At the risk of putting it all out there, today, I’m well, putting it all out there. 

As in, giving you “My Sentiments Exactly.”

Some of you may recognize that as the title of a weekly column I used to write for a local periodical before its powers-that-be (er, had been?) decided after decades of readership, my sentiments weren’t particularly interesting to behold, after all.

This despite the fact that I often received the highest tally for the coveted “most read online feature” in the newspaper.

Hmpf.

Ah well, to that end, it did hurt me deeply, getting turned out so unceremoniously but, on the plus side, it DOES afford me an opportunity to blog with reckless abandon about things which I hold in high regard. 

Admittedly, I have a tendency toward conservatism. What can I say? I’m a proud cradle Catholic, y’all. 

Ergo, I hold a fervent belief in God, and an unwavering devotion and gratitude towards Him who granted this undeserving yet grateful servant so many blessings.

You know, biggies that include but are not limited to faith, family, health, safety and a veritable plethora of modern day conveniences too plentiful to list. 

By the by, junk food, coffee, dark chocolate and sugar free soda would likely find spots on said list, but I digress.

In honor of the upcoming holiday, here’s a throwback to a column I penned a few years ago celebrating the joys of Easter. I thought I’d dust if off and tune it up for y’all to (hopefully!) enjoy.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is once again Easter and man-oh-man, do I love Easter! 

The celebration of triumph by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to conquer sin and death!

The concept of forgiveness and redemption … the powerful message of renewal … the hope and love and ultimately, the absolute joy of it all. Good stuff.

Because, contrary to popular opinion, here’s what Easter is NOT about:

・ An oversized walking (upright on his hind legs, mind you), talking (in perfect English, by the by) rabbit who leaves mountains of hidden candy and colorful eggs for all the world’s children — which he, of course, stealthily hopped in and left for them the prior night.

・ A gargantuan meal consisting of a slow-roasted honey-baked ham or lamb and underscored by copious appetizers, sides of vegetable dishes and ridiculous, over-the-top desserts.

・ Spoiling your kids, grandkids, nieces, nephews and even parents with way too many food sources like the perennial holiday faves jellybeans (I’m partial to Brach’s jelly birds), the obligatory egg-shaped Reese’s peanut butter filled eggs, solid chocolate bunnies, baby chicks, crosses, lilies, and, roughly about a billion other different types of assorted confections. Not the least of which are those sugar-crusted marshmallow Peeps. I’m all about the Peeps, my people.

And while I may be guilty of engaging in some (OK, fine, most) of these practices, they do not reflect the true meaning of Easter, which, again, is the message of the cross. 

Jesus conquered death and rose again for us, even though we don’t deserve it. 

We’re flawed and broken and selfish and generally as a populace, we regularly exhibit many other not-so-nice traits.

Despite all this, He willingly gave His life as ransom for ours. 

I know I’d lay down my life for my son Kyle and any and of all my family members and friends. As least, I hope I would, push come to shove … or crucifixion. 

But would I have the grace and strength to do so for a bunch of random strangers, some of whom aren’t exactly pillars of society -- or maybe not even support beams, Capisce?

I want to believe I would. 

All I know is, I’m a huge JC fan, as well as His (and Our) Father and that wonderful, beautiful dove who always calms me down when I’m totally freaking out — you know, the Holy Spirit.

And celebrating the resurrection of Christ and thanking Him for paying the tab for all our unspeakable sins is my idea of the right thing to do.

Indeed, I believe we should be praising the Trinity and loving our neighbors as ourselves 24/7 365.  Albeit maybe with a little less gluttony than we can sometimes exercise on Easter, a’ight?

Hee!

​On that note, Hallelujah and a precursory Happy Easter, y’all!

​

If I’ve said (or written) it once, I’ve done so a thousand (at least!) times, getting old is a blessing. 

In the interest of full disclosure, it’s something of a curse, as well.

Hmpf.

Let’s allow that latter sleeping puppy to nap for the time being and focus on the positive instead, shall we?

For instance, if I weren’t as old as dirt at present, I’d want for so many of the blessings the Big Guy has bestowed on this undeserving yet deeply grateful servant of His.

And while we’re on the topic, sending up a big old “Thank you, Lord!” … especially for the #1 super-duper, best part of my life, my very heartbeat a/k/a my son Kyle.

I digress.

Indeed, being older than dirt today means having grown up in the 1980s -- which was actually a wonderful time to be a kid. 

Consider it: No social media, no phone cameras capturing every unfolding action unfolding, and, secret joy of joys, your parents couldn’t necessarily get a hold of you once you walked out the front door.

Except of course, for those of us with Italian fathers. If you know, you know. 

Either way. 

Nostalgia for the ‘80s seems to perpetually endure but here are some of the things that only ‘80s kids will understand and appreciate on a visceral level:

1) Saturday AMs were for cartoons.
Remember when this was an essential part of the weekend experience? Sure, today you can search online for pretty much any program from any era at any time of the day or night but back in MY day, the only streaming we understood was in a creek, Capisce? 

Nope, instead we waited for the weekend to catch up on the latest antics from the Looney Tunes gang (Foghorn Leghorn is my all-time fave), The Smurfs, Scooby-Doo … and the whole coveted crew. The Saturday morning cartoon lineup was precisely that.

Today’s generation of young’uns would have a tough time relating to any other type of content than the on-demand sort –animated or otherwise.

2) We passed each other notes in school.
We couldn't text (well, some of us still struggle therein), but we were quite proficient at passing notes. They basically consisted of lame messages such as: "Do you like me? Check one: __Yes  __No" 

Seriously!

These beauties were handwritten, and we’d stealthily exchange them without getting caught by our teachers.  

Er, most of the time.

If memory serves, an unsigned note with my first name scrawled atop it in pencil onto a piece of paper ripped from a flimsy, spiral-bound jotter once caused a stir at my Catholic grade school. 

Why? It comprised lyrics of Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” in the text.

In my educator’s defense, the sentence “We don’t need no education!” effectively proves the opposite, no? Just sayin'.

3) We made mix tapes.
This concept of jamming to favorite tunes has a long-storied history. But in the ‘80s, creating mixtapes was the preferred creative process -- and it was hard work, especially for those of us recording tunes from portable AM/FM radios onto cassettes. I know, I just aged myself another five years with this entry.

Sigh.

4) We used landlines.
Yes, these phones were physically plugged into, you know, the wall. Prior to the onset of cell phones, everyone in the casa shared a single line meaning there was zero privacy for the user. 

To be certain, any nosy Nellie could easily listen in on your convo at will. Not that MY relatives would ever do such a thing. Hee!

Sticking with the landline potential landmine, I do clearly recall having to ask my girlfriends’ parents for permission to speak to them, as the adults predominantly screened, er, fielded incoming calls back then.  

5) Our parents paid long-distance rates.
Today we call people on the other side of the planet without a second thought since we pay inclusive monthly cell phone rates, but back in the 1980s long-distance charges were astronomical. Many an ‘80s kid was scolded by parents surveying bills reflecting charges for ringing up faraway friends made at camp or those who’d moved away. 

Gulp.

6) We all had a Rubik’s Cube.
Yes, the puzzle box emerged in the 1970s, but the 1980s were the golden age of the Rubik's Cube. It’s still around and boasts various modifications. Frankly, the best I could ever manage was a single color-consistent side. 

Meh.

Ah well, I do indeed miss much about the ‘80s (and I didn’t even get to the hair bands, the nighttime soap operas, the shoulder pads, the neon bobby sox with saddle shoes et al) but I’ll wrap up with quote by a famous British band “Who” predates even this fossil: I loved my g-g-g-generation. 
​
Wink wink.

Photo courtesy: www.unsplash.com

Maybe she should have stayed asleep.

I refer, of course to the iconic character of “Snow White” in the most recent (and seemingly umpteen millionth) remake of the classic fairytale.

As just about every human on this big blue marble of ours likely knows by now, her story, based on the iconic German-born Grim brothers’ narrative is such: 

Having been born to a king and queen in a faraway land, a beautiful princess befalls a tragic turn when her mother dies. Sadly, the woman her father eventually remarries, a/k/a her jealous and wicked stepmother, despises our sweet, lovable heroine.

Mommy not-so-dearest ultimately orders a huntsman to kill her due to her insane envy. Alas, the bounty hunter cannot follow through and instead helps her escape into the forest. 

Upon arrival in the woods, Snow White finds refuge with seven dwarfs (not to mention all the other forest foragers), who collectively vow to protect her. 

Undeterred, the Queen disguises herself as an old hag and tricks Snow White into eating a poisoned apple, leading to the latter’s temporary “death.”  

By the by, it turns out to be just a really deep slumber that most overworked, over-stressed and otherwise exhausted people the world over might just enjoy for a spell. 

See what I did there? I digress.

Now we all know, at least in the land of make believe, that by story’s end, Snow White is revived by a prince's kiss, and the duo ride off into the sunset.

Yet, such a blissful fate does not seem to be occurring circa 2025. At least, not in terms of movie sales.

If early projections are any indicator, it seems this new “live action” (as opposed to non-live?) offering of the story is headed for a not-so-happy ending at the box office.

And, in the clouded mind of PK at least, this begs the question, why do the powers-that-be in Hollywood, et al, keep retelling the same stories ad nauseum?

Yes, I understand the concept of sequels to successful films, books, plays, television shows and the like. Capitalizing on a moneymaker’s a fairly good gamble, I suppose.

But again, it does seem to beg the question of whether or not humankind has simply all but run out of original storytelling ideas?

Hmm.

According to www.screencraft.org, the answer is no. Here are some of their suggestions for fresh new scenarios---with a few PK opinions tossed in for good measure, natch.

1. Two opposing football coaches from rival schools fall in love with each other. Well, it doesn’t sound particularly original but I’ll bite. Maybe they could also end up being secret superheroes by night?

2.  A man is afraid of everything. Wait, you mean they aren’t? Okay, my bad, that was a bit rude. Perhaps he overcomes his fear by braving the tattoo needle and getting some ink that reads “I knew I could!” across his chest?

3.  A world where cats and dogs rule Earth. Not only do I love this idea, but I low-key wish there was a way to make it happen…as long as dogs have the upper paw.

4.  A character desperate for a job accepts a position as an interpreter but can't actually speak the native language. Um, waking nightmare, anyone?

5.  A bigot's soul is transferred into a minority's body. I love this. Period. End of storyline, er story.

6.  An egotistical genius is suddenly stripped of their intelligence. Yes please. Note my restraint in not taking shots at any public figures here. I should get points for this, no?

7.  Mrs. Claus is forced to deliver presents on Christmas after her husband runs off with a stripper. Oh dear. I don’t care for dissing Kris Kringle in this manner, but I am all about Mrs. C getting props for all she does, you dig?

And finally:

8.  PK rubs a magic lamp and makes it inexpensive for all people everywhere to be able to easily afford a matinee, a tub of buttery popcorn, some Sno-Caps and a soda without having to take out a new line of credit.

​Here’s hoping!

That the old adage of “the older I get, the more I realize how little I know” (or some variation thereof) rings truer to me with each passing year.

Seriously. 

How can you reach a certain age and continue to deny that our parents were indeed right about this particular assertion?

My Pop used to tell me that he’d forgotten more than I’d likely ever learn.

True dat.

Yet, apparently, I am not necessarily in the mad majority in this distinctive mindset.

Let’s face it: We’ve all got that one (at minimum) person in our particular orbit who have it on great authority that they, well, have it on great authority. 

In other words, they are convinced of their own delusion of grandeur. You know, believing in their own press and all.

Some might find this attitude a bit off-putting.

Fine, I’m some. 

Any who, just for funsies, I did a rogue internet search on clever quips to combat conceit.

You know, slick strategies for waylaying a wiseacre, so to speak.

Here’s a bit of what I unearthed in that vast cosmos of cyberspace.

The site www.brainyquote.com serves up such retorts as follows:

 “You must be fun at parties with all that trivia.”
“Did Google give you a medal for all this knowledge?” 
 “Wow, you should start charging for all this unsolicited advice.”
“That’s cool, but I’m going to stick with reality.”
“Is there anything you don’t know? Must be exhausting.”
“Unless you’ve legally changed your name to Google, stop acting like you know it all.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to think for myself.”
“Did you rehearse that in the mirror? It’s pretty convincing.”
“You should write a book! Oh wait, nobody would read it.”

Ouch -- especially on that last one.

Sometimes, it’s better to keep things light and throw in a little humor. Here are some witty replies that’ll likely get everyone laughing—even the know-it-all.

“You’re like Wikipedia, but with way more attitude.”
“Oh wow, it’s like I’m talking to the internet itself!”
“Let me know when you’re done bragging, so I can give you a round of applause.”
“Do you get a bonus for every fact you drop?”
“You’re weird.” (Okay, that’s just mean. PK don’t play that way.)
“If I had a dollar for every time you said something unnecessary, I’d be rich.”
“Your brain must be huge, but I bet your phone bill is higher.”
“I know you are, but what am I?“ (Hmm. A little too “Pee Wee Herman”-esque for my taste.)
“You’re like a human pop-up ad—always there and always annoying.” Again, not nice, but as someone driven nearly to the brink of madness by the sheer volume of incessant pop-ups on any and every form of social media, I’m there for this one.
“You have all the answers, yet somehow, you’re the problem.” Yikes!
“Instead of agreeing to disagree, how about you just hush?”  Sorry but I gotta drop an LOL here.
“Ever thought about using that brainpower for something useful?”
“It must be hard carrying around that much useless information.”
“You’ve got the confidence of someone who’s never been told they’re wrong.”
“Keep talking; I’m sure you’ll convince someone eventually.”

Since that smattering was so rough, I wanted to offset it with muted tones more in line with PKisms. “Aging Capriciously” offered the following:
​
“I appreciate your input, but I think I’ll handle it my way.”
“That’s an interesting perspective, but I’m confident in my approach.”
“Thank you for sharing, but I’m comfortable with my decision.”
“I see where you’re coming from, but I have a different view.”
“Thanks for the advice; I’ll take it under consideration.”
“You’ve given me something to think about, thank you.”
“I respect your knowledge, but this time, I’ll go with my gut.”

As a bonus round, of sorts, there was an entirely separate section on said site for social media specific burns that included these gems:

“Cool story, bro. Now back to reality.”
“Didn’t ask, but thanks for the TED Talk.”
“Imagine thinking you’re the main character of the internet.”
“WYS“ For my fellow ‘80s kids, this stands for “What are you saying?”
“You’ve officially won the comment section. Congrats!”
“Is there an off button for your opinions?”
“I’d say ‘bless your heart,’ but even that feels too kind.”
“Your internet points are in the mail.”
“Thanks for your input, Captain Obvious. We’ll take it from here.”
​
And on that note, happy sparring with your own particular Smarty Pants. Hee!

I may be dyeing today. 

Or not.

Take heart, y’all, I speak in terms of hair color, not morbidity.

After all, I do aim for this effort to be informational yet light-hearted, if not arguably humorous.

Hey, my kid thinks I’m funny, so there. 

Sure, I brought him into the world and all but otherwise he’s TOTALLY objective.
​
I can hear your eyes rolling from here, people. 

Hmph. 

I digress.

According to “Aging Healthy Today,” in the quest for youthful vibrancy, more and more women over the age of 50 are considering ceasing to dye their hair.

Don’t even get me started on how men tend to look better with age while women look forward to graying hair, wrinkles, an overall general state of sagginess and various other menopause-induced joys … but that’s another blog for another day, y’all. 

Still, I can’t help but give a little precursory grrrrrrr therein.

Back to the matter at hand, er, head.

It’s fair to note that ripe old PK resembles that ancient bracket of gals contemplating opting out of hair artistry.
Again, being well ensconced into decade numero cinco, I thought I might be well-equipped to weigh in on the Miky Way (of sorts) sprouting from atop this not-so-heavenly body o’ mine – and those who share such a state.

Sure, as a person who found her first gray at the ripe old age of 19, I’ve been coloring my world, as it were, for quite some time now.

But I’m getting old…and tired. And I, too, find myself wondering if I want to keep fighting Mother Nature on this particular front? 

Heck, many superstar actresses, singers, models and the like are kicking the bottle these days. The one with the hair color solution in it, to be clear.

Jamie Lee Curtis, Diane Keaton, Patricia Heaton. Even Sarah Jessica Parker. They all did it, why can’t I?

To dye or not to dye, that is the question. 

I suppose this takes us back to the fore-mentioned article. 

Again, it asserts that an inordinate number of women who once dyed their hair with reckless abandon are now making a U-turn on “go away gray” highway, so to speak. 

Good idea? Perhaps.

As we cross the 50-year threshold, our hair undergoes tremendous transformations. Some of this tress distress includes but is not necessarily limited to:

-The strands often become thinner, drier, and more brittle, making them susceptible to damage. PK note: Yep, my brush looks remarkably like half a set of fuzzy slippers these days.

-The natural pigment cells in our hair follicles gradually diminishes so dyeing hair at 50-plus can result in unexpected colors or textures. Such an altered hair structure may not hold the dye as well or could lead to uneven coloration, requiring more frequent and potentially damaging treatments. PK note: As a woman who sported her first gray hair at age 20, I can attest that what was once a monthly anti-white wash is now a bi-weekly bugger.

-Hair dyes are laden with chemicals like ammonia, peroxide, and paraphenylenediamine (PPD), which can be harsh on the scalp and hair. The incidence of allergic reactions to hair dye tends to increase with age. Older individuals often develop a heightened sensitivity to hair dyes. Symptoms can range from mild itchiness and redness to severe swelling and blistering via allergic reactions. PK note: While trying to look savvy, one time I literally needed to apply salve to my scalded scalp. Seriously. As if I needed more incentive to kick the dyeing habit. Ouch and heavy sigh. 

The piece also stated that gentler alternatives abound. For instance, natural dyes, such as henna, offer a less harmful way to alter hair color, as they typically do not contain ammonia or peroxide. Said options can also condition and strengthen hair, providing a healthier sheen and texture but may not cover grays as thorough or last as long.
​
Basically, they’re a safer but less reliable bet.

Ugh.

Well, now the choice is as clear as my rinse water after a home dye job.

Meh.

Let’s just say the jury is still out. But they did at least pick me up some Preference by L’Oreal. Wink wink.

To all my fellow 50-something gals out there, always remember that you are beautiful just as you are. 

PK’s got your back. And your back-up color rinse, too, just in case. 

​Hugs to all!

 Hi. I’m Patty.

This is the point at which, in a support group, other attendants would respond, “Hi Patty!” and welcome me aboard.

I’ll assume the courtesy and offer a "Back atcha, my Peeps."

Any who, at the risk of revealing yet another aspect comprising my wealth of shortcomings, I must admit that I have succumbed to a new addiction as of late.

Now, before anyone feels the need to intervene with a plethora of therapeutic treatment suggestions, allow me to reveal the source of my current compulsion: crazy culinary consumptions.

You know, competitive eating challenges. I find myself borderline obsessed with watching them via various social media channels.

And while such voyeurism is not necessarily an advantageous or marketable trait, thankfully, I don’t seem to be alone in this quagmire of mine.

Somehow, this practice has become an international phenomenon. Literally.

Millions of people the world over are subscribing to platforms which highlight the sport (yes, even ESPN recognizes it as such) of wolfing down insanely massive amounts of food, often within a comparatively tiny time window.

Case in point, the sports channel giant annually covers the Coney Island, NY-based “Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Challenge” each Independence Day. Participants are allotted 10 minutes within which to shovel down as many frankfurters as they are physically able.

Yikes.

Either way, according to the online news source entitled “The Sports Reviewer” competitive eating is a legitimate category therein.

The outlet maintains that the pastime is “a unique sport where participants challenge each other to consume large quantities of food in a short time, testing speed and capacity.”

Gulp…literally.

It is interesting to note that competitive eating as a form of entertainment/competition is a lavish, time-honored tradition dating back to ancient times.

“The Sports Reviewer” maintains that the practice of consuming large quantities of food in a competitive manner was common among primeval civilizations and cultures around the world. Who knew?

One of the earliest recorded examples of such competitive eating occurred in ancient Greece.

The Greek people, known for their love of feasting and festivities, began organizing food competitions eons ago as part of social gatherings. These events often took place during religious or seasonal festivals and encouraged participants to consume copious amounts of food in a competitive setting.

As a Catholic trying to observe sacrificial fasting and abstention during the current Lenten season, I do find that a bit counterintuitive presently.

Then again, perhaps I’m living vicariously through these nom nom monsters? Hmm.

Regardless, while they aren’t currently ranked among the world’s elite in terms of professionally ferocious feeders, I am hooked on the videos created and shared by Nashville residents Katina DeJarnett and her fiancé Randy Santel.

I don’t know what it is about these two that makes them so lovably adorable to watch as they scarf down dozens of burgers, hundreds of chicken wings, piles of pan-sized pancakes, tons of tacos, oceans’ worth of seafood and – well, you get the idea.

We are talking tons ‘o grub, a’ight?

DeJarnett’s stage name (for lack of a better term) is “Katina Eats Kilos” while her hubby-to-be Santel has dubbed himself “Atlas.” Unless they are flying-under-the-radar actors, they both seem to be genuinely kind, polite, and giving people who often pay it forward by partaking in challenges benefitting charitable organizations and other worthy causes such as veteran homelessness.

I can’t help myself. They’re my faves and I love them. I watch the duo like clockwork and even find myself getting anxious as their time deadlines approach and they aren’t near completion.

It’s almost as stressful as watching my beloved Buffalo Bills in a nail-biter that comes down to the last few plays at the end of the fourth quarter in a tight gridiron matchup, Capsice?

Okay, I might be a little more invested in Josh Allen and company. So, sue me. Wink.

All I know is, while I continue to pray for harmony and goodwill toward all in a world full of chaos and turmoil, sometimes it’s kind of nice to escape from reality for a bit of fantastical foodie fun.

Just my two cents, y'all --- while pennies are still in circulation, anyway. Hee!
​
Happy Wednesday, everyone and as Katina always says at the end of her videos, “Okay, peace out. Bye!”

I am a cradle Catholic, meaning I was baptized into this denomination of Christianity as an infant. 

It is an honor and privilege I take quite seriously and one for which I am deeply grateful to my parents.

In any event, I try diligently to observe the established, revered practices of my faith. 

To that end, I am making a concerted effort to honor and commemorate the holy season of Lent.

For those who may be unfamiliar, Lent is a season of preparation for Easter. It mirrors Jesus’ forty days of temptation in the desert and also anticipates His passion, death, and triumphant resurrection.

Like millions of Catholics (and the many other denominations of Christians the world over), I am focusing on introspection, sacrifice, abstinence, fasting and generally just trying to be pleasing in the sight of the good Lord, Capisce?

Anyway, as stated, I am trying. I don’t always succeed. 

Sigh. 

But the Big Guy knows our hearts, so I’m hoping and praying (literally) that He forgives my slip-ups and grants my wishes for a “re-do” after each failure.

Fingers crossed – and hands folded.

I digress.

As a child attending St. Matthias Catholic Church (on the south side of Youngstown, Ohio) from grades one through eight, I was taught that Lent is an ideal time to sort of “dig deep” in terms of being Christ-like.

We were all encouraged to make individual sacrifices such as forgoing sweets, skipping indulgences (fave TV shows, etc.) or praying more often and fervently than “normal.” This one’s never a bad idea, by the by.

Naturally, we unequivocally abstained from meat on Ash Wednesday (the first official day of Lent) as well as on each Friday falling within the 40-day parameter. As a non-meat eater (technically a pescatarian, I suppose), the latter restriction was never really an issue for me. 

Just as an aside, there is also a contingent out there adhering to the school of thought that Sundays and St. Patrick’s Day are exempt from said guidelines. 

Hmm. No judgment here. Sort of an individual call, no? 

Either way, even as an old chick (60 will be here in a few short years, ugh!), I’ve never forgotten how the nuns urged us “give up” a favorite food or pastime for the duration of Lent. 

Back in the day, I always chose chocolate as both a preferred snack AND a bad habit to kick – if only temporarily. We won’t discuss the gluttony that ensued on Easter Sunday. 

Ahem.

Regardless, now that I’m older and allegedly more mature, I realize that, indeed, adding a corresponding positive deed might be a worthy effort, too, so I’m giving it the old college try.

So, this year, in addition to refraining from cussing (not proud of that one), and swigging booze (just teasing, I’m a teetotaler!), I am attempting to embrace every opportunity to do a little something good.

You know, as in “What Would Jesus Do?” Because, let’s face it, that’s what I should be doing all day, every day. Period.

Ergo, I am now in the midst of full court press against, well, myself.

Each time I’m tempted to utter negativity or spout something that doesn’t offer value, optimism or any other constructive engagement I stop, drop and roll.

As in, with the punches. 

I close my eyes tightly and do my best to squelch my own negative Nancy nuttiness.

With any luck and lots of mindful invocation, I’ll glide through Lent with nary a curmudgeonly comment.

But, to quote Dionne Warwick, if you want to “say a little prayer” for me, I’ll take it. During Lent and forevermore, my Peeps! 

​And I’m happy to offer in kind – literally.

Well, I was all gung-ho to dedicate this week’s column to Lent.

No, not as in the past tense version of floating someone a loan but rather, a narrative on the contemplative and preparatory span of time we Catholics observe during the 40-day period commemorating the suffering, death and resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

We will ABSOLUTELY discuss that in next week’s offering.

However, literally within the moments it took me to fire up my laptop to begin writing my article about the solemn season, I received a text message from a dear friend reminding me that March 4, 2025, commemorates “National Son's Day.”

Hmm. 

An opportunity to gush on and on about my favorite human on the third rock from the sun? I took it as a sign that the good Lord would forgive a bit of unabashed prattling about the man I love most on earth -- just for today.

But first, a little about the origins of this quasi-holiday.

According to www.nationaldaycalendar.com it is “dedicated to honoring sons and their significance in families. ‘National Son's Day’ is a unique day that celebrates and honors sons. It is a day when parents can show their love, pride, and appreciation for their sons and recognize their contributions to the family and society. It's a day for parents to shower their sons with love, support and direction, encouraging them to become responsible and empathetic individuals.”

The story goes on to explain that many people celebrate the day by spending time together, sharing life lessons, or posting love messages on social media, stating “It's a valuable reminder to cultivate and empower the next generation of young men.”

Um, am I a kook for wanting to do this all day, every day? I digress.

Evidently, “National Son's Day” began as a bit of a revolution, of sorts.

Seems as though it originally started with the sole purpose of counteracting the celebrations of daughters because (and I didn’t realize this either!) apparently, “National Daughter's Day” had existed for many years prior, so it prompted a woman named Jill Nico to take to Facebook to low-key demand that a special day had to be earmarked to honor and celebrate sons as well.

Well, I should hope so! 

Well done, Jill Nico. 

More digression.

“National Son's Day” is widely celebrated in many countries across the globe, most notably in the United States of America and India.

It pains me to think we need reminded of the importance of raising boys with love, care, and good values. Or that parents should spend quality time with all of their children to mentor them towards success and teach them good morals. 

But I’m all for prompts of positivity so I’m here for it.

In case you can’t make it to your nearest Hallmark store today, here are some of the suggested moving messages offered on the site:

• My sweet son, you are my biggest blessing, and I am so proud of the man you are growing up to be. Happy National Son's Day!
• A son is a joy and a source of pride. Wishing you a great National Son's Day filled with love and happiness!
• To my wonderful son, you make every moment special. Keep shining and making us proud!
• Having a son like you is a dream come true. Happy National Son's Day!
• No matter how old you get, you will always be my little boy. Love you always!
• A son is a mother's pride and a father's best friend.
• Every father should remember that one day his son will follow his example instead of his advice. 
• A son may outgrow a mother's lap, but he will never outgrow her heart.
• Sons are the anchors of a mother's life.
• A son's first hero is his father, and his first love is his mother.

By the by, the article listed National Son's Day as the perfect one to acknowledge the particular and special love/relationship between mothers and sons.  Just sayin'.

Hmm. Did I mention that my kiddo is the center of my universe? I warned y’all about the gushing.

It’s interesting to note that “National Sons Day” is also observed Sept. 28.

Why two days?

It's unclear. Some blame social media for the double quasi-holiday, as the two dates came about in the “age of the influencers,” (I’m guessing this refers to the social media savvy elites?) with some choosing March 4 to celebrate the concept while others chose September 28.

Either way, I’m sending my son Kyle a/k/a my heartbeat, all the love in my heart and indeed in the world today and on September 28 -- and every moment of every other day, too. BT dubs. 

Special shout out to my bonus “son,” my nephew Scott, as well. 

​Happy National Son’s Day and MWAH to my boys!

On February 28, 2020, right before Covid gripped the nation, my family suffered the loss of our patriarch, Fernando Marinucci – my Pop.

And while I’ll never truly get over his passing, I wanted to honor his memory and legacy by republishing my eulogy of my beloved Dad.

Here is a gander at my feeble attempt to pay tribute to the first man who ever loved me.

Fernando. Fred. Freddie. Hon.
Dad. Foh-pa. Bop.
Grandpa Marinucci. Honorary big brother.
Mr. Marinucci. Marinuch.

My father was called many different names by a myriad of folks. As for me? I called him Pop.

I was pretty much the only one who referred to him that way. I think that’s why I loved calling him it so much.

Pop wore many hats. Most of them knit and some with big fluffy tassels on top. My favorite is the red, green and white one with the holly pin he always wore “a Natale.” That’s “at Christmas” to the average non-Italian bear.

Indeed, my Pop was a lot of other things, too. He was the hardest worker I’ve ever known, sometimes holding down three jobs at a time to provide for all of us. He was a black belt in karate, a first aid responder, a master gardener (long before this became a coined phrase, by the by).

He was a scuba diver, a swim instructor and a lifeguard.

He was the most patriotic American EVER. If you didn’t vote — even if the candidates were unopposed and there were no issues on a primary ballot — you didn’t tell him because voting’s a right and privilege he took VERY seriously.

Pop was a serial teaser and a voracious reader who enjoyed a cup of joe with his NY Times, Wall Street Journal, USA Today and local papers every Sunday. He seemed partial to a particular columnist who pens a little blurb in the Sunday Life sections of the Tribune Chronicle and Vindicator.

But then, who doesn’t love Burt Cole?

I tease. Pop liked to do that. 

He also liked to advise and would often toss out his famous “Lemme give you a little speech” line before launching into what can only be described as a monologue of the SALIENT POINTS of a matter. Know what? He was always spot on.

Pop also really liked:
• The original “Star Trek” series, “WKRP in Cincinnati,” “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” and “Smokey and the Bandit”;
• The Steelers and THE Ohio State Buckeyes;
• The warmth of Florida in winter… and watching the sun rise any day of the week;
• Classical music on WYSU-FM — especially Italian opera, of course.
• Dark chocolate. But, like, bitter dark.
• Burnt stuff, i.e. chips, popcorn… basically most foodstuffs. At restaurants, he’d have the chef “slightly burn” his entree on the RARE occasion he ordered steak (pun intended);
• “Take me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver;
• Baked apples and pears, and oven-toasted almonds;
• Gruyere cheese. Mozzarella cheese. Ricotta cheese. Parmigiano cheese. Pecorino cheese. Romano… OK, fine, the man liked cheese;
• Big, seven-course, whole-family dinners with everyone crammed around the table eating, debating, laughing. “That makes my heart smile,” he’d say.

And Pop liked reminding us: “If you’re ever in trouble, just dial M for Marinucci and I’ll be right there.”

He always was.

I’m not really sure what to dial now that he’s up there, so far out of my area code. Man, his baby girl misses him very much already.

One thing I do know as I’m navigating the new normal of a world — Pop felt fortunate.

Not one for PDA, he repeatedly told me, especially recently, how lucky he was to have found such a wonderful partner to walk through his journey with him, how blessed he was by his life with my mom, how much he respected and adored her.

He loved his children dearly, too. But those grandkids — let’s face it, those three musketeers kicked the original trio of us right to the curb, capisce?

As for that little mini-me I birthed? That’s clearly Pop reincarnated.

So even though we lost him last week, Pop’s still here — and that makes my heart smile.

I know I’ll see you later, Pop, but not if you see me first (that was one of his favorite quips). 

Ti amo, Pop.

Fernando “Fred” Marinucci passed away Feb. 28, 2020 at his Canfield home, surrounded by his entire family. He was 84. 

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I love all God’s creatures great and small.

Okay, maybe not insects … or spiders … or rats … or bats. I mean, ick.

But right hand to the Big Guy, I truly am a Grade A animal aficionado. 

Mostly.

In fact, I’m one of the gazillions of people who think domesticated animals complete, improve, and overall, just better a household.

With all due respect to fish, turtles, lizards, and crabs et al, a majority of us top-of-the-food-chain folks opt for one (or several!) of the old stand-by pals: cats and dogs. 

If you agree that pets rock (not to be confused with pet rocks) and you don’t currently have a four-legged loved one in your family, you could be among the multitude of humans contemplating the addition of a non-human family member.

Apparently, in the opinion of a majority, dogs are considered preferable over cats. Did I mention I’m a majority member?

Call me kooky but I’m partial to canines. Consider me a doggy devotee

Bear in mind, if you’d be so kind that I am deeply allergic to cat hair.

I digress.

I can’t help but notice that kitties can be sort of sneaky. I mean, just the way they look at you as if boring through your soul creeps me out a little. And then there’s the manner in which they’ll be purr-ily permitting you to cuddle them one minute, only to suddenly pounce off into thin air sans warning the next? I find it a little “sus.”

I love cats, mind you! We even took in a stray we found when I was a kid. “Kit Kat” we called him. But he was that rare feline, as in, he acted like a dog. He’d come when you called him, sit on command, jump up for treats, that sort of behavior.

Again, “Kit Kat” was the exception, not the rule.

At the risk of further fueling the ire of feline fans everywhere, I’d like to offer a case as to why I am firmly Team Dog.
According to statistics offered by the web-based publication “Spruce Pets,” there’s ample evidence to support the puppydom. So, you need not just take my dog-gone word for it.

By the by, “Spruce Pets” offers practical tips and training advice via in-depth monthly articles on various pet care and related topics and strengthened a team of writers that boasts specialized trainers, Registered Vet Technicians (RVTs) and Doctors of Veterinary Medicine (DVMs). So there.

Here is some of the rationale “Spruce Pets” offers as proof that dogs trump cats. 

1) No Litter Boxes
It's probably fair to say that even cat lovers don't love litter boxes. No matter how well you keep up with them, there always seems to be a lingering odor. Plus, litter often tracks all over the house. It's practically impossible to find a good place to put the litter box in a small house. Overall, scooping cat waste is stinky and dusty. 

PK addendum: Litter boxes? Blech. Dogs don't need no stinking litter boxes since their collective litter box is literally the entirety of the outside world. Hee!

2) Dogs engage in play more readily.
Let’s face it; there's only so much play you can do with your cat. Many cats love to play with string toys, and they'll bat their little cat ball toys around, but it's like they're humoring you. Plus, they can play on their own, not just with people.
You can play fetch with a dog via ball or a disc, you can enjoy an exciting game of tug-of-war, or you can play chase in the yard. If your dog gets along well with other dogs, you can even set up a doggie "playdate" with another pup. Just make sure both dogs are healthy and will get along. 

PK addendum: Life’s too short not to stop and play with your friends sometimes. Atta boy, Fido!

3) Dogs Adapt Better to Change
Cats are usually sensitive to their environments and dislike change. Many dogs tend to accept change more easily. Of course, there are plenty of anxious and fearful dogs out there, but as a species, they're often calmer in the face of significant alterations to their lifestyles. 

When it comes to introducing new people, pets, or items to your home or moving to a new house, cats need more time to adapt. They don't automatically trust that all is well. They want proof first. Most dogs take their cues from their owners. If you're cool and calm when that new baby comes in your door, chances are that your dog will be, too. 

PK Addendum: See? Cats don’t trust us, so we need to be a little wary. Also, it’s important to note that my beloved cocker spaniel Courtney happily transitioned with me from house to apartment and back again with her floppy tail wagging nonstop. 

4) More Control Means Less Destruction
Try to control a cat, and you might hear the tiny sound of kitty laughter. Most cats will go where they want to go, jump where they want to jump, scratch where they want to scratch, and mark whatever they think needs marking. Then there are those hairballs, which are most readily discovered when you're barefoot in the middle of the night.   

​Yes, dogs can be destructive, but you can usually crate-train a dog and keep him and your home safe and secure while you're away. Most crate-trained dogs consider their crates to be their own special places. Try putting a cat in a crate or behind a closed door, and you'll have one unhappy kitty. 

Corrective training and a stern voice can have a lot of power over a dog. Try this with the average cat, and you'll be lucky if he glances in your direction while continuing to do whatever he was doing. 

PK Addendum: My beloved, long-gone boxer Monnie was not only easily crate-trained, but she also nonverbally asked permission to join me up on the couch by placing a paw on it and gazing lovingly up at me whenever she saw me plopped there. She was a world-class cuddler so, I never did refuse my darling doggy. And not once did she cough up a phlegm-filled treat on the carpet. Yuck!

5) Dogs Can Protect You
It's not in a cat's nature to defend you or your home. Cats are more likely to run and hide when faced with trouble. On the other hand, most dogs will instinctively protect their owners and their territory. They'll bark or growl to alert you to the presence of strangers, and many will even scare off intruders. Dogs can sense our fear, and they'll respond if they think we feel threatened.

PK Addendum: Did I mention that dogs might actually be better companions than certain humans? I said what I said.

In conclusion, I’d like to add my final, scientifically based deduction that a dog needs his/her person whereas a cat tolerates said individual. Hmpf.

And there you have it, friends. Proof positive that dogs rule and cats drool. Wink wink.