good job, Janine.” I heard the word “Good” and wanted to run and kick him in the face. It was GREAT!!!! Clearly his ears were broken or clogged. Good job, what the hell was he talking about??? Was he deaf? There was just no pleasing this man. He was out to get me. Good is for losers. I was tough on myself at seven, and I guess I still am today too.

From that point on I hated him. Mom says, “Don’t say hate!” Sorry to disappoint her, but I hated him. He was teaching children the arts and he clearly had bad taste. He had no patience and he played favorites. He wouldn’t know a songbird if it pecked him on his big nose.

If I ran into Mr. Effin “W” today I would look him in the eyes and tell him he made a big mistake with me. I would let him know he was no good at teaching children and shaping their young minds and he did no good at molding their confidence either. Good thing I had great parents.


Unfortunately, I had Mr. “W” for the next four years as well. He was the only music teacher in the school. In the end he taught me adversity and how to handle it. Not everyone will think you are great, people make mistakes, and everyone is a critic! Most of the time what they are judging you on, they can’t even do themselves. And, really he is just one person. The problem is that I let him influence me so much that he may have impacted a life long dream. In case you didn’t know I was supposed to be the next Whitney Houston. She was my idol. I killed my own dreams and desires along the way. I can’t blame it all on my elementary school music teacher.

I have some raw talent and he might be just one of the reasons I have stage fright when it comes to my singing. He missed out on discovering this rock star! He may have busted my confidence for a moment in time…but maybe he made it stronger in some crazy way too. By that I mean he gave me the brass balls I have now when dealing with people like him, but lacked at the ripe old age of seven. I did just fine in life and have excelled at many things in the Arts. I always said I would be on TV, and I am. I’m no Madonna but I ain’t dead yet. Don’t want to be her anyway. I’m just Janine. My star is rising.

If I ran into Mr. “W” I would say, “Every Good Boy Does Fine, Every Awful teacher Can Go To Hell, and Check out this Great Young Woman in your F A C E! Now stick every note and that damn recorder up your musical scale and sing, sing, sing!”

My Father, The Freedom Fighter

I watched beautiful fireworks on the Fourth of July going up and falling back down into the night sky. As I looked around the crowd I saw families and friends. I saw little ones with excitement and wonder in their eyes. But, when “God Bless America” came on I couldn’t help but wonder about all the men and women fighting for our freedom in far away places while we party and play on this American land.

As I glanced around the big crowd I saw kids with ice cream running down their faces and old men in their wheel chairs. And, I couldn’t help but wonder how badly the men and women serving this great nation must be missing their families and would give anything to hold them tight on this star spangled night. As I stared at the woman who was wearing her husband’s dog tags and holding her child close, I could see her longing for that feeling she once may have had with him by her side. She raised her head with joy as that sky lit up but how would she feel when the sky turned black again? That magic only lasts but a few moments.

And, of course I thought about my grandfathers and my father…the men closest to me who have served this country. I think about this often and I do because my father was a marine in Viet Nam. It’s one of the most controversial wars in American history, but still a war. I’ve seen him cry twice, once when his father passed away and a second time when his brother died. Quite possibly I saw his eyes tear up while watching Platoon, Saving Private Ryan, and few great John Wayne country and westerns that I’m sure make him think of his youth. It’s the war movies that I’m sure strike a nerve in him. They must bring back feelings so deep and sad that I can’t really find the courage to ask him about his days in battle. Can you imagine being a teenager on the front lines fighting our country’s enemies? He was just a teenager, barely old enough to drive and vote in this country, barely old enough to say that he even lived.

Let me tell you what brings tears to my eyes when I think about my father at war. There was this one time he told me about the little Vietnamese girl that was freezing cold and had nothing to wear so he gave her his vest. I remember this story from childhood, and I remember asking him why he did that for her, he simply answered, “She was just a little girl like you and she needed to feel warm so I gave it to her. If you ever needed help I would pray someone would give it to you.” I think about the simple gesture that must have made that little girl feel special and loved for even just a minute. I think about his friend along side him in that madness, John Hogan. He went through basic training and all the way through his tour of duty by my father’s side. Every year he sends a Christmas card to my dad. Every year he puts a special note in there to tell my dad about his family and ask him how his is doing too. About seven years ago or more he was traveling from the West Coast to Philadelphia and stopped in for a visit. I walked in the room and met him and I felt something special. I felt a love and a bond between two men that never died. It has lived on through years and years and space and time.

John brought my father a special gift that day- his sea bag. When they got discharged from the Marines they stayed at John’s house and my father left it behind unknowingly. John gave it to him on this hot summer day forty some odd years later. It was a huge worn out green bag and it had the names of every city and country my father had traveled written in permanent black marker. I looked at this bag and I felt my eyes begin to fill and it was then that I realized my father really had seen the world and been all over. It wasn’t just to embellish his stories; he really did see it all. I really had found an even greater respect for my father that day. I felt the bond that these two men shared and I thanked John before he left for being a great friend to my father and a partner to him in battle, before I was even a thought. I also thanked him for always sending that Christmas card, if not for that, I might not know of this amazing man.

Years ago I was going through my father’s stuff and found his dog tags. I asked him if I could keep them and he said yes, of course. I keep them in a special place. I keep all of this in a special place. My father is one of my best friends and is the best man I know. He buys American made cars and products, he hates and I mean despises Jane Fonda, and he’s not real fond of most liberals. He thinks my generation is a tad lazy and crazy, and, well he has a point. He thinks everyone should serve for this country and it would make a boy a man. He’s just this way and I love him for every bit of it. I love him for serving my country and most importantly serving my family. He made his parent’s proud, my mom and brother, John Hogan, that little girl in Viet Nam, and he makes me so very proud. My father is a freedom fighter and I will fight for the rights of anyone who serves America. You may not always back the wars, but you should always back the troops.

Fireworks on the Fourth of July…Happy Birthday America, you have a wonderful family that keeps you safe and sound as the world turns round. God Bless America and the men and women who serve this great nation.

Accepting The Curls

Everyone wants what they don’t have. It’s just the way life goes. If you have straight hair you want curly and if it’s curly you want straight. If you are too tall you want to be shorter and if you have a big nose you want a smaller one and if you have thin lips you want fuller ones. If you are pale you want to be tan. You get it. Well, I’m the girl with the curls that wanted straight hair. Not just curls, Shirley Temple curls, or as my ever so affectionate older brother used to call me, “Ramona Africa.” Yes, don’t worry about being politically correct this was in the 1980’s during “Move.” He couldn’t help himself. He was a brat and older so it was his job to pick on me.
When I was nineteen the big Jersey hair days were growing old and straight hair was in. Every girl at college had pretty straight hair and I was determined to get mine to cooperate. I was always on the cutting edge of fashion and up with the latest trends. So, I made a quick appointment at my beauty salon and asked for the latest straightening treatment. My hair stylist kept saying, “Are you sure, you have beautiful hair and it may never be the same after this, the products too new and I’m not familiar enough with it yet.” I just said, “Yup, do it.” And, a few hours later I left with shiny, straight long hair like my old Brook Sheild’s doll head. You know the one if you were a child in the eighties. You could do her hair in million different ways!
I left happy but when I got home my mom wasn’t so thrilled. She was upset that I tried to change my hair- my natural born curls that women die for and I went and got them straightened! I must have been nuts in her opinion. But, somewhere in her face I could see that she just didn’t want me to change who I was or what made me…me. She knew I was always her confident daughter and I was, but I wanted to try something different-just this once. Soon after I noticed that my hair was frizzier than ever and it didn’t look as pretty as it did before. I learned that I hated it and wanted to go back to me. But, there was no quick fix and I had to wait for it to grow out before I could be myself again.
It’s fourteen years later and I totally understand my mother’s message better now. If and when I should have children I hope that they never try to change who they are not even for a second. I hope that they don’t want plastic surgery because they don’t have the proper size breasts or their nose is too big and their lips are too small. I hope they realize that God makes us who we are and we are perfect in his creation.
I’m not super religious, but I am super confident and believe in a higher being and myself. I came in this world alone and I’m going out alone. I finally know exactly who I am and where I want to go. I don’t judge people the way I used to or talk about people to make myself feel better. That’s kid stuff. Today I visited a dear friend and her daughter is twelve. She’s in that tumultuous, pre-teen, puberty is about to make me recognize every flaw I have, stage! She sat at the picnic table and told me that she hates her body and won’t wear a bikini. For a quick second I thought I am thrilled she doesn’t want to wear a bikini because it seemed like yesterday we were changing her diapers! But, then, I felt chills in my spine because here sits a beautiful young girl with the longest legs and beautiful face and thin frame and she hates her body? I told her to be fierce and love who you are and put on that bikini and strut your stuff…well not now maybe in ten years once we have accepted she is going to grow up even if we don’t want her to- but be fierce at every age. She said, “I’m just not like that.” and I said, “Learn to be that way because you are beautiful.” She smiled and gave me that you don’t know what I mean Janine because you were never this age look. I laughed inside.
I felt like my mother for a second. Every magazine will show you some pretty young thing on the cover and on every other page as you flip through. But, they are all air-brushed and probably insecure and a little too self-aware. We all want things we sometimes do not have. We want to be perfect in the eyes of others. But, I promise we hit an age and we realize that we are perfect. I swear self-esteem should be just as important as learning the alphabet. I want to thank my parents for teaching it and I want to encourage others to learn it, value it, and pass it on.
When I look back at old pictures I like myself way better with the curls. I have finally accepted and truly love them. In the end I would rather accept my curls than worry about everybody else accepting my curls. Love who you are and love everything about yourself…you were perfectly made to be you. ACCEPT, APPRECIATE, AND EMBRACE “The Curls” that life is going to throw your way.

My friend, Frankie

A special letter

By Janine Furillo - November 1, 2004

I have this friend that I find absolutely remarkable. Yes, he's unbelievably handsome, sweet, and intelligent. Yes, he's the kind of guy that every girl wants to some day end up with after her search for love is over. He really is all that and much more.

His name is Frankie LaMacchia and he's Mr. Outgoing. If you're in the city of Philadelphia out having a good time on the weekend just look around you'll find him. He's always out having a good time and getting tons of attention. Frankie's really the guy that everyone has their eyes on. Trust me, he's hard to miss.

There's just one thing that makes him a little different than most people. He can't walk. He's had the terrible misfortune of being involved in an awful motorcycle accident that left him paralyzed and changed his life forever. But, don't you dare call him a victim, he's anything but that.

Frankie has given courage a new meaning. I've known him quite sometime now, and I have never seen him in a bad mood. He's constantly upbeat and optimistic about his future. When the majority would have given up, he continues to fight for his cause and a second chance at life, as he once knew it. At a life he deserves to have back.

Stem Cell research is imperative for my friend, Frankie. You're allowed to have your opinions that's why we live in a free America. You're allowed to express them, no matter how ridiculous they may seem.

Controversy surrounds Stem Cell research. Some people think it's just not ethical, that life is planned out and what happens to you is your fate. I highly disagree. I do believe that things happen for a reason. We may never get the answers that we need, but this question seems like a no-brainer. If we could help people walk again, find a cure, then why wouldn't we want to help?

Your legs get you out of bed in the morning, they walk you all around town. They dance to the beat, run a chosen path, play sports, steal home plate during your baseball game, walk you down the aisle, they simply move you making life go round and round.

Imagine for just one second that you couldn't feel your legs and you couldn't get up and go as you please. We can't do it, because we can't even fathom the thought. We take natural things for granted. Frankie doesn't. He knows the value of his legs and his nerve endings. More importantly, he knows that some battles are worth fighting.

When Christopher Reeve died, thousands of people living paralyzed or suffering from diseases may have lost a little hope for Stem Cell Research. They may have felt a little despair in their hearts.

It's almost unbelievable that Christopher Reeve couldn't find a cure. Celebrities have the money and the power to use their voices, and still we haven't been able get to the finish line.



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We have a huge job to do. Humanity has to come together and make all of our voices as loud as we can. We must be heard. If you still don't agree with Stem Cell Research that's fine, I just hope and pray you're never in need of a cure.

You probably couldn't handle life like Frankie and so many others. You have to hold hope in your heart and be passionate about living life to the fullest no matter your circumstances.

If you can begrudge someone of their natural born right to walk or feel again, than you simply aren't passionate about life like you should be. That's my opinion, but I'm allowed to voice it because I am a free American.

Frankie LaMacchia is a living breathing example of what we should all strive to be like. Everyone should meet him, because whenever people do, they walk away with a smile. They walk away feeling every nerve in their legs, feeling their feet touch the ground beneath of them.

You can walk, run, skip, or jump your way to the finish line for Stem Cell Research. You can sit and do nothing. I just hope that you don't try to put an end to it. There are moral and ethical ways to carry on the research and reach cures.

Superman may not have had the supernatural powers to walk again, but he made a super impact for so many people's futures. You don't need to be a celebrity you just need to be heard.

Frankie's voice is loud and proud. Life goes on and we soon forget about other people's disabilities, especially when those people aren't even complaining about their own misfortunes. I pray we don't mistake their silence for contentment. I pray we raise money and make real life differences.

Frankie LaMacchia can't feel the lower half of his body. He is the face of Stem Cell Research. He has not given up and continues to inspire everyone around him. I hope we learn to inspire him as well.

What he can't feel physically, fills up his heart and makes it that much bigger. You will meet him and you will walk away feeling blessed. Not because you can walk, but because you had the opportunity to meet a real life hero fighting a real life battle to the end.

Lets come together and realize our potential, let's realize a cure so nobody else has to fight this war feeling all alone. We can get on our feet and stand up for him and his cause, but nobody will be making a stand as tall and proud as Frankie LaMacchia.

Live Now

I started thinking about life without my family. I know it sounds depressing and nobody really wants to travel there mentally, ever, but I think about it a lot. Maybe I notice that everyone’s getting older and my father has a few less hairs on his head and wrinkles around his eyes. Maybe it’s because my mom doesn’t let the little things bother her anymore and she used to worry about everything. Now, she’s just too tired to care about the petty stuff. Finally she realizes the bad people are just that, bad.
My Nana and Poppop are both eighty-five and just a year ago Nana retired while Poppop still works. They say it keeps them young and hip. I look at them and wonder what they would do without each other. Nana’s four foot ten but feisty and she wears the pants. She is constantly nagging my Poppop about his eating habits and trying to help him keep his sugar in check. She nags because she cares. It’s like you get tired and you stop fighting over the little things and you realize that the person by your side really is your best friend. You realize that they want you around forever.
It’s easy in your younger years to take life and loved ones for granted. You expect that they will always be there. Everyone is young, strong, and healthy. You think you can always stand alone. Then one minute of one day something happens and you realize how much you need them. You realize that they are your right arm and as you get older they become the right half of your body. Your other half. You grow dependent and you realize that life is really short.
I visit my parents and my grandparents often. I sit back and listen to the little things that they bleep and moan about and smile inside and say to myself, “God love this family and these people.” They are my people. If for one second I ever wondered where I came from, I need not look any further. I can see myself in the eyes of all of them. I have become without a doubt each and every one of them.
So, I lay in bed at night and sometimes I cry and worry when I start thinking about how my life would be without them. I run over to Nana’s every time I need to talk and have something heartbreaking, or happy. When I have news, I run to Nana’s house. When I need my parents I go to their house, the home I grew up in that holds a million memories. As soon as I walk in the doors I feel safe. I feel my feet touch that piece of earth that is reserved for me. My parent’s room is my sacred place when I go home. It’s where I cried to my mom over first loves and first heartaches. It’s where I cried at the loss of loved ones and friends. Where we just sat and watched television or had our heart to hearts. At my grandparents it’s the kitchen. It all takes place at Nana’s small table. It’s the table where I have reached out my arms to hold her hands and cry to her, asking her to never leave me. All the while Poppop is in the living room in his chair near the door. He’s either sleeping or getting ready to head out for some friendly conversation with his buddies. Nana’s got her chair. She sits in it with her robe on and rollers in and has guided me through life from that seat. Can you picture this scene?
Life without this love would be so different. It would not be my life. I am so close to my family and they are my support. My love for them is immeasurable. My respect for them is immense. I’m going to hold these memories in my heart and make sure that I never let them fade out. I am going to embrace each moment because this is the time. These are the days. I may not always remember the colors so vividly from every scene, I may not get the words from each conversation exactly right, I may not even remember the dates, but I will always remember the moments. I will remember the advice, the hugs and kisses, the tears, the laughter, and most importantly, I will always remember the love.
So, when I start to think about life without my family and it makes me sad to my core and every ounce of me is sickened by the thought, I say a prayer that I remember to cherish the days and make time now. Now is all we have and now is when we must live.

My Father's Friends

Deep chuckles echoing from the downstairs piercing through the vents in my green, stuffed animal filled bedroom. “Skunk, you cheated, I’m done I quit, you’re crazy…you bastard.” This was just the beginning of a night filled with friends and family. Nicknames flew across the poker table along with off colored comments. It was boy’s night out at my house…well, my father’s house to be precise.
The sun would fade into the fall sky and the guys came knocking. One by one all of my dads cronies would file in the front door, down the steps for a night of cards. Mom would set up food, hoagies of course, and some other goodies for the men to manga!
My brother and I were in elementary school at the time, but we knew even then, you didn’t go downstairs and bother dad on Sunday nights. It was his time to have fun. I respected that, but the boys loved me. I was the little girl that most of them didn’t have. I was affectionately known as “Beanie” later shortened to “Bean” as the years went by. I loved the attention. A few kisses were stolen here and there. The hairy faces of men I wasn’t related to grossed me out, but I tolerated it because that’s what nice little girls do.
Skunk, also know as Arthur , the name given to him by his parents, was quite the character. He would hug me and it always seemed like forever. I remember his deep, smoker’s voice. At the time I just wasn’t into all that affection from strangers. I was scared of my own shadow. I knew that he loved me so I just dealt with it.
Then there was Pete “The Greek.” He always looked like he needed a good shower. He was a loner always fighting with his wife and roaming around town. He had gray hair with a yellow tint and an odd skin color. I liked him anyway he helped my dad pick out our dog, “Spike.” How could I not like him for that little bundle of joy?
After that it was up to my room to watch my shows, have a snack, and get ready for bed. When nine o’clock rolled around I ran downstairs and gave my dad a big kiss goodnight. I had to say “I LOVE YOU.” Of course as I ran around the table I got handed some money from the guys. Then I had to fall asleep. It was hard going to bed after the weekend and on top of that, downstairs the noise was loud. You could hear Louie’s laugh a mile away. But after a few tosses and turns I managed to doze off.
My brother and I were sure to wake up Monday mornings to a few bucks left by the previous night’s poker winner. That was always an incentive to get out of bed and go to school. Louie and my Uncle Charlie were the most generous. They always left us cash on the kitchen table. That was great and what a way to start the day!
I remember it like it was yesterday. But, it’s been years since all the boys came over the house to play. It’s been years since the laughter, cursing, and yelling has echoed in the house. I miss it.
I’ve learned a lot in life since the Sunday night card games. Time goes on and people don’t. Skunk passed away and I’ll never forget the night I found out. See, he was this guy that creeped me out a little with all the hugs and kisses, but he was a guy that impacted my life too. I later found out that one Christmas Eve he stayed up till the wee hours of the morning helping my father put together my toy kitchen set. The one I hardly played with my mother often reminds me. There’s a photo of the two of us, me in a yellow, flowered nightgown and I’m making an awful face, while Art’s wearing a huge smile. I was the typical daddy’s girl that loved only her father. He was the only man in my life. Didn’t Skunk know that?
Pete faded away without a trace, and some people don’t miss him. I think he brought too much baggage and bad luck. Last I heard he was divorced and his ex-wife was throwing his clothes out in the yard. Not sure where he is and if he ever had a huge role in his daughter’s lives.
I’ve also learned more about the guys that still come around. Louie never married or had children, but he took great care of his mother. He lived in Chester with her forever. She passed away not too long ago and I know it broke his heart. He really treated her great. My mom says he was an excellent son. I recently found out that his father died when he was young and he promised to take care of his mother for him. I really admire that. He kept his word. He’s still got the laugh and the huge smile.
Phil, Tony, Ronnie and the others I see occasionally. My dad goes golfing with them on Sundays. It’s not as easy for everyone to get together like before. Age kicks in and family commitment too.
It’s amazing how men keep their friends and women let theirs slip away. I admire that about “The Boys.” They have bonds that will last forever. My dad has some good people in his life. They say, “You can’t chose your family, so chose your friends wisely.” I think my father made some fine choices.
The older I get the more I realize how these men have affected my life. If Arthur were hear today I’d say, “Thanks for caring about me so much, thanks for loving me, thanks for the kitchen set.” I’d give him a big kiss on the cheek without a pout on my face. I know he would have been one of my biggest fans. I’m sure he’s rooting for me up in Heaven and betting on the horses in between. I hope he’s at the big racetrack in the sky and loving every second of it.
I’ve been impacted by every last one of them. Pete made me thankful to have a father like I do. Louie is now a friend to me. He believes in me and respects me. I know in his heart he thinks I am something special because he tells me all the time.
Everyone has stories to tell. Life is a book and every chapter should be filled with meaning. My dad’s life has become more important to me with every passing day. As the years go by his stories get better and better because I can appreciate all the characters he talks about. I know them better now.
They’re not just “The Boys” playing cards downstairs on Sunday nights. They’re the men who have watched me grow up, from a little girl to a woman. They’re the guys who make my dad’s world a better place. Though each of them is unaware…they’ve left memorable impressions on my soul. They’re a part of my book and my movie called life. I want to say thanks to “The Boys.”