Got Nuts?

All righty.

The Princess and I headed for Monterey this month to do some whale watching and celebrate my birthday.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

We go to the area often and enjoy hanging around the aquarium and checking out the little fisheys.

Whale watching, though, is quite another story.

The last time that we took this little naturalist led excursion, I ended up in the aft end of the boat for most of the trip, bonding with a moaning, pale 5 year old, as she and I reluctantly contributed our morning breakfasts to the bay waters.

Wasn’t a fun experience – to say the least.

So, when I woke up bright and early Saturday morning and told the Princess that I was in the mood to do some boating and see me some humpback whales, the Princess looked at me like I “hadn’t the sense God gave a goose”, and rolled back over and told me to go back to sleep.

After coaxing her out of bed and getting her to see that I was quite serious about my wishes to go whale watching, we got ready and headed out to the coast.

Acutely aware of the fact that I didn’t fair too well the last time we went, I judiciously decided to forego breakfast and determined that a large bottle of Coke would serve me well and that I’d eat when we finished the trip.

The Princess, though, decided that she needed something of sustenance and elected to stop off at one of the little shops on the wharf to procure some snack-type vittles before starting our excursion.

Uh-Hun.

She prudently decides that nuts would be a good source of protein and a much better snack, than the popcorn that I was hungrily eye-balling.

Quickly finding the nut display, but not knowing which of the three, young service people, idly standing behind the counter, was responsible for the “nut section”, she innocently asked, “Which one of you three handles the nuts?”

Not missing a beat and coyly smiling, the witty young man among them smugly looks at her and replies, “Hold on, ma’am, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I don’t know who was laughing more – the kids behind the counter or me?

God love her!

She keeps me laughing every day.

Have a great day, People, and may you be blessed with someone that brings you laughter and joy, on a regular basis.

Catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes.

 

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The Princess Slaps Herself Silly!

Yogi Berra once said, “You got to be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there.”

Uh-Hun.

Shopping with the Princess on the weekends is what I imagine it would be like hanging with the “Yog-ster” for a day – somewhat “challenging”, but oh so “captivating” and “full of fun” before you get there.

And, of course, shopping this past weekend, proved to be just that – challenging, but, “oh so much fun”.

The Princess had been commuting all week to work and wanted a “break from dealing with the finer nuances of CA drivers”, so we decided that I’d take one for the team that day and “deal with the nut cases on Rt. 101”, while we did our errands.

I just pulled out of our driveway and started heading down the road, when the Princess innocently asked me, “Have you ever accidently slapped yourself in the head?” and she heartily started giggling.

“No,” I quizzically answered. “Can’t say that’s one of my skill sets. Why do you ask?”

The laughter had me inquisitive, so while I was stopped at the light, I looked over at her before I continued speaking, and noticed that her eye glasses were totally skewed on her face and not seated appropriately on the bridge of her nose.

“What the hell are you doing over there, while I’m driving?” I bitingly inquired.

“Cazzo!”

“Please tell me that you didn’t just slap yourself upside your head,” I declared.

“Our friends already think we’re weird as it is, and this isn’t gonna make one of us look too awfully bright, ya know?” I continued.

“Please tell me that my abrupt stop at the light knocked your glasses off and that YOU didn’t do this to yourself!”

“OK”, she obediently responded, “Your driving did this to me, and forget I even asked you the question.”

“And by the way,” she continued (while giggling), “My car’s running on pure gas fumes, so you’d best pull over to fill it up with gas.”

Uh-Hun.

While I was pulling into the nearest gas station, she rearranged her glasses so that they were appropriately seated on her face, and then instructed me to pop open her gas flap.

As I was fidgeting around looking for the lever, to pop open the gas thing-a-ma-bob, I looked to the right and noticed that she left the passenger door open when she got out to pump gas.

Being the considerate person that I am, and not wanting to inconvenience the guy behind us when he pulled out, I stretched over to close the door.

While reaching for the inside, passenger door handle, I suddenly saw the Princess ( quietly trembling with laughter), sprawled out on the ground; by the side of the car, and with her thin, (long) leather purse strap chaotically tangled around her ankle.

“Are you all right?” I anxiously asked.

“How the hell did you end up under the car?” I continued, while she lifted herself into an upright position –contemptuously eyeballing me, with her head eye level to the floor board of her SUV.

“Cavola!” (Holy crap!), I exclaimed.

“I take my eyes off from you for 10 seconds to look for the gas lever and you almost go permanently belly up!” I accusingly yelled at her.

“Madonna!”

“Are we gonna be able to get through the day without you killing yourself, or should I look into taking out more personal insurance on you?” I sarcastically inquired.

At that point, let’s just say the Princess took to communicating with “sign language” ( a.k.a. “the one-finger salute “) and we both started to laugh uncontrollably.

Moral of this story: Keep your strapped purses on your car seats (and not your floor mats), and be wary of people who slap themselves upside their head on a regular basis.

And by all means, remember: You just never know what life is like looking at it from someone else’s shoes! (Especially if they’re looking at you from the ground, up!)

Have a great week, People, and I’ll catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes!

Momma Benedetti Plays Pitch with the Gang!

All righty.

Momma Benedetti is at it, again, and I thought I’d share her silliness with my “blogging buddies” this week for another round of “Life with Momma”.

Like most people her age, my Mom is pretty much a routine kinda gal.

Gets up at 5 most mornings, has her cup of coffee (to make her go), sits in her rocker and watches the morning news shows to catch up on what’s happening “out of her little bubble,” in upstate NY.

On Wednesdays at noon, she’s off to the local senior center for a rousting card game of “pitch” (a local card game favored by a number of people in upstate NY). And God forbid, you bother her from 10 a.m. to 11:45 a.m., because she’s gotta get her lipstick and make-up on for the 10 minute road trip to the neighboring town and hasta eat something of sustenance, ‘cuz she certainly can’t go all afternoon without eating Italian bread or some kind of pasta to maintain “her blood sugar level”.

Heaven help us, if this little, gray-haired rompicogoloni (pain in the ass) hits the road without eating a hunk of hard-crusted Italian bread or some pasta with olive oil. Not in her genetic make-up, don’t ‘cha know?

So, I call her most Thursday mornings – after her run to the local dollar store, and before her first lunch of the day.

She’s usually got a few minutes she can spare to chat with me before hanging up to start lunch, and as long as I don’t push her beyond her agreed upon 10 or so minutes, everything’s copasetic.

This past Thursday, though, was an exception to the rule.

Ma was bored.

“Bored sh-t-less”, as she put it and really tired of the cloudy, windy, cold weather that they were experiencing, lately, and wanted to chat.

“So,” I begin, “How ya doin’ today?”

“OK, “she sullenly replies. “Same old same old. “

“Un-Hun”, I respond. “How’d the card game go on Wednesday?”

“The card game is more of a coffee klatch. We do more talkin’, with this group, than play cards,” she flatly answers.

“Well, did you win anything?” I continue.

“Cazzo,” she replies. “Who knows who won and who lost? This group can’t remember what trump is from one hand to the other!”

Being a retired special ed. teacher and all, I smugly ask, “Gee, Ma, have you tried using some kind of cues to help out? Maybe a visual will help?”

“Ma, che sei grullo! (How stupid are you?!), Lucia! We’ve got more cues than Carter has liver pills!”

Cues aren’t the problem,” she chortles.

“Some of us aren’t playing with a full deck, “she continues.

“Anne and I are the only 2 of the 5 in the group that can stay awake and know how to shuffle and keep track of trump and whose turn it is. Shirley has Alzheimer’s and (God love her!) falls asleep and snores between turns. Norma, according to her husband, is senile and swears she’s shuffled the cards when she hasn’t and doesn’t understand why she gets the same cards as before, and Cliff nods off like Shirley, only not as often, and can’t remember who dealt last, let alone what trump is,” she prattles on, oblivious to the fact that she’s talked past her usual 10 minutes.

“More often than not,” she giggles, “Anne and I are rolling our eyes at each other and nudging people to wake up. “

“Dio li benedica (God bless), she continues. “Who knows when it’s gonna be ME they’re rolling their eyes over and nudging awake?”

“Cazzo! (WTS!) Meno male! (Thank God!), I’m not-a totally pazzo(crazy),” she animatedly continues.

“Promise me, Lucia, you’ll shoot me if I get that bad, ok?” she queries.

“Uh-hun,” I dumbly respond.

“No problem, Ma,” I continue.

“I’ll make a couple of cement shoes for you and give you the heave ho over the Brooklyn Bridge, ok?” I sarcastically reply.

“Cazzo, Lucia,” she replies. “ You’re as pazzo as your brothers! I gotta boil some spaghetti. Stammi benne.”

“Yeah, you take care, too, Ma. Ti amo (I love you).”

“Ti amo, Lucia, fai la brava (be a good girl).”

Yep. That’s me – a “good girl”.

Maya Angelou once said about her mother, “To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow.”

Pretty much sums up my description of my mom – an Italian hurricane as colorful (and mystifying) as a rainbow, after a storm hits.

The rompicoglioni drives me pazzo, at times, but I love her with all my heart and wouldn’t exchange her for all the tea in China.

Enjoy the day, People. I’ll see you next adventure, looking at life from my shoes.

 

Post? What Post? Now you see it. Now you don’t.

 

Yep.

It’s my birthday in another  week.

The Princess decided to surprise me with my very own, nifty, new computer.

I’ve never been the “techie” in the family, so her hand-me-down Macs have always been just fine for me.

Yes-Siree.

Getting your very own computer for the first time is pretty special. (And it’s a nice computer, to boot!)

Has a touch screen, lighted key board and a lovely, little, demonic pc operating system called, “Windows 8” – everything an old, menopausal, mentally challenged woman could ever want.

Uh-Hun.

Spent over 10 hours writing out my post for this week on this here, nifty new computer and with one small click of a pinky finger, ten hours of writing, editing and re-writing is now in an invisible cloud somewhere in “PC heaven” and I’m not a very happy little camper today, People.

Not a happy camper at tall.

Thinking that maybe a little walk is the way to go this morning and that life will look a hulluva lot better as soon as the Buddha Belly and I return from our walk.

Che Cazzo!

I’m thinkin’ it’s a better idea than throwing said “nifty, new (expensive) computer” out the window, eh?

As my Mother would say, “Figurati!” (It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.)

And, of course, she’d be right.

Have a good week, People, and I’ll catch ya next week, looking at life in my shoes from a slightly different perspective, than the one I have today! 🙂