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March 23, 2006 Grandma Eva - The Passing of an Era
Grandma Eva died yesterday.
She was ninety-six years old, or maybe ninety-seven. No one was sure whether she was born in 1909 or 1910. The only thing that
was certain was that she was born in a tiny village named Torricella Peligna (spelling is correct), about 90 miles east of Rome, Italy.
Eva’s parents were John Porecca and Angelina (Persichetti). Eva’s sisters used to enjoy arguing about what year she was born. Eva
was the youngest of four (that I knew). If there were more siblings, they did not speak of them and that was their way about many
things. The rest of us always enjoyed watching and listening to them argue about that and almost anything else. I love Italians. More
specifically, I love this Italian family. If you don’t understand that part of my feelings, the rest of this will make very little sense.
Eva once told us that her grandfather was named Philhelmina Porecca and he was a pirate who always had a patch over one eye. I
always wished there was more to that story, but that was all she could remember about him. I can confirm that Eva had a significant
dosage of pirate in her, so I don’t doubt the story.
Eva’s family immigrated from Italy when she was a baby and they moved to Redstone, Colorado (near Aspen) where her father
worked on the railroad. Eva and her sisters and brother told wonderful stories of living in North Denver in a area called “the
bottoms.” I am confident that significant embellishments were rampant in their conversations. Stories varied from attempted murders
and one or two successful murders, miscellaneous shootings and love affairs, homeless people living in their attic and completely
unknown to them, bootlegging of bathtub gin during prohibition, alcohol abuse and emotional abuse. The film makers of America
should knock off their ridiculous animated cartoon making and their King Kong remakes and tune into a good story once in a while.
I first met Chuck and Eva when I was seventeen years old. Eva was 61 years old at that time. She has been like a grandma to me for
over 35 years. Once she loved me, there was never a doubt about it, even when I moved her oldest granddaughter a thousand miles
away from her. I was hers as much as Cheri was hers. Grandpa Chuck was the same way, but he was way simpler than Eva. Chuck
died in 1986.
It is difficult for me to write about Grandma Eva right now. My wife’s grandmother was a unique character. She was not what she
appeared to be. Unless you were loved by her, unless you loved her in return, she would not allow an accurate picture to be drawn of
her. She knew how to present a socially acceptable, veneered picture that she felt was good enough for the likes of you or anyone
else that was not close to her. If you were not hers, well, too bad for you. She was opinionated, harsh and difficult with a priceless
sense of humor. We loved her a great deal. Today, I am hopeful that time will soften the edges of our memories and the stories
about Eva will flow. The essence of most of the things we experienced with Grandma should be told. They are largely absolute
comedy gold.
Many of Grandma’s favorite words were profanities. Her profanity was most often targeted at someone she loved. If you did not know
her, you would never know this. She was not phony. She just had a sense of presentation that prevented her from allowing people
she did not know well from seeing her true self. She loved strongly. As demanding as she was, she enjoyed loving and being loved
by her family. She just wanted all that love on her terms.
There is no way for me to make the words sound quite right. Things are just too fresh right now. Emotional wounds will heal
over time for everyone who interacted with her. Eva was very rough to deal with and she made sure that those closest to her had to
deal with her. Her self-centered-ness would forever prevent her from discovering the absolute joy of selfless love. Despite many
serious and pointed discussions with many family members, she never realized what a loss this was for her. If you look up “stubborn”
in the dictionary, this picture with Eva and the donkey in Italy should be exhibited for all.
Eva wielded the word “jackass” like a knife. She reserved the phrase “shit-ass” for only those closest to her, especially any of her
four granddaughters. She spoke these hurtful terms and others along the same lines with absolute authority, as if only she had the
right to use them on anyone. If others were present, she took great delight in catching the eye of one of her
granddaughters and silently mouthing a heinous curse so only they could see. Then she would giggle silently with her
shoulders bobbing up and down in absolute joy at having gotten away with it again. I have seen Grandma Eva manipulate
situations and emotions of others so that maximum chaos would ensue. I have seen her many times with a smug and
satisfied smile at the resulting emotional storm. She loved to stir the pot and then watch what happened. Any pain that was
caused to others was just the price that had to be paid. I will not ever be able to understand all the reasons why she was this way.
She was a very complicated person. We will miss her a great deal.
Before you get the wrong idea, I will tell you one of my favorite stories about Grandma. When Cheri and I were young-marrieds in our
twenties and living in Denver, we went to Grandma Eva and Grandpa Chuck’s every Sunday for dinner with Cheri’s family. I am
talking every single Sunday. If anyone missed for any reason they were a “shit-ass.” Eva would make pasta and it was so good that
you just didn’t care what emotional baggage had to be carried throughout dinner. The cooking process and interaction was the most
important part for Eva. She craved it and she demanded it. As we sat around the table eating, conversation was always as thick as
the sauce.
One Sunday, with about ten family members in attendance, the conversation turned to birth control. I am not kidding. I have no idea
why, but rest assured it was rooted in the fact that Cheri and I had been married for several years and still had not had children. A
discussion about birth control was a way they could test waters to see if Eric and Cheri having children was open for negotiation this
week. Grandma was eating and not participating much in the discussion. Actually, none of us thought she was paying any attention
at all. The conversation was loud and funny and unbridled laughter dominated the room. As the conversation lulled with the increase
in chewing and delight over the food she had made, Grandma didn’t even look up from her plate. But she pointed around the table
with her fork as a preamble to saying something, then looked at us over the top of her glasses. Then she said, “Let me tell youse all
somethin’. If they’d-a had birth control in my day, none of youse would be here.”
She brought the house down and nobody laughed more than Eva, once she got the tremendous whooping reaction from all of us.
If any outsider had been there they would not have even suspected that Eva was not kidding. I have replayed that evening many
times and told the story over and over again. Cheri and I have talked about it and laughed for nearly thirty years at that story.
We are both certain of this…as funny as that was, she was not kidding.
Moments like those are greatly missed and always will be.
She was one of a kind.
Please say a little prayer for Grandma Eva.
Marie, Eva and Cheri
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March 15, 2006 More Moving Fun
I come to you today from the land of anotherworld to which we have moved.
Bunny has announced she is ready for the TV to work at the new house.
Right this minute, there is a cable TV guy running from the attic to the family room. He keeps
having to re-route because the heating/AC guy is operating in the same quadrant of our new,
smaller house. Fishing wire through the walls is not my idea of fun. The cable guy is cursing in a
foreign language. My guess is that it is Thai, but we will not be getting confirmation or denial…at
least not in our mother tongue.
Bunny is in the office of the new house. She occasionally barks new orders in my direction and
they are always in English. Fortunately, I remain deaf in one ear as I have been since age ten.
Oh, she knows this and she takes great delight in reducing volume on the really dirty parts of
whatever she has to say so I can’t quite get it all. All new orders from her are taken under
advisement for further consideration. No, she does not know this. I’m not entirely nuts…yet.
As the humidity rises throughout the day, the newly installed carpet, which smells like three-day-worn underpants except not quite
that good, has some errant thread within it that expands with the moisture in the air. We do not know why. As a result, the carpet
forms ridges across every room each day as the day progresses. New carpet. Never had furniture on it. It is possessed by the
devil. Looks like we buried razorbacks under it as it was laid, or lain or installed. There is something seriously wrong here. The
carpet has been power-stretched twice by professionals. Here is a post-stretching pic for your viewing pleasure, or at least so you
can be glad that you are not me.
It looks like we were stampeded by skidding cattle turning sharply. Every single
room looks about like this by noon each day. A consultant was called in by the
carpet manufacturer. The main reason this occurred is that me and Bunny declined
to pay the invoice for the evil carpet until something different happened.
A carpet secret agent whose job is to get to the bottom line reason that the carpet is
behaving this way came by for an inspection. Why does carpet behave at all? It
should just lay there and be flat, but it won’t. The carpet agent is somebody the
manufacturer hires to investigate. They do not work for the manufacturer, so
supposedly the consumer gets a neutral third party’s view on just exactly how
possessed the carpet may be.
The carpet secret agent just called and advises that the sample of the carpet that she took is back from the “lab” and the carpet
is defective. Ya think?
Bunny just yelled that her back hurts and she wants lunch. We may just celebrate our defective carpet with a Whataburger. That
is one lucky gal to have me.
The cable guy just drilled into an air duct.
It is not good. The air duct wasn’t operating anyway because the guys who put down new decking in the attic over the garage
laid some ¾” plywood on top of the power source wire to the AC. You guessed it. The AC won’t work.
During the diagnosis step of the process, the AC guy shorted out the transformer to the unit. He was honest enough to admit
that he shorted it out while testing and he will be replacing the transformer at his cost. However, the wiring from the unit to the
power source must be re-wired. First, the attic decking that was recently installed must be removed to find the old wire.
You think I’m making this up, don’t you?
The carpet manufacturer just called. They will be replacing all the newly installed but defective carpet on the ground floor of the
house, but not until next week. Uh, the movers were supposed to bring the furniture from the old house on Monday. Moving
twice in one week sounds fun. So does a Whataburger.
Bunny just yelled that she has now determined that my pool table is way too big and way too ugly and should not be brought into
the new house…at all…ever. At least, I think she said “pool table.”
I called the guys that installed the decking and they are on their way but they want to see if the power wire can be fixed before
committing to a complete re-wire.
The AC still does not work. I keep walking over and flipping the switch on the thermostat. That is the only thing I know how to do.
We got nothing.
The cable company will not activate the boxes until I sign the paper that the installer brought. It is a full page of writing in about 5
point elite type and is entirely written in Spanish. I am not kidding. The Asian installer says he just grabbed the wrong form and
he just shrugs as he hands me a pen. I won’t sign it and the installer cannot leave until I do sign it or he has to take the boxes
with him. He did not even grin when I asked what he would like for dinner.
The cable company says I had agreed to lease their equipment. That is not true. I agreed to buy the equipment. They say I can’t
buy the equipment and must pay them a lot of money each month just to have the right to use their equipment. I told them where
they should place their leased boxes to get the best reception. There has been passionate language in maybe Thai. It is not
going well.
The deck guys claim it could not possibly have been their nails that pierced the AC wire because they used nail guns and the
suspect nails were hammered. If I had a hammer I would put on a little demonstration for them…
The AC guy is leaving. He wants $525 to rewire the thermostat. The thermostat itself was probably $29 at Home Depot. The
distance from the thermostat to the AC unit it powers is approximately 12 feet. No holes must be drilled. I have estimated his
estimate to be a tad high. In fact, I told him something about how much I would rather Scotch tape the thermostat to the wall
first. He is not only confused at my harsh reaction to his estimate, he is done.
The cable company has relented and agreed that I can lease the equipment to own it, significantly reducing its cost to me. But I
still must sign the paper written in Spanish or the installer will be living with me until I do. Ever seen a Thai guy with a permanent
scowl? If the cable goes out, I got the roommate who can fix it.
The decking guy has called his buddy who used to be an electrician. He will re-wire the thermostat tomorrow and the decking
guys will pay for it. If he doesn’t and/or if they don’t, I told him he will be rooming with the cable guy.
It's hard out here for a pimp.
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March 10, 2006 The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is Proud to Present
the Best Song from a Motion Picture 2006
Before we begin the total baloney, I am pleased to report that last night's book release party and signing was an enormous
success primarily thanks to my wife, who you may know as Bunny for the general purposes herein, but when I am thanking
her...she is Cheri.
It was really thrilling to have so many friends and supporters come by. Your feelings were clear and I am proud to reflect on my
impressions that you came not only for the book, but for the celebration.
It was a wonderful celebration. Thank you.
As a capper, when we woke up this morning the azaleas in the front yard had bloomed overnight. It is a sure sign of spring and
they are as beautiful as ever. For my many friends in a colder climate...your turn will come soon. In the meantime, here is a
picture of them taken this a.m. for you to enjoy.
As for the Academy Awards last Sunday, well, some things just speak for themselves. You will have to forgive the language. It is
not mine. Here is the Oscar winner for best song of the year:
You know it's hard out here for a pimp (you ain't knowin)
When he tryin to get this money for the rent (you ain't knowin)
For the Cadillacs and gas money spent (you ain't knowin)
[1] Because a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
[2] Will have a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
In my eyes I done seen some crazy thangs in the streets
Gotta couple hoes workin on the changes for me
But I gotta keep my game tight like Kobe on game night
Like takin from a ho don't know no better, I know that ain't right
Done seen people killed, done seen people deal
Done seen people live in poverty with no meals
It's fucked up where I live, but that's just how it is
It might be new to you, but it's been like this for years
It's blood sweat and tears when it come down to this shit
I'm tryin to get rich 'fore I leave up out this bitch
I'm tryin to have thangs but it's hard fo' a pimp
But I'm prayin and I'm hopin to God I don't slip, yeah
[Chorus]
You know it's hard out here for a pimp (you ain't knowin)
When he tryin to get this money for the rent (you ain't knowin)
For the Cadillacs and gas money spent (you ain't knowin)
[1] Because a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
[2] Will have a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
Man it seems like I'm duckin dodgin bullets everyday
Niggaz hatin on me cause I got, hoes on the tray
But I gotta stay paid, gotta stay above water
Couldn't keep up with my hoes, that's when shit got harder
North Memphis where I'm from, I'm 7th Street bound
Where niggaz all the time end up lost and never found
Man these girls think we prove thangs, leave a big head
They come hopin every night, they don't end up bein dead
Wait I got a snow bunny, and a black girl too
You pay the right price and they'll both do you
That's the way the game goes, gotta keep it strictly pimpin
Gotta have my hustle tight, makin change off these women, yeah
[Chorus]
You know it's hard out here for a pimp (you ain't knowin)
When he tryin to get this money for the rent (you ain't knowin)
For the Cadillacs and gas money spent (you ain't knowin)
[1] Because a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
[2] Will have a whole lot of bitches talkin shit (you ain't knowin)
"For anyone keeping record, Martin Scorsese, zero Oscars. For Three 6 Mafia, one."
Jon Stewart
I'm going to go ahead and boldly suggest a little mission statement work for the Academy; and maybe a little reflection time.
What exactly in the h-e-double hockey sticks is it that are you doing?
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March 6, 2006 Sponsored by "Master Bait and Tackle",
Right Next Door to "Beaver Liquors"
There is a woman I know in Toronto, Canada who is a professional photographer. Truthfully, I don’t know her at all. We have swapped a few emails
and I admire her photographs online that she posts. She is enormously talented and her pictures sometimes take my breath for a second because
they are so artistic, so thoughtful and so quality. She has great ability, but the best part of her photos is that they come from her heart which is clearly
significant. When you look at her work, I believe you get to see a little bit of her. It is a meaningful view.
I have never met Anne or even spoken to her, but I know what I say about her is true.
I don't know how I know. I just do.
She has probably taken tens of thousands of photographs during her life, maybe more than that. She is a professional photographer.
She loves people. It shows so clearly in her portraits. She loves horses. She has a son. She has a dog. Sometimes her foot hurts preventing her
from wearing any of her bazillion pairs of shoes. I’ve seen a picture. Her dad has alzheimers disease and that is hard on everyone in her family. She
seems close with her mother. She has good friends who make her laugh. All my conclusions and thoughts about Anne are based on looking at her
photographs and reading what little she comments about them. Photography is a large part of her life. Now you know about all I believe I know about
Anne.
Recently she hustled down the road after a pickup truck to see if she saw what she thought she saw and it turned out that she did. The truck had a
funny sign on it and she snapped a photo. I am certain she was chuckling at it while taking the pic. That is the photo she took up there at the top.
She posted the photo on her page on flickr.com for any of us to see. I laughed. I like to see photos that make me laugh. I like to laugh. Later, I
noticed that the photo had been viewed (flickr shows the number of views) a very large number of times. Then I saw the photo on flickr’s
“interestingness” page as one of the 500 most interesting photos from that day. I laughed again. Here is a photographer who has taken some of the
finest photos anyone could see anywhere. But somebody with a mouse and a keyboard who was ingesting massive quantities of caffeine and trying
to recover from the weekend Star Wars convention deemed this one the most interesting of the day? I bet Anne laughed too. May the force be with
you.
Side note: A few years ago, Bunny, I and our son made a sojourn to Heeney, Colorado for the sole purpose of buying a baseball cap from the only
store in Heeney – “Master Bait and Tackle”. On the way there, we heard an ad on the radio for a store in Vail named “Beaver Liquors” and we all
giggled like Beavis and Butthead. Our son was the envy of the junior high when he returned with his cap. We were so proud.
Now back to our story: Since some arbitrary committee of interestingness decreed that photo of Anne’s, I have had thoughts of declaring my own
interesting ones. I asked Anne if I could post one of her photos a few weeks ago and she said I could use any of them anytime. I’m not going to do
that. But I am going to show you a few of them because they are interesting and because I predict you will like them. Since this is my page, here are
a couple of her interesting photos according to me:
She is an accomplished artist. Here is her flickr page where you can see more: http://www.flickr.com/photos/81098784@N00/
So, I looked over my own photos on flickr. Out of 165 some photos, here is the most viewed photo I have posted:
Oh, great.
Everybody wants to see my photo of three young women on Front Street in Lahaina, Maui in their underpants...or, rather their little sister's underpants.
This is how they decided to costume themselves for Halloween and I made fun of them. Now, as we all know, I am not a professional photographer
and way, way far from it. Nevertheless, I am going to go ahead and arrogantly claim that this is not the finest photograph I have posted, nor is it even
close to the most interesting. But it is the most viewed. By the way, my photos do not appear on any “interesting” page and yes, that is a clear
indictment of the insignificant drivel on this silly www page. I showed Bunny the number of views thing. It was my annual pleading to turn one room of
the house into a lingerie photo studio. I even offered to give up the pool table. It's still a no-go. I'll give it another shot next spring.
So, my conclusion is that there are a lot of people out there who just want to look at photos of young women in their underpants.
Duh.
When I was a lot younger, I liked seeing attractive women in their underpants a lot more than I do now. Now, I just think of their poor dad, wherever he
is.
I am addicted to flickr. There are worse addictions. Remember that book about fifteen years ago called “A Day In the Life of America”? The publisher
sent photographers out all over the country to take photos on the same day and then published a book full of the best of them. Not only did I buy
several, I sought out the publishers for autographs and gave the books away as gifts. I was totally mesmerized by the concept and the result. Well,
flickr is better than that and it goes on every single day and night. Flickr is as fine a use of the www as I can imagine.
Go look at my favorites of photos that others have taken. Even if you already did…do it again. There are many more now and they just get better and
better. Click on this to do it: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lucky_e/favorites/
Some will literally take your breath away.
Thanks, Anne.
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March 2, 2006 Books For Sale
Here is an action photo of me having set up shop and open for business.
The 'Lake Highlands People' newspaper, a local paper here in the suburbs of Dallas,
printed a terrific article about me and about the book on March 2. Thanks to Taylor
Clary for writing it and to Jeremy Chesnutt for taking my photograph with very little light
to falsely preserve my age. Not only do I look mysterious, but it is difficult to tell that I
am an old fat guy from that photo.
Click on this thumbnail photo and you can read the article:
There is no doubt that there will be wrinkles (so to speak) in this selling on the www stuff, but I will give it my best to get you a book if you want one.
If you want to buy a whole bunch of them, don’t order from me online. Call me. I will get you fixed up and include a smile in the deal. If you live in
Texas, they gotta get their share. Sales tax is 8.25%, so just know it.
Here we go, baby.
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