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March Comes in Like a Meatball and Out Like a Clam

March Comes in Like a Meatball and Out Like a Clam

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It was Cancun in January but that didn’t matter, it was still blazing hot. Kim and I were staying at one of those “all inclusive” joints.

We met another couple from New Jersey.  The woman claimed to be a mafia princess, the daughter of someone connected. I don’t remember their last name but their first names I couldn’t forget because they were straight out of Bon Jovi’s Livin’ On A Prayer, Gina and Tommy.  And Tommy even worked on the docks.

One particular “all inclusive” evening I got into a debate with Gina, that at one point was as heated as the mid-afternoon Cancun sand.

I couldn’t convince her that mine were better.  But why did I want to?  Why take that chance?

Be careful, I thought, it’s not worth it.

So what if she uses cubes of Italian bread and I use Italian bread crumbs.

Who cares!

There was no need to settle this score.

They were just meatballs.

I know this week the world recognized International Women’s Day, but I must admit I hadn’t kept current on the events of the day or this movement.  Even my radical, activist, middle daughter Hayley hadn’t filled me in on the agenda.  With all due respect for the efforts of women around the world and in my family, ever since the weekend I had been focused on only one national event.   Last Saturday I went to the grocery store and while scanning the weekly circular I saw this reminder:

March 9th is National Meatball Day!

Meatballs.

Next to French Bread, meatballs may be my second favorite food.

And you put the meatballs on the French Bread and…

Marone…

It doesn’t get any better than that!

But what does one do on National Meatball Day?  What is the agenda?

I suppose we could share meatball stories…

Okay I did that already with the best one I could come up with.

And what else?

Make meatballs right? So I did.

 

Intrigued by the thought of a National Meatball Day, I did some research and found out March 9th is also National Crab Meat Day, and National Get Over It Day.

And, already this month we missed:

National Dadgum That’s Good Day on March 1.

National Banana Cream Pie Day on March 2.

March 3 was National Tartar Sauce Day.

And National Cheese Doodle Day was on March 5.

And, according to my research:

March 15th celebrates Everything You Think Is Wrong Day, a day where decision making should be avoided, as your thoughts are wrong.

March 16th is just the opposite as it is National Everything You Do is Right Day.  You get to feel good about everything that you do (I probably associate more with the day before).

March 18 is National Awkward Moments Day (I am familiar with this one too).

March 21 is National French Bread Day  (I might have to make meatballs again!)

March 30 National I am in Control Day.

And last but not least, March 31 is National Clams on the Half Shell Day!

 

International Women’s Day posed the question what would life be like without a women?

A Day without a woman?

I can’t imagine my life without my four women in it… life without my wife.  So I will let Bon Jovi and Gina and Tommy take it home…

we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
‘Cause it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot for love
We’ll give it a shot  ( from Livin’ On A Prayer, written by Jon Bon Jovi / Desmond Child / Richard S. Sambora)

 

Okay, now it’s getting late.

And I’m tired…and this meatball has got to go to bed.

And besides, tomorrow I have to get up early, its National Pack Your Lunch Day.

 

Meatballs!

 

 

The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

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french bread one

By definition, a French Bread is a yeast-raised bread distinguished by its thick, well-browned crust, made in long, slender, tapered loaves.

I am a huge French bread fan.

HUGE!

But let’s get to the story.

It was early April.  I don’t remember which day exactly; it’s all a blur now.

Kim and I were visiting my daughter and son in law in South Florida and spending some time with our newest grandson.  One afternoon, I was preparing dinner and needed to go to the grocery store.   It was a Publix, a grocery store chain prevalent in South Florida.  I picked up what I needed for the dinner I was planning, and then I found a French bread.  Not a perfect one I thought, but not bad either.

I placed my French bread in the seat of the shopping cart like I would have done if it was my infant grandson Christian; very carefully and safe and sound away from the other items.

So now having completed my shopping I went to the check out.  I put all my groceries on the belt saving my French bread for last.  Now safely behind the other groceries, I put the little divider out so that the customer behind me wouldn’t encroach on my bread.

The nice young lady scanned and bagged all of my groceries.

Then she got to my French bread.

I watched.

She picked it up from the middle as I would have wanted her to do, so the weight would be distributed evenly.

She scanned my bread.

Then, she very calmly grabbed it with two hands, one on each end, snapped it in half and shoved it in the bag with some other groceries.

I felt the blood draining from my skin as my face got pale.  I think my bottom lip began to quiver as I stared trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I was speechless.  I didn’t know what to do!

Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, she calmly asked me to swipe my card, which momentarily jarred me out of my shock and I fumbled around to find my debit card, now just reacting to commands without thinking.

Shock gripped me…was this a South Florida thing I thought?

Should I just act cool like I knew that every check out person in South Florida snaps their customer’s French breads in half to be able to fit them in the bag?

I come from a part of Jersey where snapping someone’s French bread or Italian bread in half could have dire circumstances.

Still dazed and confused I took my receipt and my bags, including my broken baguette, and went back to my daughter’s home to tell them the story of the girl who folded up my French bread and put it in the bag.

 

I waited to share The Great South Florida French Bread Incident because I thought that one day I would understand; one day it would have some meaning, some moral to a story that would serve as a metaphor for one of life’s indignancies.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I knew the moral of the story already.

The moral of the story is… hey South Florida; don’t be snapping people’s French breads!

If I had bought a bouquet of long stem roses for my wife from the floral section would the stems have been snapped in half and the roses shoved in a bag?

What if I got one of those long family size packages of chicken thighs, would she have busted them up so they wouldn’t poke out the top?

I don’t think so!

Why then did she disrespect my French bread?  If I had wanted my bread in smaller pieces I would have bought the bag of dinner rolls instead!  I want my French bread as a long, slender, tapered loaf like the definition says!

Maybe there is a message here.  Maybe it is about respect.  Respecting those things that are important to others or that belong to others.

It’s like going out day after day to find that your neighbor’s dog has peed on the plastic bag that contains your Washington Post as it rests on the sidewalk (me).

Or coming home and finding teenagers you don’t even know sitting around your patio smoking cigarettes and helping themselves to your cooler (yup, my patio).

 

Yes, I think it is about respect.

Surely, that is the moral of The Great South Florida French Bread Incident!

And I also think that there might be times when we just need a reason to laugh little again.