Unity is Unlikely: Here’s What We Should Do Instead

It’s been said, in many circles, that we stand a country divided.

At least, that’s what you hear if you pay close attention to the mainstream and fringe news media, or the cable talking heads: we are divided, and we need desperately to heal.

Years ago, I made a decision to follow the lead of author Tim Ferriss, and adopt what he called the low information diet. It is exactly how it sounds. The crux of it is to ignore news outlets for the most part, to not let them dominate your day or your psyche. He suggested, to still remain an informed citizen, scanning newspaper headlines on your way to work or running errands, or engage someone in conversation, asking, “what’s new in the world today?”

His interest lie in seeing how much information another person could relay back to you: what they retained after a morning or afternoon of being influenced by what Don Henley coined “dirty laundry.”

I Got the News Today, Oh Boy

I was pretty faithful to this way of life until the pandemic hit: when we all felt a civic duty to become more informed. Starting innocently enough with updates on case numbers, data and statistics. Which might segue into the evening national news, which would supplement COVID driven information with other bad news.

Pretty soon, you find yourself drowning in news content, going down the slippery slope of fear and despair. Exactly the plan, to rivet your attention to marketing to follow: so you can be sold pharmaceutical drugs, household cleaners, and new Toyotas.

Make no mistake, the primary function of the news is not to inform, but to sell.

Happily, I’m awakening from my stupor. Slowly weaning myself from it’s devil’s grip, and as future corona case numbers head south and vaccines are more prevalent, I’ll expect a cold turkey sabbatical: to watch for one reason only, as Paul Simon said, “getting all the news I need from the weather report.”

But lingering doubts driven by the talking heads still remain: are we divided, and what can be done about it?

I Don’t Need No Civil War

As you may expect, our political leaders call for unity. To some of us, these requests smack of pure rhetoric. Why unity? In their eyes, it equals votes. The objective is to ensure securing votes at any cost, to the end of making sure few changes transpire during the election cycle. Securing the thirst for power and influence they covet.

Having said that, let’s end there, with the attempt to keep this post as apolitical as possible.

Is unity, a unified human nation, a probable goal?

I’m going to say no. With so many differing ideologies, cultures, and beliefs – some probably instilled at a very young age – mass unity is a far fetched dream that will always elude us, no matter how feverish the chase.

Instead, I offer that we focus on what sales leaders call the low hanging fruit (i.e., sell the easiest deals first before moving to bigger challenges), or what legendary coach Vince Lombardi would refer to as the blocking and tackling fundamentals.

Let’s instead focus on increasing our civility towards one another. It’s not unity, but it goes a long way to creating a better time.

The type of civility I refer to is an example I was shown growing up: Italian immigrants, who although discriminated against and often with a challenging path up their personal mountains, still managed to display class and love for their fellow human being. I’m certain, at times, it wasn’t easy for them. But damn, they sure made it look easy.

The answer to my self imposed questions were clear: if they could do this, with lives that began in this country as an unquestioned fight for survival – why can’t we, while we’re enveloped in our lives of (mainly) modern comfort and convenience?

If you’re at all interested in more civility (I realize some of you may not be, and that’s OK; I’ll make a concerted effort to steer clear of you in public), there are many ways to increase awareness on how you treat your fellow human being, and as the immigrants did, display a little class in most every situation. I’ll highlight a couple.

Gimme Three Steps

Earlier this week, my company launched their annual sales kick off, albeit virtually. Although we missed the travel, and seeing friends from around the country, it was still worthwhile. There’s always a great keynote speaker, and 2021 was no exception: Shawn Achor, an author known for his advocacy of positive psychology, delivered the speech.

Amidst his citing of research and science, he emphasized to live with more purpose and feel happier, it helps to spend a minute each day thinking of three things you can be grateful for.

Just three things.

I’m taking this exercise to heart. My things today, that I noted in long hand earlier, included our recent polar vortex temperatures (yeah, it sucks at first: but man, you eventually feel alive!), vaccines (our parents with their first doses this week. Yay!), and push ups (brutal to perform at times, but I appreciate the fact that I can probably do more than most other 57 year old men).

To think of, and write this down, took all of five well spent minutes.

Secondly, it may also help to temper your social media consumption. Zuckerberg’s creation initially dubbed the facebook was a way for college students to stay connected, but has morphed into a behemoth, a poison well of easily shared false information. Compared to the rolling vitriol of Twitter, the facebook seems like a viewing of Mary Poppins, however. Take the poison of your choice.

Having said that, there are positives to social media: you just have to filter, sort, and curate your way to a better online experience. I’ll lose patience with that never ending battle, instead focusing on what I can share myself that might lift someone’s day. Which is something my Nonna taught me is pure civility.

Once you do modify social habits, if you choose, you may find an increase in positivity is apparent – a step forward to helping decrease the temperature of your own life.

Sure, things still piss me off. Absolutely. There was a time not so long ago I was a perfect candidate for anger management intervention.

However, it’s harder to be pissed when you’re not bludgeoning yourself over the head with the latest news, or falling down the social rabbit hole. The gratitude habit, however cliched, always helps, as well as exhibiting patience in stupid situations.

You’ll find as you lower the temperature, that it’s easier to have a measured conversation, avoiding shouting and hyperbole. Levels of empathy increase, as you find yourself standing in someone else’s shoes. You may, although you don’t agree with it, actually respect another’s opinion.

Wow moments, am I right?

Lowering the temperature doesn’t have to be hard. It can be radically simple: remembering that we can all think of each other as members of the same flawed human race, and aren’t really all that much different, despite what we perceive as differences.

Barriers can be broken down if you want them to be.

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Our “New” Normal Might Look a Lot Like My “Old” Childhood: a Post Lockdown Opinion

Although the exact quote escapes my memory, New York Times columnist Frank Bruni referenced a colleague or friend who said something along the line of “feeling silly about past complaints of waiting in a crowd, for an exorbitant amount of time, for a table at a busy New York City restaurant.”

The reference went on to mention that, in these strange times, what a pleasure it would be to waste your time waiting like that once again.

It’s funny how all of us have taken for granted the mundane moments of perceived inconvenience: a long grocery line, or a crowded restaurant.

Or even worse, taking for granted the good stuff: a hug from a friend or loved one. That meal out, once the wait was over. The anticipatory buzz of the crowd right before a concert or performance.

With a viral pandemic has come a lot less of what we had, but perhaps more of what we need. As the curve flattens, and cases keep declining, the new anticipation and buzz will be looking to the future, how we should navigate it, what some are calling a “new normal.”

To me, that normal could look a lot like the mid 70’s, seguing into the decade of the ’80s: what I perceive to be simpler times, less convoluted lives, and the return to focus on what’s important, rather than the unessential.

A Better Life with Less?

If you’re like me, you’ve been driving less. No commute, and making trips that are only absolutely necessary.

Speaking of trips, there may be less travel overall. Although my wife and I had targeted 2020 for an initial trip to Italy, and canceled a March trip to the west coast of Florida, I wonder aloud: will we stay closer to home now?

Less car travel should mean less traffic. Less road induced stress. Easier trips when taken. Less pollution, with cleaner skies. A renewed appreciation for the road trip, as it’s being taken less frequently .

There should be less brick and mortar recreational shopping. More thought put into what we do buy. Less consumer consumption, and jostling hostility during silly holiday sales.

I know this may be just a crazy dream, but how about a little less political strife? Maybe a little more listening to your fellow human being without judgment and angry rebuttal.

While we’re on the subject of more, what could we expect more of?

Much of it, as far as I can see, looks like a throwback to a well spent youth.

What There Should Be More Of

There should be more gratitude. If virus related death or illness has not yet invaded your inner circle, praise your good fortune. Praise the fact that when your feet touch the floor in the morning, you will have another day.

If prayer is your thing, participate in more of that. It can only help.

When there is a return to normal, if it’s possible, I predict more heart, more affection. As an Italian American, it destroys me to not be able to hug family and close friends. Kiss them on one cheek, or both.

I’m not wired this way, and my guess is you’re not either. I can’t wait for my first rib crushing hug from a friend when it can happen.

There’s going to be more genuine communication. Maybe this is showing my age, but I find myself picking up the phone more to talk, rather than just shooting over a text or a social media update.

In the same vein, more neighborhood socializing is becoming prevalent, as we go outside with any opportunity to leave the house, weather permitting.

We’ve been sitting on a neighbor’s concrete backyard patio recently – properly distanced, imbibing in a drink or two, sharing recent family news or well recalled memories.

If there is a throwback to the old days, this point would be it. In a neighborhood rife with Italian immigrants, the tight knit social network was the end all, be all of their American lives.

On a sunny morning or afternoon (yes, here in the Northeast, they are becoming more frequent!), my wife and I will spend time on our back deck. Thank God for the deck, and the music that accompanies it. Music lovers to begin with, we’re listening much more than we used to, complimenting the isolation situation.

Music is the language of sanity during times of strife and stress. Enjoy more, more, more of it, absolutely guilt free.

More time outside equals more movement: whether you prefer a walk around the neighborhood, running, yoga, or simple play, it’s all good. If music is the language of sanity, movement and exercise is the translation.

There is a trend already burgeoning toward growing more of your own food. As an article at reuters.com recently noted:

People around the world are turning to gardening as a soothing, family friendly hobby that also eases concerns over food security as lockdowns slow the harvesting and distribution of some crops. Fruit and vegetable seed sales are jumping worldwide.

My son and I in front of my grandmother’s massive vegetable garden – seems like a lifetime ago.

Watering and mowing the area around the numerous fruit trees and vegetable gardens at my grandparents’ house is a cherished memory. If growing food is a trend, well, the Italian immigrants were the original trendsetters. Pears, cherries, corn, peaches, zucchini, tomatoes, beans, basil – back in the day, we had it all.

Apparently, this way of life is making a long overdue comeback.

Where some of us may be looking to grow our own food, the concrete trend we can point to is everyone is now, for better or worse, cooking their own food.

Restaurants, surviving on a pivot to providing optimum curbside take out and delivery service, may finally open soon. But a 25% occupancy may be all that’s allowed at first, to enhance social distancing and safety protocols.

I wonder aloud, yet again: when the openings happen, how many of us will show up?

Do you really want to sit at a table, being approached by a waiter who needs to pull down his N95 mask to say “May I take your order?”

I don’t know about you, but I may be waiting awhile to inhabit my favorite restaurants.

img_1063_original — Pan fried meatballs in our kitchen, just like the old ladies used to make.

We’ll basically keep doing what we’ve always done: cook the majority of our meals ourselves, in our own kitchen.

While no slouches in the kitchen to begin with, we’ve taken our normal cadence of food prep to another level – especially my wife, whose furlough from her job has given her an abundance of time to take it there.

The constant activity in the kitchen is the thing that most reminds me of my childhood: one Sicilian or another would always be in the kitchen cranking out dishes that would provide calories, sustenance, and most importantly, the comfort and connection we craved.

That sense of connection is needed more now, to carry us through uncertainty that we face.

When we’re in the kitchen together, the outside world is banished.

Aromas permeate the house that bring back the cooking sessions of my childhood, where I was just an observer.

They bring back the conversations with my grandmother, memories of great aunts and uncles now gone. The stories told, lessons learned.

It’s relaxing, energizing, comforting. Just the tonic we need to bring us through the pandemic age.

In Times of Anxiety and Stress, a Grandmother’s Comfort Food Solution

Whether it was for a happy celebration, or aid to get through a painstaking ordeal, comfort food has always been there for me. We have a long, storied history together.

When I was younger, my side of the relationship was just a little too dependent: to the point where I needed to call on outside resources to help me do some damage to existing fat cells, improve my long term outlook, and lose weight.

Both my grandmother and her sisters were partners in keeping me a well fed boy throughout most of my life. To this day, I still enjoy many of those dishes with a familiar gusto and passion: albeit in smaller portions.

As we move through what looks like the “middle chapters” of an incredibly stress inducing time for many people, to stay mentally healthy and engaged we will all be searching for comfort – as much as we can in a state of self imposed isolation.

My wife and I are not “social isolation” types. But we are managing quite well through her working hours being slashed (like all restaurant workers), my son about to partake in distance learning for his college courses, and my own acclimation to a makeshift office with laptop and mobile phone that will, most likely, now be headquartered at our dining room table.

Gratefully, we are all healthy. Although we know people have the virus, COVID-19 has not darkened our door.

There are Students, There are Masters

When Rosina and Nicolina were alive, my wife paid attention: their kitchen tips, tricks, and habits were absorbed by the student, and now she has become the master. We, even in what we would call “normal” times, have always reached to the unwritten recipes and generational traditions that these women shared with us. We don’t want to forget, and they need to stay alive in spirit: My godmother has been gone for several years, and my Nonna passed away 10 years ago, this past January.

Their gifts to us, whether gastronomical or inspirational through their fascinating stories, keep on giving: and they will be well appreciated in this challenging time period that is to come.

One lesson my wife learned well is that of La Cucina Povera, or Kitchen of the Poor. The skill proved to be important when our kids were young and we had little money, and it will more than likely prove to be effective now that we are certain to face roadblocks in this uncertain year.

The Kitchen of the Poor for me, however, reads more like a menu of luxury items: the ultimate in my grandmother’s comfort food arsenal. The list might include a silky vegetable minestrone, greens and beans spiced appropriately with hot pepper, an egg frittata, or as pictured above, a simple dish of pasta with tomato, onions, and peas.

They’re inherently easy dishes to prepare, and would include ingredients you would probably already find in your fridge or pantry: no need to visit a store with your mask and tape measure, to ensure you are six feet from the closest fellow human.

My wife and I have recently broken our longstanding commitment to any broadcast news exposure to stay informed here – and as you might expect, our anxiety levels increased dramatically with that exposure. Aside from staying home and in isolation in the attempt to stay healthy, the comfort foods from the past provide much needed respites from the effects of your local/national talking heads.

There is much more to Sicilian comfort/ resilience than what you can eat, as you might imagine. Nonna could very well, as you were eating, tell you not to worry: that dark clouds will disperse (she knew that better than anybody), ask you to express gratitude, work through the challenges that you face, and create some happiness in others by making them smile.

By the time I would have reached the bottom of the bowl, I would have absorbed at least a few lessons in good living.

And in this house, that’s why it’s called “comfort food.”

To make your own delectable entree like the one pictured here, see below:

“Can’t get much simpler” Easy, peasy pasta with peas

Simple, simple, simple: that’s what our menu reflects. You’re stressed enough – who needs complications? First, grab a box of dried pasta. If the market still isn’t sold out. Thin spaghetti or Angel Hair. Barilla brand is fine, or better yet, DeCecco.

You’ll need a tomato sauce. I’m usually against sauce in jars, but we’re trying to keep stress at bay here. Just buy a quality/local brand: no Ragu or Prego, please. For a simple sauce recipe you can prepare, use this easy one made famous by chef Marcella Hazan:

Find a large white onion. Cut it in half. Put the one half flat side down in a deep pan. Heat the pan, adding butter (I use a little olive oil in the pan, as well). Half stick, whole stick, depending on how decadent you feel or how much comfort you need. Take a can of San Marzano tomatoes, crush them with your hands, and once butter is melted, throw them in the pan. Bring it to a boil, then let it roll on simmer for a half hour.

That’s it. Your sauce is done.

While the sauce is cooking, boil a pot of water, salting it liberally once heated. Cook your macaroni according to the directions.

Take that other onion half, and dice it. Add that to a smaller pan with a little olive oil, and throw some frozen peas in. Let them roll until they shrink up a bit and start to caramelize. Add the pasta to the pan with some of the sauce, and sprinkle grated cheese on top.

You’re done. Dinner is served!

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“Make America Great Again?” – You Can’t Be Serious

“Politics is an easy place to go to avoid dealing with your real problems. In fact, many of the people who spend their time worrying about partisan politics do so as a way to avoid addressing what really needs to change in their life. The changes you need to make are not going to be addressed by any politician or government agency. While elections are important, they aren’t nearly as important as what you can do for yourself.” – Anthony Iannarino

As we steamroll into these final months of an election season – with heated debates that promise interest and entertainment – this is not going to be another internet political rant.

I don’t have an agenda against one candidate, or for another. That’s not my deal.

As a small town citizen, who would I be to bash anyone that is running a campaign to acquire the world’s most demanding job?

I do, however, have a small problem with the slogan “Make America Great Again.”

Albeit, the slogan sells. Look at the campaign rallies – the citizens have come droves to bathe in the rhetoric.

With smart phone at the ready, clutching a Starbucks or upgraded handbag in their one hand, waving their rally sign with the other.

I look at our country of today and think to myself, “are we really in that much trouble? Has America lost her greatness?”

This slogan, and perhaps the campaign itself, preys on fears that you have created that have no basis – fears that you should put on the shelf.

A Different Perspective

My great grandmother, pictured here, could possibly have told you about the greatness of America, if she could speak any English. Arriving here in 1929, she stepped off the boat onto Ellis Island just in time for the greatest stock market crash our economy has faced.

She left the comfort and familiarity of her small town in Sicily, and if my facts serve me correctly, the first home in that town with indoor plumbing and running water. Truly the lap of luxury.

I would not blame her if she thought she left her homeland to travel great distances to a country with big problems.

Luckily, she had a rock steady family unit around her. Up against the odds and mighty struggles, that family turned out successful business owners, physicians, teachers, cooks, artists, and all around American success stories.

The secret to that success? Embracing simplicity, values, and a never say die work ethic.

New York Times columnist Frank Bruni wrote a wonderful article about our 2016 Olympic athletes – but as I was reading his words, I felt he was talking about my immigrant family more than anything:

They had a drive more powerful… They swapped resentment for goals. And they worked. By God, did they work. We tend to marvel at their freakish gifts, but we should marvel even more at their freakish devotion. That’s what made the difference.

They invested hour upon hour, day after day. They sacrificed idle time and other pursuits. They honed a confidence that eludes most of us and summoned a poise that we can only imagine. They took risks, big ones.

And they pressed on, because there was this thing that they wanted so very, very badly and the only way to know if they could get it was to put everything on the line.

And herein lies the issue with modern America – everything is expected, and little is earned.

Should we be shocked most people don’t think America is great? How could you, when the perception is – the wolf is at the door, at all times?

We all need to leave our warm, comfy cocoons and come to one realization – the resident of the Oval Office doesn’t matter. In the end, you are responsible for your life.

Statistics bear out that we live in one of the safest, and most prosperous, times in our history. We have running water. Indoor plumbing. Plenty of food. Perhaps, too much food. Modern conveniences that have no purpose other than to make our unfit bodies more comfortable, within houses and property so opulent that the rest of the world may not be able to fathom.

And we need to “Make America Great Again?” Give me a break.

My Italians came here with little hope other than to live as poor immigrants. They made themselves great. We can all do the same.

Embrace your inner peasant, your inner Spartan. Start earning what you think you deserve. Make yourself a little uncomfortable in the process, on purpose, instead of searching for the convenient answer.

As Mr. Bruni wrote – sacrifice your idle time. Instead of resentment, embrace the work. Cultivate a freakish devotion. Put it all on the line.

That’s what your ancestors did, and what we can do. That’s America, and her greatness.

Letters From the Front, And a Hero’s Remembrance

When my grandmother passed away four years ago, she left behind many possessions that my father had to take into his house, and keep in storage. Some of those most prized possessions are documents and letters written by Dominick DeGiorgio, from his time served in World War II.

Dominick was my great uncle, my grandfather’s brother, and the “life of the party” within my immediate family. While he was in training camps here and in combat overseas, he wrote many letters to let the family know he was doing well, and send his love and regards.

Many of the letters are in his native Italian, but a select few were written in English, showing off a skill with a language that was not his first. The letters are poignant, and at times funny. The one I’ll share with you within this post was postmarked a week prior to his being killed in action.

He survived the D-Day invasion that took place 70 years ago today, but could not stave off the inevitable fate that some will say was God’s plan. War was Hell, and it extinguished a bright life from our family.

This letter in particular was addressed to my grandmother. At the time, I don’t think my grandfather could read English very well.

Words Of A Soldier

Dear Rosa:

A few lines to let you know I’m in the best of health. I hope this finds you, my brother, and Joey the same. I’m sorry for not being able to write more often, but we have been moving fast, and on the go all the time.

I guess you have been reading the papers how we are beating the Germans here in France. Well, this paper that I am writing on is German paper they have left behind while running away from our tanks. You would be surprised if you could see with your own eyes and the things they have left behind so that they could run faster towards Germany.

We have been doing a lot of walking, and some days are very hot, but at night it cools off so much that you need two or more blankets to keep warm. Of course, we don’t sleep much, and when we do, it’s usually without blankets.

Rosa, in your next letter let me know if you received any more mail from my family. I really miss everyone, and wish that I could be more near all of you.

I hope that this war soon ends, and then we can all start over again, just as if there had been no war at all.

The people that we free here in the cities are very happy. Did you see the newsreel of the parade of Paris?

It’s getting dark now, so I am closing by sending my regards to all who ask of me. Hello to Tony and family. Regards to your mother. Love and kisses to you, my brother, and Joey, as always.

Dominick

No War At All

As I go through life, I feel an immense gratitude for all that I have. Like many other people, I feel that family is a big part of that. To read these words again from the razor thin German paper they were written on, to be able to type them here and share the thoughts of a man who has been gone for 70 years, boggles my mind.

The old-school man in me can’t take for granted the technology that allows this. As I see his words on a page, I imagine Dominick with his pen in hand, still in his sweat and mud stained uniform, with artillery shelled city blocks surrounding him and his brothers in arms. Fearful of his fate, with the hope it’s all just a nightmare. As if there had been no war at all.

Like many others, he would pay the biggest price there is. His fear would be realized, and he would become a war time statistic. The battles are faded history. Many of us have forgotten.

Seventy years later, as the anniversary of D-Day looms, I’ll think of Dominick. The family man. The life of the party. The fighter. The patriot.

Hero.