Happy Birthday Uncle Joe, here's a palm

So I don't really go to church anymore unless my dad asks me to go with him. I've either lost touch with this whole Catholic thing, or am just completely fed up with it...probably a little of both. I do know that going regularly makes me more confused/angry/controlled/let down than when I don't go. I do go on Palm Sunday though. I'm not trying to be a Christmas/Easter Catholic, I just always have good memories from Palm Sunday.

I would always go to 9:00 mass with my dad and we would take many more than the allotted two palms per person. Then we'd stop at Cosa Nostra Bakery for fresh FRESELLES. Well, as fresh as a freselle gets. We'd then go to Gramma Jo's house and eat freselles with butter and coffee with some cousins, aunts, and uncles. You put the butter on the freselle and dip it in the coffee, and yes, coffee is surprisingly good with butter floating in it. We'd then get to making palm crosses. At a very young age, and thanks to Gram, I noticed the difference between Italian Catholics and Hispanic Catholics. The Hispanics make their crosses during mass, using no materials other than the palm. They are so complicated and detailed, I think they could build a house out of palms if they wanted. Well us deigos aren't so talented. Gram taught me how to make crosses using a stapler. And not just any stapler. I think it was actually purchased before WWI, and made of steel with horrible jagged edges that would always injure someone. I'm serious, the thing weighed at least 3 pounds.

Now it's just my dad and I that do this. We went to 9:00 mass today, but had to go to Riviera Bakery. Cosa Nostra has since been replaced by a Polish Deli/Video store like everything else in this neighborhood seems to be going to. We had our freselles along with some fresh Italian lemon cookies and made our crosses. We still make a ton of them, but take them to the cemetery instead of to our relatives houses. We went with my cousin Donna to visit Gramma Jo, and dozens upon dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. We even found my great grandparents who I never met. There is one of the mausoleum houses with the name Soverino on it. My dad remembers going there as a child with his parents. They would bring a hose to wash off the marble floor inside. We left so many palms that we used an entire roll of scotch tape attaching them to headstones and mausoleum markers.

One thing which creeped me out, was that a lot of my living cousins already have headstones. Just walking I noticed a Mickey Vaia and Joyce Vaia, next to Mickey's father, who are both very much alive. I talked to Mick yesterday. Creepy.

The last visit was to Uncle Joe, who's birthday it is today. He was my favorite uncle growing up. A one of a kind crazy old man who taught me about baseball and how to sneak booze at parties. I'll do a shot for ya later Unc.

Well sorry to bore you with family things if you've made it this far. Later I'm going to the Beat Kitchen to see RUE ROYALE, a co worker's band.

Another weekend gone way too fast.