When I found this wonderful video this morning, MAMMA MIA my eyes watered! So many little bits of nostalgia I can relate to, and I hope you can too — or simply sit back just enjoy (and be Italian for the day).

ITALIAN LESSON: have fun, enjoy yourself: divertiti

A few I considered the pepperonis on my pizza were:

• The “sangwich”! Dad always enjoyed a nice prosciutto, salami and provolone cheese sangwich (and pile on the peppers)!
• Being almost as tall as your grandmother by age seven. CHECK!
• Thinking nylons were supposed to be worn down by the ankle. MY NAN ROCKED THAT LOOK
• Catholicism – the only religion there was, right? UNLESS YOU WANT A ONE-WAY TICKET TO HELL
• You have relatives who are not really your relatives. YEAH, I’D SAY I HAVE 984 COUSINS TO BE EXACT
• Talking loud is normal. REFER TO MY ORIGINAL LOUD FAMILY POST.

I’d love for you to share any of your memories PLZ COMMENT HERE whether you are an ITALIANO or not. GRAZIE!!!

“Christmas makes me happy no matter what time of year it comes around.” ~ Bryan White

Before I get to Mom’s annual yuletide meltdown (which is pretty funny, and no one was harmed in any way — except an inanimate holiday decoration — year after year I might add) I wanted to jot down a few of my Christmas traditions I still cherish, and I’d love to hear a few of yours.

SANTA CLAUS! Waiting with hot cocoa in hand outside in the chill of winter for Santa to arrive on the roof of Epstein’s department store in Morristown, NJ. After Santa made his descent to the crowded pavement to greet his adoring fans (courtesy of the fire department’s bucket ladder) I was able to meet the one and only Saint Nick and whisper my top gift picks in his ear.

Holiday Specials: I couldn’t wait for CBS to announce when the cheerful array of Christmas classics like Merry Christmas Charlie Brown, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and all the rest, would air. We’d make a family night of it, enjoying trays full of Ritz crackers with dabs of peanut butter & jelly, washing them down with bubbly Asti Spumante.

Peek-a-boo! Mom and Dad would have my gifts wrapped and stored away in our attic, but being the naughty little rat in search of my cheese that I was, it was my own tradition to grab a glimpse of a couple of my Christmas gifts. I became quite skilled at tearing just a tiny bit of wrap to peek at what was waiting for me under that paper, then I’d quickly tape it back up. Yeah, I did feel a bit guilty, but I just couldn’t help myself!

Opening one gift on Christmas Eve: Even though I may have been a naughty little bugger and peeked at a few gifts already, I was always pleasantly surprised to open my goodies from ma & pa Santa! Just one on Christmas eve — all the rest would be waiting for me under the tree for the official opening Christmas morning.

Chocolate Cherry Cordials: My favorite gooey and delicious holiday treat. I hope Santa brings me a box this year!

Christmas Lights! Dad used to drive us all around the neighborhood to ooh and ahhh at the pretty Christmas lights and displays – this was such a treat, and it’s still one of my favorite things to do!

ITALIAN LESSON: What is your favorite = Il tuo favorito?

Please share one, two or more of your favorite holiday traditions in the comments section, RIGHT HERE!

“Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room.” ~ Winston Churchill

In my post “The Exorcist at the Drive In” I shared my warm memories of the drive-in movie theater, and how I fondly remember those retro intermission ads touting sparkling cold beverages, piping hot coffee, Slim Jims, chocolate bars, candy and cigarettes.

I also mentioned how my little peepers stayed glued to the big screen during the entire showing of The Exorcist, complete with the Ouija board (“Captain Howdy”), pea green priest vomit, and Regan’s infamous crackling head spin. That movie stayed with me so much so that it’s still ranks as my favorite horror flick ever, which I religiously (pun intended) watch at least once a year.

That night, during the showing of the pre-movie movie, mom & dad kept telling me they had a cute little monkey to show me, but I had to be patient. I was so excited and couldn’t wait to see this monkey! Where the heck did mom and dad get a monkey from?” I wondered, so I did my best Ramona the Pest impersonation to get them to show me asap!

Finally, mom said “are you ready to see the monkey?” I told her “YES YES YES!” So … I closed my eyes, and then mom spoke her magic words: “open your eyes!”

DAMN — I was totally gypped!

The “MONKEY” was me! Mom put down the passenger’s side sun visor, so when I opened my eyes I saw my own face in the mirror! Turns out, they thought I was their cute little monkey. I do recall being a bit ticked, but the freakish movie allowed me to snap out of it fairly quickly.

(ITALIAN LESSON: That does not please me = Questo non me calza )

No monkeying around, please leave a comment about your drive-in/movie memories below, and you can head to the madness home page ~ HERE ~

MADONNA MIA! I could just go on and on, so let me gather up some snippets to share and I’ll be back with more decades of true-life lunacy.

If you have a weak bladder, pop on your trusty Depends and hang on for the ride!

Crazy or not, head back to the HOME PAGE here: www.MadnessMomandme.com

“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?

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

Cinnabon Trump

When my now Latin King brother (much more about him to come) was about 18, Dad, myself and my bro would visit and “donate” our small share of cash to the sparkly new casinos which were beginning to sprout up along Atlantic City’s boardwalk. 

Atlantic City used to be a wholesome family destination where kids could meet and greet Mr. Peanut, munch on popcorn, see creamy delicious chocolate fudge being made (and get a free sample), play games for prizes — like winning a “concussion” goldfish by throwing a ping-pong ball in their little glass home (so it could die of a brain hemorrhage just after you named it)– and even watch full-grown horses jump off a sky-high ladder into a small pool of blue water way down below.  As a kid, I was totally mesmerized by this feat– not today though.  Today, I’d be the one breaking in with a flashlight and a crowbar in the dead of night to free those poor animals.  Horses that probably had to be shot the next day due to a broken leg after this sh!tty trick.  I won’t get started on the sh!ttiness of it all, instead I’ll let my mind settle in, and be happy with my memories of the Steel Pier, the performing horses, and the delicious Italian meals of various pastas, veal and chicken parmesan dinners with my parents at Patrina’s – an authentic dining spot for guineas, old and young.  And, as my Aunt Patti would say  ”they cooked up some good f*ckin’ sauce!” (this previous post explains a bit more about Aunt Patti http://madnessmomandme.com/2009/12/aunt-pattis-hair-nest-the-twitty-birds).

(Italian Lesson: gambling house = casinò,  casa da gioco)

Back to the beginning of my story:  One of my favorite memories was when my dad, my bro and I were at one of Trump’s casinos and we saw ”The Donald” himself walking right in front of us and, without missing a beat, my brother ran straight up to him and yelled out “YO, TRUMP! YOU OWE MY DAD MONEY!” Donald turned around and asked “Oh yeah? And why is that may I ask?”  My brother said “because my dad lost money up in here, Trump” .  A pretty friendly Donald with his multi-colored cinnabon swirl of a hair-do just smiled and kept on walking with his cronies.  I was cracking up, dad was shaking his head, most likely hoping secretly that Trump may just decide to pull out a Benjamin or two and  say, “here you go, man“.  Well, no such luck, but it makes for a cute little story.

One of my first celebrity crushes...Mr. Peanut

Yo, you! Go back to the home page here:  www.madnessmomandme.com.

Yo, don’t miss a post, and be sure to sign up for the MADNESS FEED here:  http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/  and no horses will get hurt!

“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.  

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. 

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!

Yes, you can go home again:  www.madnessmomandme.com.

Join the kookiness  – sign up for the MADNESS FEED! http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/ 

"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.

OK, Ding-a-ling talk is now over, hope you enjoyed. Now please go back to the home of Madness:  www.madnessmomandme.com.

Keep the insanity coming and sign up for the MADNESS FEED here: http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/ 

“If you have one true friend, you have more than your share.” ~ Thomas Fuller

Patti Ann had long, shiny strawberry-blond hair.  It was such a rare shade, which was bestowed upon only a select few, and its hue had powers to mesmerize you.  Being Italian,  many heads of hair in our family were sporting the typical Italian color palette of locks.  Shades of medium chestnut to a deep espresso brown-black  (except for my mom, of course, who enjoyed showing off  her gorgeous thick mane of true red).

Patti Ann’s her younger John had a vibrant head of reddish hair, but this pair represented only two of the four Sullivan children (the other two boys had dark brown hair).  Looking back, I often wonder if the postman, or perhaps a handsome neighbor had red hair.  The Sullivan house was adjacent to our back yard, so we could just cut across the tiny little maze of bushes and, VIOLA! we’d be in their backyard.  Life always seemed a bit more fun at PattiAnn’s yard, because they had a three foot above ground pool, a sandbox, a stand-alone playhouse in the backyard and these funny-looking pet rabbits – the kind with snow white fur and those “conjunctivitis-looking” neon pink eyes.   Patti Ann was allergic to most animals, so I guess an outdoor rabbit in a wooden hutch was about it as far as furry creatures were concerned.  I remember seeing her after one of her routine visits to the allergist, and she’d come home with all these red dots drawn all over her body – it was  such a foreign concept to me, mysterious and utterly fascinating (what did this madman doctor do to her, stick her with needles everywhere?)

(Italian Lesson: my best friend = mia migliore amica)

Patti Ann was just a mere year older than me, and we had many of the same interests, so we used to hang out a lot together playing records and board games like Operation, Candy Land and our personal favorite, Mystery Date (The Dating Game version for girls).  The best version was our own Dating Game which was played on Patti Ann’s kitchen chalkboard. We would sit on the floor next to her basement steps, taking turns drawing three “bachelors” each with very different looks.  Usually one was a clean cut cute guy, one was a total long-haired hippe flower-child and one a total geeky nerd. These bachelors would answer questions from the girl making the selection and whomever was playing the part of the guys, would make different voices for each character and answer typical Dating Game questions, like “what is your idea of a great first date?” “what do you look for in a girl?” and “what hobbies do you have?” – it was pretty funny.  Ahhhh, so innocent we were.

A but more on the quirky side were my ideas of pretend games and made-up scenerios.  My two favs were Orphanage and Sunday Mass.  Orphanage goes like this:  we’d hang out in my huge playroom on Lehigh Street and just play with toys, games, cars, etc. pretending we were orphans.  When mom brought us lunch, we’d pretend it was our porridge or rations and sometimes, when a few of us were in the playroom, one of us would play the parent coming in to look and select their orphan.  Where the heck did I come up with that?

Sunday Mass was fun as well.  I received a pretty white leather book for my communion which had the entire Catholic Mass written in it, so my cousin Tracy and I would “play” Mass  once in awhile.  I was the priest of course, and Tracy was my congregation.  I would even make my own communion wafers, by making quarter-size disks from the middle of a slice of Wonder Bread (plain store brand white bread if money was tight).  I would seriously dispense communion and read the priest’s part from my little book and my congregation (of one) would reply when asked.  

Follow me! Single File!

The four of us, me, PattiAnn, Tracy and John would usually be playing together and we’d look forward to our Sunday strolls to a little soda and burger shop named Lobb’s, which was a walk up the “big” Baker Street hill to the next town called Wharton.  This great little family soda shop had it all!  Bottle Cap candy, Kung Fu and Wacky Pack cards, Bazooka Joe gum, lemon-flavored sugar in a straw, all the Cheez-Its we could spend our nickels on, and wash it all down with a cherry coke! Getting there was another matter of business.  Patti Ann (who I will now start referring to as Pat) still tells me to this day that I reminded her of the Lucy character from the Charlie Brown’s Peanuts gang, because I was a bit bossy and made the crew follow me up Baker Hill, single file.   Perhaps I was a Lucy Van Pelt-ish drill sergeant, but I kept our walks neat and orderly.  We always managed to have fun on our little adventures to Wharton.

Once, on one of our walks we found a middle-aged scruffy looking bearded man sitting in the driver’s side of his old puke-green Chevy Malibu with his ding-a-ling hanging there, just perched in his lap as if it stuck its head out for a little air!  We told our parents who probably called the police about it.  On future walks I’d be on the lookout for the perv’s pukemobile, but I never spotted the dirty ol’ dude  ”hanging” out on any future Sunday walk.

Not a care in the world!

Yes, her hair still looks fabulous, now get back to the home of Madness:  www.madnessmomandme.com.

STAY SINGLE FILE and sign up for the MADNESS FEED here: http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/ 

“We spend the first twelve months of our children’s lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next twelve telling them to sit down and shut up.” ~ Phyllis Diller 

One of the things I most looked forward to (and some days despised at the same time) were our weekend family day trips.  Looking back,  it seemed that we all - mom, dad, me and my cousin Tracy – were always jumping in the car to hit the best the New Jersey and Pennsylvania areas had to offer:  Turtleback Zoo, Space Farms, Roadside America (a vast indoor miniature village), Bertran’s Island Amusement Park (home of the most rickety old wooden roller coaster in the USA),  The Land of Make Believe, Gingerbread Castle, The Snake & Reptile Farm, Jockey Hollow, Jenny Jump Mountain, Jockey Hollow (a “George” Washington slept here type of park) or some other family type destination.  Places where the many happy normal families ventured to on the weekends, but being Romano’s, we just didn’t “do” normal.

You may be thinking, why would a little girl despise all of these fun family places?  Mom’s in the passenger seat. Driving to and from these events would be a total crap shoot. Would we go in? Would we turn around with me and my cousin Tracy in tears? Would mom throw something out the window? OK, let me explain, here’s a typical scenario:  We leave the house with such anticipation of a family fun day ahead. Tracy and I are goofing around all happy and giggly in the back seat (unbuckled of course, as nobody buckled up in those days – we are all ready to be launched out of the car like a cold war nuclear bomb).  Tracy and I would often play what we called “Cousin It”, which meant I’d flip my long hair over my face,  put sunglasses on over my now hairy cousin it face, and wave my arms like a child maniac to the cars behind us.  Our goal was to get the driver or passengers to wave back, offer up a peace sign or simply a smile.  Tracy and I made it fun to ride in the car back then, but that was usually only on the way there. 

(Italian Lesson: Crazy = Pazzo (a) / it was a crazy idea = era un’ idea folle 

When we arrived at our destination brimming with excitement there was still one caveat, and our day’s fate was up to  the tar – otherwise known as the parking lot.  Yup, the freaking parking lot was our “fortune teller”.  If the lot was too crowded, mom would say “Dom, let’s get out of here, this place is too crowded!”.  If the parking lot was empty, mom would say “Dom, nobody is here, let’s turn around and go home!”.  If Dad put up an argument or disagreed – DRAMA TIME!  Mom would take control of the situation her way, which meant throwing something…ANYTHING out of the car window.  I’m not talking about a paper cup or trash, but I’m talking her wallet, her shoe or shoes (as if one wasn’t enough), shit –  sometimes her whole handbag would go flying out the window if mom was feeling extra dramatic that day!  This antic of hers “forced” my poor dad to turn the car around, get out and get her fucking shoe, wallet, purse, whatever it was, and proceed to head home defeated and speechless.  After screaming “Nooooooooooo Dad!” and “Come on, Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!” begging mom to stay, the car would soon be heading back to Dover, and Tracy and I would then begin making the nastiest faces at mom and shooting her a violent finger (with both hands!)  behind her back (from the back seat, she couldn’t see us of course).  Sometimes, we’d first break down in tears at the thought of our totally ruined day - that just sucked. One thing you could count on was that mom would get the finger whenever she turned her back to us for the remainder of THAT day!

Luckily, even with all of the turning around of the car, crying, kicking and screaming, our nutty little family still managed to see so many places over the years.  And yes, we usually had a really good time  – I have plenty of photos to prove it…REALLY!

Mom gets the Jersey Bird!

Don’t make me throw my friggin’ purse out the window! Get back to the home of Madness:  www.madnessmomandme.com.

Don’t miss out on the insanity! Sign up for the MADNESS FEED here: http://madnessmomandme.com/feed/