YOU"RE NOT GETTING MY PASSWORD

" Hi Frank, I have to take you're vital signs and I need some information from your insurance".
I asked "Who are you and where am I" The doctor said "You're in the Northern Westchester hospital. I'm you're surgeon. You've just had a serious operation but you're going to be fine. As you are just coming out of the anesthesia things probably are hazy but you'll be fine after I give you a rubdown and a sponge bath."

Things were spinning around in my head so I just tried to relax and try to figure out what happened to me. Maybe after the rubdown and sponge bath I'll wake up a little and figure out what happened. After a while I was feeling a little better and a nurse told me that I had a kidney removed and I would be in pain for a while, but they will give me some morphine if it gets too bad. In the meantime we are going to need a little more financial information. We will need your insurance card, a copy of your bank card and the password to your account. You will have to sign some papers also, but as you will be with us for a while we can do that later. Now you should rest.

I opened my eyes a little more and started looking around. There were a few nurses and doctors around, but it looked like I was in my bedroom. Very weird. It was as if my bedroom was arranged and furnished like a hospital room and I was home. It made no sense but I attributed it to the emergence from the anesthesia and put these weird thoughts out of my mind. Then I dozed off. I was awakened after a while by a nurse who told me I could have a little food and she would have an aide bring me a tray of food, but while we were waiting she needed my passwords to my bank accounts to enter in the hospital records. I didn't understand. Why would they need that information. No one had that information and I would never give it out. I knew better. I started to get suspicious and angry.

I then realized I actually was at home and it was made up to look like a hospital. I started to yell at the nurse and told her I knew what was going on and this was a ruse to get at my money. I was going to call the police. I was told to calm down or I would have to be restrained by "security". I became more angry and threw the food tray to the floor. Then I heard "We better call security and have him restrained".

A few minutes later two big guys came over and told me I would have to calm down and be nice or I would have to be put in restraints. I started to become angry and yelled at the alleged security guys, " I know what's going on, I've been drugged and you're trying to trick me into giving access to my bank accounts" They attempted to put leather restraints around my chest and then tie my arms to the bed. I fought them but was eventually trussed up and couldn't move. After a while, I started to feel like I was in a dream and then slowly coming out of a horrible nightmare. It wasn't a dream though. Everything was real.

It turns out I WAS in a hospital. I did have a kidney removed in order to save my life because the kidney had a spot of cancer on it which fortunately hadn't spread. The problem was I had a reaction to morphine which, as it turned out, caused me to hallucinate and I really believed that all these things were happening. After the effects of the morphine wore off I was back to normal but very embarrassed by the way I treated the hospital staff and the weird stories I told to friends who came to see me. Boy, did I have a lot of apologizing to do. I really had my own conspiracy theory. I was really whacked out.

So that's what happened to me one time in the hospital. Very funny now but not then. At least I found out I was allergic to morphine. I guess that was the moral of the story.

NO, THAT WAS NOT MY SURGEON IN THE ILLUSTRATION. I CAN DREAM THOUGH.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

We used to vacation in Montreal fairly often. We loved to walk around in this beautiful city exploring the different restaurants as we loved to try something new each night for dinner. Montreal is a French speaking city in the Canadian province of Quebec. They are extremely nationalistic as is evidenced by their laws regarding signs in public places. All signs must be in French with smaller English translations below as, after all, Canada is an English speaking country. Quebec is, however, a French speaking province. These laws are strongly enforced by language police who roam the streets and fine stores who do not comply. This is serious stuff with heavy fines, believe it or not.

Our hotel was on Rue Sherbrooke, which is a major thoroughfare of Montreal with many fine hotels, the Museum of Fine Arts and McGill University among the more important landmarks. We heard of a French Restaurant which was recommended by a friend of ours who lived in a neighboring town where we lived in New York. The restaurant was on a street off Sherbrooke so we decided one evening to make a reservation and have dinner there. We drove to the restaurant and eventually found it. There was a parking lot adjacent to the restaurant but as it was an Avis lot I was afraid to park there and get a ticket or worse, towed away. So we drove around and found the closest street parking and walked to the restaurant. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the restaurant or the street it was on, but we went there often.

It was a delightful restaurant with a great French kitchen. The dinners were always a highlight of our trips. After a while, I somehow found out that the Avis parking lot was the parking lot of the restaurant. It seems that the word AVIS, pronounced "ahvee" is the French word for "notice" and the sign advised people that this lot was only for patrons of the restaurant and adjoining patisserie. Anyone not customers would be towed away. It took awhile, but we finally started to park there for dinner. There was no English translation as the sign didn't have enough room or the owners felt as it was frequented by locals who all spoke French, it wasn't necessary.
The patisserie, which was a part of the restaurant was great also. They had all kinds of delicacies which we would stock up on and snack on in our room.

We also would go to old Montreal, the original town with buildings dating back to the 17th century, many of which were historical and archaeological museums. There were wonderful open air markets and little alleys with stores in old buildings off the alleys. There were artists showing their paintings in the street and along the riverfront and many street performers. Acrobats, mimes, etc. Great stuff. We were getting a little hungry one day in vieux Montreal so we decided to go in to a little patisserie and have a bite. In this section of town no one spoke any English except the Asian and Indian shop owners. Ironic. Well, we had been out all day and I had to use the bathroom, so I asked the waitress where the men's room was and she stared at me trying to understand. I really had to go and was getting desperate. I started using words like bathroom, men's room, ladies room, washroom, toilet. The light dawned when I said "toilet". She said "Ah, toillette" and pointed to the wall behind where I was sitting. There was a tiny latch ring on the wall and when you stuck your finger in it and pulled it was a door to the "toilette".The wallpaper cleverly covered the door so you didn't even know it was there. If I didn't think it was impolite to say toilet, I wouldn't have had to wait so long to use it. Just in time for both of us.

The next day i took the dog for a walk and he peed on the McGill University campus. That was the highlight of the trip. There was probably a sign in French saying "do not walk your dog" or "no peeing on the grass" and I didn't know what it meant. Tough s**t. My dog certainly didn't speak French.

P. S. Read the English translation on the sign and please explain what it says in the comments.

Bon nuit, mes amis. English translation. You figure it out.

MY FATHER WAS BORN 100 YEARS AGO IN DECEMBER

About four months ago, I started thinking about my parents, specifically my father, who separated from my mother when I was six and died when I was eleven. Obviously, I have very few memories of my dad, so I never had any desire to walk on the land he walked on. If I did, all I had to do was go to Grand Street in Manhattan and/or Avenue "W" in Brooklyn. For whatever reason, at this ripe age, I decided that I wanted to know a man who was my biological father even though I felt he never cared for me.

For whatever reason, there was an emptiness in my heart that I wanted to understand. When I was growing up, my mother used to take my kid brother and me to her parents every Saturday and my father's sister, my Aunt Lucy, on Sunday. I knew my aunts and uncles and loved them so I figured it didn't make sense that my father didn't care for my brother and me as he was from the same parents as them.

Before I embarked on this project, my only memories of my dad were bitter, sad and only a few of kindness. Two or three that I can remember. I was very lucky that my mother was so caring and loving to my my brother and me to the extent that she almost took the place of two parents.
We were very poor, but very rich at the same time, if you know what I mean. I now had an overwhelming desire to know something about my father, other than living with him for a while when he died and kissing his forehead in his coffin when he was 38 years old.

I decided to join an ancestry site and do some genealogy to find out. As I looked like my dad and had his genes, I figured he had to be a little caring and I wanted to know why or how he could be so cold as to desert a wife and two young sons. I found out a lot about his short life that I was not aware of, but maybe not all the answers I was looking for. I wish I could have gotten to know him, but it wasn't meant to be. I have to be thankful I had a wonderful mother, a good brother and great friends as I was growing up. I think they gave me the empathy and compassion I have today. I truly believe my dad had the same qualities based on things I discovered from my research and family stories from my mother, aunt Lucy and some of my uncles.

I found out that my father's father ( my paternal grandfather) died when he was only 29 in 1920 of a burst appendix leaving a wife of the same age and six kids. His name was Francesco and I was named after him. His wife, my father's mom (my grandmother) Maria, remarried and had two more boys with her second husband and she died at age 38 (the same age and the same date as my dad). My father survived all this as a young boy and young adult at the height of the great depression. The reason I am now convinced that my dad was a good man is a story his brother John told the family. His brothers were in Catholic homes as orphans. When my father was 19, he borrowed a car from a friend, drove to Long Island to see 2 of his brothers and took them for a ride. He took them to NY City and left them with his older brother William, who was recently married. I am sure it was pre-arranged. The amazing thing was, according to his brother John who told this story, it was the first time John had ever met his brother Jimmy (my dad). John was12 and his brother was 15.

I am sure my father remembered them as children and feeling responsible for them did it out of love and family. I truly believe this was my father and whatever happened to break up our family I believe my dad was basically a good man. There are many other things I have discovered but will leave it at this at this time.

My father was a good man with faults as we all have. He did the best with what he he had in a tough and short time on earth. Now, after all these years, I can heal the bonds and love my dad.

Sorry you had it so tough dad.

(to be continued)

TRICK OR TREAT

Sunday, October 31st, 2010, rolled around and it was Halloween night. The weather was beautiful so I figured I would stock up on a couple of bags of Reese's Pieces and wait for the little devils with Okie, my dog. I decided that I would beat them to the punch and before they could say anything, I would say "Trick or Treat?" to them. So I did.

Well there were cute little boys and girls dressed in various outfits. Some very creative and some not. One little girl of about 7 was a little angel with wings. Maybe a woodland faerie. Cute as all get out with her mother in the background, so I said "Trick or Treat" She got confused and stood there speechless. I told her she was supposed to say that to me and proceeded to compliment her on her outfit, especially her wings. I told her she must be getting tired from all that flying. She held out her bag and I gave her a little extra. Her mother thanked me and said I was a good neighbor.


After a couple of hours of this, things quieted down, so I decided to turn off the outside lights, but then decided to leave them on. No reason to make things easy for the bigger kids that may be running around thinking of causing a little trouble. The area where I live is pretty quiet and the neighbors are all polite as well as their kids so I wasn't concerned but I left the lights on anyway.

It turned out to be a good thing because a few minutes later, the doorbell rang and two kids were outside, one guy and one girl. They were pretty big, so I said"aren't you two a little big for Trick or Treating? How old are you". So the boy said "I'm only 12." So I said "Trick or Treat?" He looked at me and said "treat". So I gave him a couple of "Reese's Pieces".

I asked the girl the how old she was. She looked at me and said "19!!". She definitely was at least that age and really made up. Very cute. So I said not realizing a possible double meaning "Trick or Treat" and she replied instantly, staring me straight in the eyes, "I don't do tricks."

Well, I was taken aback and speechless. For me that is unusual. She said"I'll take some of those chocolates though". "You want candy? " said I. "Well I didn't spend 4 hours getting made up for nothing." So I said to myself"this girl's too smart for me, gave her the rest of the bag and decided to go inside and turn out the lights. In parting she said "Goodnite Mr. Verdi, we're your neighbors from across the street. Thanks".

I'm sure she had a good laugh and a few stories to tell her friends about her Halloween as did I.

WINTER - ANOTHER DOG'S TALE

It was spring, 1993. My wife and I had a beautiful black and white Shetland Sheepdog which we had purchased from Rosmoor kennels in Connecticut 6 years prior, when our first dog, Wendy, died at age 16 +.

Winter's full name was "Winter Remembrance of Rosmoor". He reminded my wife of the colors of winter and Wendy's coloring. Eunice, being a poet, named him. His grandmother had won "Best of Opposite Sex" and the Westminster Dog Show and his father was a multiple prizewinner. Winter was a magnificent animal and he knew it. He was ineligible to show because he was a little too large for his breed but to us he was a prizewinner.

One day that Spring, I noticed he wasn't eating and was generally listless. There was obviously something wrong as he was always active and running around in the backyard. We took him to the vet and the vet checked him and took some X-rays. The X-rays revealed a large mass on his pancreas which the doctor said was probably an inoperable cancer. Rather than cutting him open, he suggested we take him home and force-feed him with a turkey baster to see what happens and bring him back in a week. If he didn't improve we should have him euthanized.

So twice a day, we would mix a liquid formula and squoosh it down his throat.. The day he was scheduled to be put down he was up and looking for food in his dish so I filled it. He ate it all up and started to bark to go out. We were amazed. He looked fine and he was running around. So we took him to the vet and had more X-rays taken. The mass on his pancreas was gone. It was a miracle. The vet gave us medication to give him to treat "pancreatitus" and we all went to Cape Cod in July as we usually did. We didn't take the vet. Winter was running around again and we all had a great time. In all my life, before and since, I never had the experience of bringing a living creature back from the brink of death. It was the most amazing feeling I had ever had.

Winter had that summer and I felt I gave it to him. Unfortunately the illness returned and one day, about a year later,he died peacefully in his sleep. I was glad I was able to give him one more summer of fun in the sand and surf he loved so much. He deserved it. He was a damned good boy.