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The Amazing Edible Legible Pancakes

Monday, February 22nd, 2010

 ”The laziest man I ever met put popcorn in his pancakes so they would turn over by themselves.” ~ W.C. Fields

Nan's Pancakes

(Italian Lesson:  Pancake = frittella)

So, I just got off the phone with my Aunt Patti (yes, the one with the everyday f*ckin’ “colorful” conversation (as noted in the post “Aunt Patti’s Hair Nest and the Twitty Birds”) and she told me that my beloved and utterly sweet ninety two year old grandmother - whom I call “Nan” –  was noshing on pancakes yesterday morning for breakfast (OK, normal so far, right?) but, as she was enjoying her pancakes - and in her day, my Nan could whip up some amazing pancakes - Nan was tearing off little buttery bits and shoving them into a nearby book. 

When asked why the pancake pages were all-the-rage that particular day, Nan stated simply “so I have something to snack on later, of course”.  Alright Nan, but wouldn’t a little plate or Tupperware container do the trick ? Awwww, the things we may do at ninety two… I don’t think she was planning to read that book anyway -  I just hope she doesn’t try to cook it!

(You can read more about Nan’s quirky habits lovingly noted in this post: “Joe Pesci is my third cousin, you gotta F*%#!n’ problem with that?” http://madnessmomandme.com/2009/07/joe-pesce/).

Head back to the Madness home page here www.madnessmomandme.com  ~ and ~ be sure to sign up for the MADNESS FEED: http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/

Posted in Nan, Nan's Antics, Pancakes, Uncategorized, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme | No Comments »

Sadistic priest burns little girl with cigar!

Thursday, February 18th, 2010
 
“The first time I sang in the church choir, two hundred people changed their religion.” ~  Fred Allen  
 
Ash Wednesday is not for sissies!
 
“Come on Elizabeth, be a good Catholic girl and get in line for your ashes,” Mom and Dad would chant in church every year when Ash Wednesday rolled around.  The first time up, my thoughts turned to complete and utter terror  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” I yelled, “I don’t want that horrid priest to burn my forehead with a lit cigar, Ma!” 

(Italian Lesson: cigar smoker = fumatore di sigari)

I was only about seven or eight I suppose, so I had no idea exactly what was really going on in the front of St. Mary’s Church – except for the fact that I sure didn’t want my little forehead used as a friggin’ ashtray by Father Boyle! I can just HEAR the sizzling and smell my young burning flesh melting away – I’ll be scarred for life – NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  Even worse, this is what you’d call a “special occasion” mass,  meaning it didn’t even ”count” for the week – ugh.  So now we have to head back to the pews to do it again for another hour on Sunday — damn! This church stuff was totally cramping my style! 
 
And all that talk about ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  Like I really want to hear that I’ll be cremated one day and turned to a grey powder – I have my whole life ahead of me for crying out loud! I guess I figured that the burning hot cigar was just the priest’s subtle, yet sadistic reminder, and I just wanted to take a pass — thanks anyway!
Line up, it's Ash time!
        

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Posted in Ash Wednesday, Catholic Church, Dover, St. Mary's Church, madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 1 Comment »

Abbondanza, Meatballs and Dad’s Ambulance Ride

Friday, February 5th, 2010

“Spaghetti can be eaten most successfully if you inhale it like a vacuum cleaner.” ~ Sophia Loren

Yes, over the years my dad had to put up with a whole lot of crazy thanks to mom’s spirited “antics”, but he was not without his own classic gems.  Dad loved his Italian meals, and often got himself on mom’s “sh!t list”  for filling his plate with a mountainous heep of second helpings, especially if mom’s garlicy pasta sauce was on the menu.  ABBONDANZA!  as we say in Italian.

(Italian Lesson: ABBONDANZA! = abundance)

A few years ago, mom made one of her famously delicious spaghetti and meatball dinners, and just before she set the food on the kitchen table, my dad started to complain of severe chest pains.  His pain was not going anywhere, so mom called the ambulance to get him to the nearest emergency room.   Dad knew he should get to the hospital asap,  but that scent filling the house – the temptation of mom’s homemade sauce, those scrumptious little meatballs and fresh Italian bread were calling out his name,  “D-o-m-i-n-i-c, D-o-m-i-n-i-c”  – what was this sauce-lovin’ Sicilian to do?

Mom's spaghetti & meatballs

Well, Dominic knew!  When the ambulance arrived, he did what any other appreciative Italian husband would do – he asked mom to make him a “doggie bag” meal to bring along for the ride (and, hey, add some bread for dipping!) - this way he could enjoy his dinner while he waited to see the doc.  Needless to say, dad arrived home from the E.R. pretty hungry that night.

Have doggie bag will travel

Have doggie bag will travel

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Posted in Dad and the emergency room, Dad's ambulance ride, Emergency Room, NJ, Spaghetti and meatballs, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme | 2 Comments »

The Very Wretched Sister Urselena

Saturday, January 30th, 2010
“The sixties were when hallucinogenic drugs were really, really big. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we had the type of shows we had then, like The Flying Nun.” ~ Ellen DeGeneres

 
St. Margaret's Madness

St. Margaret's Madness

St. Margaret’s Catholic School, Morristown, NJ – Second grade:  my foray into the Catholic school system.  Jesus, how I hated those wretched uniforms  – come on, who can look halfway decent in those ridiculous plaid accordion-pleated skirts and dowdy white buttoned-up blouses? And that stupid little crisscross tie thing in front of your neck – what the hell was that about?   Where was my favorite little black velvet dress now???

A St. Margaret’s education was OK I guess, but the little me did not leave that school without a couple  “incidents” which got me in a bit of trouble — expelled for a day actually, but more about that in a bit.  This post is all about the mean and utterly terrifying Sister Urselena.  YIKES — even typing out her name makes me tremble to this day!

(Italian Lesson: meschino = mean)

Sister Urselena was one of those nuns who would hit kids acting up in class, and God forbid if you were chewing

Sister Urselena wishes she looked this good

Sister Urselena wishes she looked this good

gum, because you’d end up wearing it on your nose and stand in front of the class for an hour with your chewed up gum on the end of your nose.  Yup, this was one frightening nun!  A nun who wouldn’t know a smile if one crawled up her habit and bit her on her ass.  Urselena never smiled at all — maybe it was because she had a mouth like a puppet —a real wooden puppet.  You know, one of those with the deep lines next to her lips, in fact, her mouth opened and closed like a Charlie McCarthy doll.

After seeing Urselena hit a fellow student with a ruler one day, I told my mom about it.  Mom advised me to leave the school if they ever tried to touch me.  So, the next day, I walked to school with my head held high, went straight up to Ursulena and told her that if she, or any nun ever touches me, my mother gave me permission to bolt outta there immediately.  Urselena promptly called my mother to verify this, and mom basically told her “damn straight, sister”! Unfortunately, this was not the last time Sister Ursulena called my mother at home — stay tuned “pencil incident” post.

Get back to the home of Madness here www.madnessmomandme.comor I’ll tell Sister Urselena!

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Posted in madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 2 Comments »

A quick post – one of Mom’s gems

Thursday, January 7th, 2010

I just told Mom it’s good for your health to get fresh air daily.  She said “I get fresh air a few times a day – every time I go outside for a cigarette!”  Nice one, ma!

Yum, smoking is healthy!

Yum, smoking is healthy!

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Posted in madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 2 Comments »

Aunt Patti’s Hair Nest & the Twitty Birds

Saturday, December 19th, 2009

“Many a man’s profanity has saved him from a nervous breakdown. ” ~ Henry S. Haskins

My Aunt Patti was always talking about Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash and Conway Twitty and his little Twitty-birds.  She always had a cigarette in her hand, and one of her teased-up Loretta Lynn wigs on her head – the kind which resembled some sort of nest-like bird habitat.  Aunt Patti’s hair was pretty much a mystery to me, I never knew what the heck was under there.  I guess Aunt Patti just didn’t want to bother with styling her real hair, since I know now that she really does grow her own.

A Hot County Mess

A Hot Country Mess

Back in the 70’s my Aunt Patti’s true love  was country and western music — and swearing.  Aunt Patti would swear in everyday conversation;  it just seemed to work for her.  If she saw a cop, she called him a friggin’ flat-footed bastard.  If the car in front of her didn’t step on the gas immediately at a green light, she’d say  “the f*cking light’s not gonna get any greener, ya friggin’ @sshole” and so on. 

(Italian Lesson: to swear like a trooper = bestemmiare come uno scaricatore di porto)

If we were at a restaurant with Aunt Patti, before she could say “pass the mother f*ckin’ mashed”, she would always ask the waitress to being a spoonful of their sauce before ordering any saucy dish.  She’d turn to us and say, “I need taste their f*cking sauce before I order their friggin’ food; I’m not getting screwed with sh!tty friggin’ sauce here”.  Aunt Patti’s colorful raunchiness with the English language always held a high entertainment value, and provided us with something to laugh about the next day.

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Mom’s Must: Italian Last Name/Ends with a Vowel

Monday, November 23rd, 2009

“Always get married early in the morning. That way, if it doesn’t work out, you haven’t wasted a whole day.”  ~ Mickey Rooney

In the summer of ‘58 Mom turned eighteen, and Nan was wondering when her pretty daughter would marry and start a family.  Nan was concerned that her eldest might end up a old, shriveled-up unhappy spinster (back then, you were deemed a spinster if you weren’t hitched by the ripe old age of twenty — and that was even pushing it.  Ridiculous, huh?)

 In May of 1959, my Aunt Lo introduced her unattached Italian friend, Dominic, to my mom. Mom was a head turner, with her perfect hourglass figure, which was just right for wearing those fashionable Jackie Kennedy-esque dresses and those little vogue hats with her red tresses twirling out from under.  Needless to say, he was smitten.  

Retro Mom

Second generation Dominic stood about 5’10’ had thick wavy black locks, styled into a little pompadour in the front (very stylish at the time).   Dom, “Sonny” as some of his friends and his sister Rosie called him, had a fresh  anisette aroma about him and always a warm twinkle in his dark brown eyes .

Life in his household revolved around cooking and eating, cooking and eating, and cooking and eating.  Mamma Romano cooked day and night – I don’t know if she ever left the kitchen.  She was always there, donning her spaghetti sauce stained, smelly worn-out apron.  If she wasn’t preparing breakfast, lunch or dinner, she was making anisette cookies, picking fresh figs from their tree or squeezing ripe tomatoes into sauce.  Dad’s parents were straight off the boat from the motherland:  Lucia from Sicily, and Joseph from Naples. 

Is it sauce yet?

Dom had a decent job, a stylish car and a bit of that Italian mystique.  Almost thirty with a car and a job, he was quite the eligible bachelor — a total catch.  A young Margaret accepted his request for a date,  and when he arrived at her house looking so chic in his chinos and leather and wool sweater, he blurted out upon meeting my grandparents “I’m going to marry your daughter”.  Wow, a man with confidence!

(Italian Lesson: what’s your name? = come ti chiami?)

Dominic and Margaret were married December of that same year.  My Dad’s mother wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of this half-Italian bride.  She had planned to ship over a Sicilian village girl to marry her youngest little Sonny, not some Americanized redhead.  Much more to tell about this later on.

The best is that Mom tells me she said yes to dad’s proposal of marriage – get this – mainly because he had a good Italian last name, and she just HAD to have an Italian name ending with a vowel.  Good pick, ma — because I really enjoyed my Italian last name all of these years, too!

Young Dad Romano

 

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Posted in Dover, NJ, madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom and me | No Comments »

Ding-a-Lings at the Dover Library

Saturday, November 21st, 2009
 
“I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh
 
"It's just Dad and his ding-a-ling mom!"

"It's just dad and his ding-a-ling, mom!"

On good days (luckily for me, there were plenty of those) Mom and I spent a lot of time shopping “downtown”. Downtown as in Dover, a cool old town known for its variety of diners, pizzerias, record shops and retail stores like J.C. Penney, Woolworth’s, JJ Newberry and Sears (actual stand-alone department stores, as these were the days long before malls took over the shopping scene).   A frequent spot Mom and I would visit was the historical Dover Public Library, a place I always found so intimidating (this old brick building seemed so large to me –  it housed dark wooden staircases, creaky banisters and always had a slightly musty mixture of sour and stale smells.  Plus, those never smiling oh-so-serious women who worked there, who always wanted us kids to be quiet – geesh!) 

Our library had 45 minutes set aside each week for the moms to browse books on the “mystery” floor, and the children would have story and coloring time downstairs in the “kiddie” area.  I remember I couldn’t wait to be grown up, so I could go upstairs and browse all of those alluring adult novels.  So there I was with the other kiddies sketching away — a pretty simple concept, until it came time for me to show my inner Degas I just unleased. 

(Italian Lesson:  Library = biblioteca)

You see, a day or two earlier, I happened to see my Dad in his birthday suit, when I just happened to be strolling by their bedroom while dad was getting dressed for work that morning — oops! I asked my mom what that “thing” was that Dad had kind-of hanging there, and she promptly told me “oh, that’s his ‘ding-a-ling’”.  Aha- that Chuck Berry song! Now I know what Chuck was singing about!

Well, you can imagine what our storytime librarian did when a proud little me handed in my drawing of a naked man with his dangling ding-a-ling.  My mother was immediately found and pulled aside by the staff to see what was going on in our family.  All was explained, and mom told me it may be best to keep my new ding-a-ling findings to myself.

Dover Library c1911

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Posted in Ding-a-ling Drawing, Dover, Dover Library, NJ, madness, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme, mom & me, mom and me | 1 Comment »

Frenzy, Food & Fits: Help! The foster kids are coming!

Saturday, August 29th, 2009

“What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?” ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

One of my many fond memories was when mom used to let me skip school every once-in-awhile, so we could just hang out together for the day.  We’d watch TV, make cookies, go shopping, hang out or grab a bite at Grant’s lunch counter in downtown Dover.  Grant’s had THE BEST hot dogs, the kind with those squared-off buns which they’d grill with a bit of butter on the delicious toasty bun.  To wash it down, Grants had the tastiest icy-cold strawberry thick shakes.  Mmmm…lunch at Grant’s was the icing on the cake when you get to play hooky with ma for the day!

I liked being the only child, loved my own space and I did really enjoy my independence (yeah, I probably enjoyed all of the attention too).  When I was finishing up seventh grade change was coming, as mom and dad made the decision to try out foster care to take care of local children in need.  I guess it was the right thing to do — they loved kids, I was getting older, and we did have a pretty decent size four bedroom Colonial.

I really couldn’t be bothered with the whole foster kid process, I was about to be thirteen – a teenager! I do remember the social worker from the Division of Youth and Family Services (DYFS) meeting with the guidance counselor at my middle school to see if I acted nuts in class, was abused at home, or on the fast track to becoming a wayward Dover youth.  Mom and dad were interviewed and background checked, so apparently they passed the requirements.  Luckily for mom and dad DYFS did not have a “road test” on their roster.  Not that they did anything wrong, of course, they are great and loving parents, but I think we all could have been classified as a bit “off” in a fun crazy kinda way.

We had the Whitman’s Sampler “family pack” of about sixteen various foster kids over the years.  When I say variety, I mean it.  The Romano family welcomed deaf ones, crazy ones, semi-retarded ones, babies, black, white, mocha, girls, boys, you name it — they were part of our looney spaghetti-and-meatball eating Italian family for a time! Some stayed for only a few weeks, others for months to years — and two are still family to this day.  Each comes complete with their own story, and a couple of those stories are pretty heartbreaking, but we’ll get to that much later on.

Maria, Victor & Me

Our debut foster kids were Victor (eight) & Maria (seven) a local Spanish brother and sister duo. They seemed innocent enough. Victor was thin and lanky with such pretty dark brown eyes – almost black.  He has the craziest head of hair too, these chocolate-colored tight curls, which if you pulled a lock out to play, it would stretch out about a foot and snap right back into place with a big BO-ING!  Maria was a shy and quiet little girl, with such a cute little Cheshire cat smile. She had a lighter hue of ultra crazy afro hair, which when picked it out would resemble a extra large basketball.  She used to like it rolled into two Mickey-Mouse ponytails on the either side of her head. I guess that was her mother’s styling, and what mother she was.  Correction: mother f*cker. The reason? Her two kids were with us was because she could not cope and I believe a neighbor called social services. Her “failure to cope” was that of a sadistic bitch, since some of her punishments involved making the kids kneel down on sharp cheese graters, burning their butts with lit cigarettes, holding their hands on a hot stove, and forcing them to sit on a hot radiator – these were punishments for wetting the bed (out of fear I am sure) and God knows what else.

Soon after these two siblings entered our world, so did something we Romano’s were not familiar with (we only understood crazy).  This was called Hyperactivity. Yeah, we had loud and drama down pat, but this stepped it up a notch.

(Italian Lesson: hyperactive = iperattivo)

Victor was diagnosed as a “hyperactive” kid and came toting Ritalin pills which were given to him at certain times during the day to keep him less hyper I suppose.  What a crock! The second or third day Victor threw one of his “fits” as we called them. He would scream – no SCREEEEEEEEEECH at the top of his lungs,  punch his arms and flail his tight little balled-up fists in the air, all while jumping up and down NON-STOP!! It was like he was auditioning to play the Zuni fetish doll (that frenzied, totally mad creature starring in Trilogy of Terror).

WHAT THE?? These fits went on for a few days, weeks, etc., and my mom was told that Victor must stay on his meds, and as foster parents, no hitting or spanking of any child would be tolerated.  Luckily for me, mom and dad were not hitters – but they were yellers. In fact, they made yelling their own art form.  I recall being yelled at by both of them a few times, and at least one (usually my dad) would chase around the dining room table a few times when I was acting fresh.  I think the dining room chases were more to burn off steam, because I don’t recall ever being caught, I think it was more for the show of it, or the thrill of scaring the living sh!t out of me.  I wonder what would have happened if they ever really did catch my wise-crackin’ ass!

Eventually, my mom thought this whole scene with Victor was total bullshit, so she she took him by the arm and carried out a much-deserved royal crack on his little hyperactive ass! Needless to say, those crazy Zulu fits stopped, and so did the Ritalin.

Mom: One

Ritalin:  Zero

Ritalin, not just for breakfast anymore.

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Posted in Foster Kids, Hyperactive fits, Ritalin, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme | 2 Comments »

The Jersey Devil’s in the “The Sticks”

Thursday, August 20th, 2009

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. And like that, poof. He’s gone.”  ~ Verbal, The Usual Suspects

Mom grew up a pretty quiet and relatively happy little red-headed girl in the bustling (very Italian) area of  Nutley, but when she and her two younger hell-raising sisters (more about them later) were approaching their teenage years, my grandfather Lewis (”Poppa”) was smitten and bitten by the “let’s move the family to a rural area” bug, and he settled on the very isolated (yeah, backwoods) Hopatcong, New Jersey.  After visiting the area for a family summer vacation, Poppa was sold on the idea lake living.  He imagined boat rides, swimming, his three daughters amazing him with their new found love of diving, family picnics, fishing, a yard with a pool -  all that Hopatcong had to offer.  Mom was most definitely not sold on any of it.  Sorry Hopatcong residents, but mom called that area “the sticks” and still does to this day. (Just remember this was back in the fifties, so it was a bit stick-ish). 

Lake Hopatcong

Hopatcong (go ahead, you can call it the sticks) is filled with long and winding roads,  hungry deer, possums, raccoons and plenty of mosquitoes (ugh  – I cannot stand those little blood-sucking bastards).  It’s the perfect place a guy like Tony Soprano would send out his wiseguys to dump a tattletale’s body deep in the woods (after dismembering it on the basement butcher table over a few glasses of homemade red)

Mom was not happy, she was a city girl after all, on the verge of hot guys with hot cars, but she really had no choice, so she made the best of it.  She’d get really bored with their new found country lifestyle, so to stay out of trouble, she acquired quite the appetite for reading.  Mom was a voracious reader, at night she would curl up with her novel, a bag of the always greasy Wise potato chips and bottle of Coca Cola at her side (funny, she still does this to this day). 

(Italian Lesson:  evil spirit = diavolo / the devil = il diavolo, il demonio)

Speaking of mom’s book collection, when I was a little I remember looking through her collection of books in our hallway bookshelf as if they were candies displayed at the local dime store. Those titles and spicey book jacket descriptions (many with words I did not yet understand) those colorful covers – even the authors’ photos totally fascinated me.  My imagination would run wild and I’d dream up my own little stories from mom’s books, and what made it more fun was I really didn’t know the difference from fiction and non-fiction at the time.

Besides books, mom’s teenage years in the fifties consisted of a bit of drag racing adventures, plenty of shopping and, of yeah, the Jersey Devil even made a cameo appearance.  What the heck is the Jersey Devil, you might ask? Jersey D, as he is so affectionately known throughout the region, is a supposed mythical creature which has haunted New Jersey for the past 260 years.  The rumor is that the little naughty bugger Jersey D.  has terrorized towns and even caused factories and schools to close down.  Yet, many people believe that the Jersey Devil is a legend, plan ol’ bullshit — a Sasquatch-esque beast simply originated from folklore.

Yes, mom witnessed the Jersey Devil prancing around through the woods one snowy winter day.  And yes, he was red disturbing and sinister. (Funny though, I  always pictured that little red dude with his tiny pitchfork on the cans of Underwood deviled ham I’d see in the supermarket - what a creepy little shit, if you ask me!)

Is this the little devil mom saw in the woods?

Is this the little devil mom saw in the woods?

I have no idea what this actually symbolizes, but it is a fact (if you believe in that little red guy).  Over 260 people have their own personal sighting tales, although discrepancies in these stories exist, the origins provide some validity to the existence of the Jersey Devil.  OK, enough about him, I am starting to get goosebumps.

  Jersey Devil, meet mom

The Jersey Devil made me do it! Quickly,  let’s back to the home of  ”Madness ”:  www.madnessmomandme.com

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P.S.  This just in: breaking news from mom directly!  Mom wants me to be clear about the fact that when she lived in Hopatcong as a teen, she still only had eyes for the “city” boys, and although not a snob, she just wasn’t into country guys.  More about mom’s quite interesting romances, black lips, old dudes and stalkers to come.

Posted in The Jersey Devil, madness mom & me, madnessmomandme | 1 Comment »

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