What kind of reaction do we have when we are given a gift? A gift is usually a surprise. For me, I get that momentary pause of taking in a deep breath. I’m a sucker for a beautifully wrapped gift. Sometimes I can get so focused on the wrapping, I can lose sight of the surprise that’s inside the box. Giving a gift is also a big part of the experience. Yet, I’ve been guilty of deflating the giver’s joy by saying, “You shouldn’t have.” WHY IS IT DIFFICULT TO RECEIVE? Life has

It’s been a while since my last article. Reason being - it’s been a very challenging few months. Back in January, I was hit with a doozy of a migraine headache. It concerned my doctor so much that he sent me to the emergency room. Basically, they gave me some medication to thwart the pain. It went from about a 10 to an 8 in pain level; and they released me. Not satisfied, my doctor ordered an MRI of my brain. Within two weeks, I went for the test. My doctor called me the nex

When I was a little girl, Sunday was family day. We would attend church in the morning. Then, we would gather for the traditional Sunday dinner at 1:00. We always started with a plate of pasta. Then, we had the second course along with salad. And last, but certainly not least, we had dessert. My dad loved ice cream. Ice cream it was. Once dinner was finished and the dishes were washed, dried and put away, it was time to go on our weekly family adventure. It was amazing, how

Recently, I went a preview screening of the upcoming film, POMS, starring Diane Keaton. I have to say that I laughed so hard I was crying. There are so many funny and touching moments. It’s the story of Martha, who is dying. She’s lived in the same New York apartment for 46 years and moves to a retirement community in Georgia. Of course, she wants to die in peace; but that’s challenging given Southern hospitality and the array of characters that live in the community. It’s

We made it! We’ve entered a new year full of hopes and dreams. With that, I wish everyone a very happy, healthy, joyous and prosperous New Year! Last year, I started a new adventure by writing blog articles, based on my show, It's Only Lipstick. Each story was meant to encourage and inspire, while hopefully, giving a few laughs along the way. I was having so much fun; and the feedback I’ve gotten has been so encouraging to me. As I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable, you’ve

Growing up in an Italian-American household, I was surrounded by the three Italian Mamas, my mother, my aunt and my grandmother, who were to say the least, clean freaks. There were the proverbial plastic cushion protectors on the sofa and chairs. This was especially rough in the summer, when our skin would just stick to the plastic. OUCH! The smell of bleach always permeated the air. A speck of dust didn’t even have a chance to land on the furniture. My mother was so organize

I grew up in an Italian-American family in Brooklyn, NY. We were ten dysfunctional people all squeezed into three tiny apartments under one roof. This was fertile ground for family feuds to develop and fester. THE LAY OF THE LAND My grandmother, Rose, bought the house I lived in when my mother was 16. She purchased it with her hard-earned savings working as a seamstress in the garment center in New York City. This home was her pride and joy; and it was security for her fami

About two weeks ago, I received a residual check in the mail for a TV show I did in 2007. This time, I just laughed with the amount and decided to post it on Facebook with the quip, “There’s nothing like getting a check in the mail.” I received some funny responses; but there was one that stood out and got me thinking. “Hmmmm. I take it as an affirmation that your “two cents” are worthwhile.” THE FORMATIVE YEARS I always thought it strange growing up that, whenever an opinio

As a kid growing up in an Italian-American family and attending Catholic school, the word “no” was not an option. I had to do what I was told; and there was no such thing as questioning authority. At home, I had a triple threat – my mother, my aunt and my grandmother. They were like hawks. I couldn’t get away with anything. First, my mother Gloria. My mother was always there for us; but she was the consummate disciplinarian. She would hit first and ask questions later (may

Growing up in an Italian-American family, there was a key phrase, “I can forgive; but I can’t forget”. This was especially true of my grandmother. She could really hold a grudge. I never wanted to do anything that would tick her off. Unfortunately, there was one day we did come to blows. I was living in Connecticut; and I went to Brooklyn for the weekend to visit my parents. My grandmother owned the house I grew up in; and she always made her presence known. She had a way o