The New Ladies of Fairy Tales

                                                           

In the olden days, the formula for a successful fairy tale was: Princess in trouble + Brave Prince Charming + Prince rescues Princess =  Happy Ever After. Yeah, right!

Maybe I bought this formula when I was five years old, but by the age of ten. I knew better. I was a child from the era that gave us, The Korean War, The Cold War,  Civil Right's Movement, the bra burning Women's Liberation Movement, the Space Program and, last but not least, the war in Vietnam. You realized right away that the world did not offer happy ending fairy tales. I was born to Italian Immigrants in good ole South Philly. We were a middle class working family. The entire family worked in my father's grocery store. As soon as we four siblings reached the age of seven, my father tied an apron around our waist and said, "Get to work!" 

                                                          

We four kids worked seven days a week along with my mother and father, the famous Fred and Lucy.  We went to Catholic school where the nuns focused on teaching the necessary skills to turn us into productive tax payers, even if they had to beat the lesson plans into our skulls. The nuns of the Immaculate Heart of Mary had no patience for fragile princesses in their classes and, they tolerated a Prince Charming even less.

                                                                     

South Philly girls were tough. We had to be. The world in which we lived in was not conductive to princesses or fairy tales. Unfortunately, the Disney Fairy Tales from my generation, did not mirror my upbringing or my daughter's. Sad! I was never a weak maiden in need of rescuing. I was the one usually rescuing others. This may be why I love "The Walking Dead's female heroines Carol and Michonne. 

I brought up my daughter to be a strong woman, also. She's a tiny package looking more like Snow White...that is until you try to hurt her family...then she becomes Wonder Woman... who will gladly send you flying into the next fairy tale. So you can imagine our opinion of weak princesses in Disney Films.

                                                                

This is why we both enjoyed Walt Disney new take on "Doesn't Need Saving" Princesses. Here are two samples

Yes indeed! Walt Disney Pictures/ Roth Films has brought fairy tales into the future and Malificent was proof of this. Women have always been able to do the same jobs as men and, just recently, the military said women could fight on the front lines.
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/jan/24/us-military-lifts-ban-women-combat

                                                                  

It was with the premier of the film Malificent starring Angelina Jolie, Sharlto Copley, Elle Fanning and Sam Riley http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maleficent_(film) that I noticed the new direction,  the Disney Studio had taken.

It was Angelina Jolie's Malificent's kiss that woke the princess, and then, saved Princess Aurora from the selfish, demonic King Stefan. It didn't matter that it was Malificent who placed the curse on Aurora in the first place; Malificent was a little pissed off with the treacherous Stefan for stealing her powerful wings by the time Aurora was born. She took her revenge out on the person she assumed meant the world to Stefan.

                                                                 

What Malificent didn't count on was for her and her shape changing familiar (Sam Riley) to become the secret protectors of baby Aurora. The infant's guardians, who were also fairies, were comically incompetent. Malificent grew to love the child and the child, her.

In the end, it was the love of a strong woman who saved the fair Princess Aurora and her Prince Charming. This was the best version of Sleepy Beauty that I've seen yet.
Angelina Jolie did a stunning job in the film as the angry fairy queen of the forest who falls in love with the child she' cursed. Love conquers all!

                                                               

This past weekend I went to see Cinderella with my niece and great niece. I had wondered if Disney Studio would do as good a job with this film as they did with Malificent. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinderella_(2015_film)

Cinderella which starred Lily James in the title role was a visual feast for these old tired eyes. Richard Madden (Game of Throne's Rob Stark), Cate Blanchett, Helena Bonham Carter and the very talented Nonso Anozie from the series Dracula.

The story went by the normal formula of princess saved by prince except for a few twists which I picked up on right away. Yes, the stepmother played deliciously wicked by Cate Blanchett was selfish and abusive to Cinderella, but we see what sparked the hatred.

                                                                       

When Cinderella's father (Ben Chaplin) died away from home, he sent one special gift back and that was for his daughter. The wife received nothing, not even a note proclaiming his love. Lady Tremaine lets slip that she was a happy wife and mother to her true love, first husband, until his untimely death.  Maybe she married Cinderella's father for convenience and security for her and her two brats, but I think she had also allowed herself to dare fall in love again with husband #2.  Lady Tremaine realized that she was not treasured and she took out her revenge on Cinderella. 

                                                              

Cinderella was a sweet, forgiving girl, but her courage did not reveal itself in battle. No, Cinderella proved her bravery with her refusal to allow Lady Tremaine to take advantage of the king's love for her. Cinderella was willing to stay the family slave in order to protect the new king. Bravery comes in all forms and I'm hoping we will see more kick ass princesses on the horizon.

Side note: I wasn't sure what my great niece took home from the film. This being her second movie date of the year with me. Yesterday, she came home from school and asked me to dance with her; a waltz; just like Cinderella and Kit danced. I asked her if I was to play the part of Prince Kit because I would need to lead the waltz. Isabella looked me straight in the eye and said, "Aunt Marie, I'm a princess and I'll lead my own waltz."

                                                           

Damn right, you will!!! Long live the Warrior Queen! 

Life with Fred & Lucy, Episode 38: Surviving Zombies

                                                           

 

Zombies can be downright scary, but most people love watching movies and television shows that feature those pesky little shuffling bags of rot. Did you ever wonder why they are so popular? I’ve heard the theory that zombies seem to be most popular when the economy is bad and vampires are the big hit when the economy is good. I don’t know how accurate this theory is, but it does make sense in a way. We love to be frightened and nothing can get that adrenalin moving like a hungry zombie coming over your way for a snack and, you’re the snack.

                                                                    

Vampires are usually portrayed as sexy and financially well to do, for example, True Blood, Twilight and, even An Interview with a Vampire. So sexy and rich might represent good times. On the other side of the coin, zombies are not sexy, there is no prospect of them earning money and, the people running for their lives definitely have no time to make a buck. Zombies represent a civilization that has collapsed. There is nothing but hopelessness as seen in the series, “The Walking Dead” and World War Z. But besides giving people nightmares, how are zombies and the fear of a zombie apocalypse a positive thing?

Survival

To understand why my father and mother and other people living from their generation were so end of days ready, we need to see what life was like when they were born. Fred was born in 1014 and Lucy in 1923. My father was three years old when World War 1 broke out. He and my mother were youngsters when the Great Depression hit.

                                                               

They would tell us stories of how families had to make the best of a horrid situation just to keep their families fed. If nothing else, the Great Depression left the people who lived through it with great survival skills. When you have nothing or you’ve lost everything, then you learn the real meaning of survival. You also get the full meaning of that old saying, “Only the strong survive.” Would we be able to do as well today?

Maybe, the people who are my age, yes I’m talking about us baby boomers, could survive a zombie apocalypse. After all, we had the better of two worlds. We picked up the survival tips from our parents and we benefitted from all the cool inventions that arrived on the scene due to the Space Program.

                                                                

Fred always preached that people should take responsibility for their own survival. He was witness to a nonfunctioning Government with the crash of 29. Life was hard, there were no jobs and people were starving. That’s something that stays with you. Thankfully, Roosevelt came into office and to the rescue. http://www.biography.com/people/franklin-d-roosevelt-9463381

Fred taught all four of his kids to be “street smart”, which leads me to Fred and Lucy’s Helpful Survival Techniques. My parents wanted their offspring ready for any emergency whether a blown out apocalypse with zombies, or an invasion  of the United States by the Communist Army. Fred was a survivor and he was practicing bugging in and out before there was even a Zombie Squad www.zombiesquad.org

                                                                  

I grew up learning to always be prepared for a disaster, but sometimes, you find yourself getting lazy and you say “What could happen” or “I’m sure the government can handle any problem that comes down the road.” Then Hurricane Katrina hit the gulf coast and we saw for ourselves that we could not count on government to rescue us. http://www.history.com/topics/hurricane-katrina Talk about an epiphany!  

How have zombies prepared us to survive? Shows like “The Walking Dead” and World War Z got us to think outside the box. The first thing that goes in any major crisis is communication. Do you have a CB radio in case the internet, television and radio are gone? Do you have enough fresh drinking water? What happens if there isn’t fresh water? Do you know how to make the water safe to drink? You can only last three days without water.
                                                   

Do you have enough canned food in your pantry to last for a week, two weeks? How would you heat the food? What about heat? Do you own a gas powered generator? Do you know how to keep warm if you had no heat for a week or more? Do you have an extra supply of necessary medicines? You will still need that blood pressure pill even during an apocalypse. What if you’re injured? Do you have a medical kit? Do you have weapons? I mean legal, licensed weapons to protect you from marauders?

                                                                 

My father taught us as children how to survive. He made the four of his children street smart and, we in turn, taught our children and grandchildren the same lesson. I think my father could have served as an advisor for “The Walking Dead” in fact, he thought of things the producers of the show had not.

Conclusion

I think all these zombie shows have played an important part in preparing people for any kind of emergency. There are now television shows that teach viewers how to be bonafide preppers aka survivors. Would we have bothered to be so ready if it weren’t for the zombies? I doubt it. So next time you see a television show or movie featuring zombies be sure to thank those pesky little bags or rot. They just may have saved your life.

                                                                          

Sometimes It's Not Ghost

                                                       

 

This is not a new episode of Life with Fred & Lucy, but maybe it should be. My father was the king of practical jokes and I’ve mentioned on the "Life with Fred & Lucy" page the many tricks my father had played on the entire family over the years. That old saying, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, is so true and I’ll go one step further, the gene for practical jokes runs amok in the Maratea family.

I’m guilty of carrying that particular gene and it has also been passed down to my daughter’s three boys better known as the desperadoes, but this post is about a practical joke that I had forgotten all about.

                                                                     

Several weeks ago, my daughter and her husband purchased a new bedroom set. I had stopped over to see the set and to check out the remodeled master bathroom. My daughter was in the kitchen putting on coffee for us and I was about to head down to the kitchen to tell her how much I loved what she and Jim did with the master bedroom.

                                                                 

                                                             

Something stopped me before I left the room. Was it the spirit of Fred, my deceased father? I’d been thinking about him and my mom over the holidays, so maybe it was he who placed the devilish thought into my head. I began to move the little knick-knacks that my daughter keeps around her room to different places. I was on a roll. The St. Joseph statue went from her husband’s side of the bed to hers. Her photos of the kids were moved all over the place and finally after moving her make-up and hair products to different shelves, I placed a teddy bear that belonged to my father when he was sick, in her bathroom with a bathing cap on its head. Done with my mischief, I headed down to the kitchen for coffee.

                                                                      

I had expected my daughter to call me by that night to say she saw what I had done, but she didn’t and over the next two weeks, I forgot all about the prank. Then, I went over her house yesterday to visit with her and the boys before the big snow storm. While there she asked me to take a ride with her and Nathan to Ross and Game Stop. “Sure,” I said.

As we were driving, my daughter was having a problem with the electrical system in her car, and she had remarked, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore, mom. Strange things have been going on at the house and now this car is acting up.”

“What strange things,” I ask.

“I think the house is either haunted, and if it is, you and your friends will have to come and investigate. But, maybe, it’s someone coming into my house when I’m not home.”

This was the first I was hearing about these events, so I said, “Well, you know Fred and Lucy like to visit you and Aunt Lucy when they’re not hanging out in my attic. Maybe it’s their spirits.”

                                                                         

My daughter shook her head. “No, when they visit, they don’t move things around. I’ve been asking the boys if they’re playing jokes on me, but they said no.”

Nathan chimes in from the back seat. “You ask us every day and Josh and I keep telling you that we don’t go in your room.”

                                                                        

“What about Uncle John?” I asked, because my daughter and her husband had been taking care of Uncle John ever since Jim’s mother passed away.

“No, he doesn’t go into my room. I’ve taken to locking my bedroom door when I’m not home, because it’s every day that I find things moved.” My daughter was very upset and I, as of yet, hadn’t put two and two together.

Nathan pipes in again, “Grandmom, she’s been yelling at us because she thinks we’re doing this to her.”

“What things are moved?” I asked.

“Grandpop Fred’s bear, pictures, my make-up....”

BINGO!

“Uh, Re did you say Fred’s bear?” My daughter nods and I glance back at Nathan with this ‘deer in a headlight’ expression on my face. “That was me.”

“What?” my daughter asks as she pulls into the parking spot in front of Game Stop.

“I moved a lot of stuff around in your bedroom a few weeks ago as a prank, but you never said anything and I had forgotten all about it.”

Nathan is laughing his head off and my daughter is staring at me. “Tell me what you moved?” she demands.

I rattle off the items I had moved, then she and Nathan begin laughing. “Mom, because I didn’t notice everything that you had moved all at once, I’m thinking that it was something new each day.”

“Well, at least you know it’s not ghosts,” I say between belly laughs.

Just then her car began to make all kinds of strange noises. We couldn’t turn it off. Not for a while at least. We didn’t know what was going on with the car, but her husband checked it out.  He could find nothing wrong. If it wasn't the electrical system, then maybe it was my father saying, “Good one!” I'd like to think it was.

                                                                         

Life with Fred & Lucy, Episode 37: Graves 'R' Us

                                                        

 

This isn’t the normal Fred and Lucy stories that I usually tell to people when I’m remembering my parents, but in a way, it’s quite relevant. My father, always the planner, always the practical one when his OCD wasn’t in overdrive, was a stickler for preparing for the future. It didn’t matter what the topic was; he was prepared.

                                                               

 

In case of world chaos, he had enough food, water and emergency supplies squirreled away to make any Zombie Squad Member proud. Fred used this ‘better prepared than dead’ mindset even in how and where he wished to be buried. He and Mary (our loving stepmother and wife #3) had gone shopping for their ‘last home’ and picked a  lovely spot at the Saints Peter and Paul Cemetery in Marple Township, Delaware County, Pa.

                                                                               

                                                                       

This was not just a grave to Mary and Fred and, cemeteries meant more than just death. I remember the many occasions that my father and stepmother asked me to drive them to their future graves. They wanted to “check it out,” and make sure the neighborhood (the section they were to be buried in) was still populated by nice people and not losers. I usually had a few grandkids with me, so we packed a lunch and threw a few folding chairs into the trunk. We ate, then me and the grandkids would roam the area and look at the tombstones, or father would spend the time telling my grandkids funny stories about his younger days. Finally, we'd pack up and head home. These trips were always fun, but visiting the dead wasn’t new to me.                                                       

I don’t know if this is an Italian thing brought over by my parents, but I remember growing up with Fred and Lucy packing us four rowdy children into the car to visit dead family members at the Holy Cross Cemetery in southwest Philly. The aunts and uncles would join us there. While the adults chatted over lunch, my siblings , cousins and I would check out the mausoleums or the huge ornate tombstones. The ghosts that I saw, always seemed happy for the company and didn’t mind that we kids would accidently walk upon their graves. Yes, I saw dead people. I'm an Empath. It runs in the family.

Fast forward to the present when my father died. Grave bought, coffin chosen, inheritance divided equally among the four children, my father left little work for the survivors to worry about. A year later, when one of my husband’s sisters (single) had become seriously ill, the decision was made for us to chip in and buy two plots with each plot holding two coffins. The plan was that Dan and I would be Diane’s roommates so to speak.
                                                                            

                                                                       
The extra grave would be saved for an emergency. Rent a grave?  The three of us decided on a secluded spot at St. Mary’s Cemetery. We selected an area in front of a big tree with wooded area nearby. Perfect! When Diane passed away, she was placed in a grave that she had chosen. 
                                                  
My mother, Lucy, who was living on the west coast with her second husband never planned for the bid “D”. She was afraid of dying and afraid of being buried in the ground, alive. I couldn’t bury my mother with Tom, my stepfather, because he’d been cremated and his ashes had gone to his daughter. When Mom died, I took her ashes home to New Jersey and placed them in the new niches that St. Mary’s Cemetery now has available. Mom would be in the same cemetery and we would be neighbors. Everything was set in place, or so we thought. Mom in upper right corner. Dan and I next row down                                                               

                                                                       
Over time, my husband and I began to like the idea of cremation and small niches a whole lot better than graves, so after talking about it, we sold our plot and bought two niches. We are now located in the row under my mom, Lucy Aniello. We would still be neighbors to Diane, but we would be a little bit further down the trail.  It turned out that it was a good thing we moved. I can't say the same for my sister-in-law, Diane.

Construction
                                                                     

To add more ramps and make interstates 295 and 42 N/S freeways wider, the State has taken a large swatch of land away from the cemetery and included the land into the plans for major construction. Do you remember the wooded area and big tree that we liked when we first bought the plots? Gone!  Diane now has 42N/S Freeway as a neighbor and, we can’t afford to move her.  There is also a historic home in close vicinity to Diane that was used as an underground railroad during the Civil War. It is slated to be torn down for the larger highway. Shame.

                            Dan looking at construction 10 ft. from grave                              

So, Dan and I are set for the inevitable and  like our new digs, or will, when we're dead.  I've mentioned to my sister Lucy and her husband that there are two niches left on the wall and, they are right next to Dan and I. She's considering the prospect of becoming our neighbors after death. I found out that my Uncle Mario and Aunt Rose will be residing at St. Mary’s when they pass away, too. It will be one hell of a big party at this cemetery with all us crazy ghosts hanging out.  I asked my daughter if she wants to purchase two niches for the future, but she’s young and thinks we’re all crazy.
Update
I found out that we can get ceramic photos placed on our niches. That is so awesome and I know what picture I want on mine. What do you think? Too much?
                                                                                 

 Nah!!! I'm going with it! Dan, on the other hand, wants the picture of him in his dress uniform from the Philadelphia Fire Department on his niche.

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 22: Batty

                                                          

                                                                   

My cousin Annie, on my mother’s side, reminded me of an incident with her brother Dennis when he had stayed at our house. My father was in the hospital recovery from surgery and Mom had asked her sister, Ann if Dennis could come down and help in the store.                                                                          

                                                                  

                                                                       

My Aunt Ann had five children, starting with Dennis the eldest and only boy, Annie, Susie and twins Gracie and Gladys. I loved whenever my cousins would visit us. We got into a lot of adventures together. They learned about life in the big city and when we visited their home, we experienced the wonderful world of nature. Bugs did not scare my cousins, but we city kids ran for cover.
                                                                        

                                                                     
cousins Gladys, Gracie, Aunt Ann, Susie, Anna with me
                                                                                                                                   

My Aunt Ann lived in New Gretna, New Jersey, and to us city dwellers, this was considered the middle of nowhere, hick town, and the big scary Pinelands. Goes to show you how much we knew. My mother was afraid of nature in general so anything not covered in tar and cement was too wild for her to visit.

                                                                                                                                  

Mom would occasionally allow us to spend a few days with my aunt and cousins at their home, but most of the time, my cousins visited us. Now that I’m older, I wish we would have visited their home more often, because I feel we missed out on a lot of fun with our cousins… anyway, my older cousin, Dennis, spent the week with us, helping my mom run the grocery store. He also handled the heavy stock boxes and whatever else needed to be done.

                                                                                                                                       

It was summer and we slept with the windows open. We had window screens but, my brother poked holes into most of the screens. When asked about this, he told my mother that it was a science experiment. Michael did a lot of science experiments and there were holes in most of our walls. He loved playing pirate and was looking for gold…he never found any.

                                                                       

                                                                Brother Michael
Now before I go further with this story, you have to understand that in South Philly during the late 50’s, there weren't that many  trees for blocks and blocks. Our version of wildlife was squirrels, pigeons and the occasional sewer rat scampering along the curb whenever the streets were dug up for one reason or another.
One night, as my sisters and I were settling in, we heard flapping and squeaking sounds. What the heck? I switched on the overhead lights and saw this big dark shape flying around the bedroom. We had never seen anything like it…except in horror movies. It was a vampire and it was in our bedroom. All hell broke loose.

                                                                 

 

My sisters and I began screaming that a vampire was in our room. My mother, groggy from sleep, realized what it was and tried to cover our heads. “Don’t let it get in your hair,” mom screamed as she pulled a pillow case over her head and tried to do the same with us.

                                                                       

Dennis and my brother Michael ran into our bedroom when they heard the commotion. But, after the initial fright, my sisters and I pulled off the pillow cases. We watched as Dennis captured the bat with one of the sheets from our bed. All this time, my mother was still screaming for us to cover our heads.

Dennis finally caught the bat in the sheets, carried it out the front door and released the poor thing. When he returned to our bedroom, there was blood on his hand. He had been bitten during the rescue. My mother cleaned the wound and wrapped the hand in bandages. She never bothered to take Dennis to the hospital, which I thought was strange.

                                                                       

Needless to say, my siblings and me believed that Dennis would turn into a vampire because he was bitten. That whole week he stayed with us, I would sneak up on him with a mirror to see if he had a reflection. Jane took to wearing a cross around her neck. Michael hung fresh garlic around his bed, and little Lucy poured holy water into Dennis's soup, waiting to see if he would burst into flames

                                                       

In the end it all turned out well. Luckily for Cousin Dennis, the bat did not have rabies and Dennis never became a creature of the night, but... I'm not sure the Bat survived its encounter with the crazy humans living on Porter Street. 

Life with Fred and Lucy, Part 21: Fresh Fruits

                   Our Family Grocery Store in South Philly                                         

I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that owning a grocery store does not guarantee financial freedom. Nope! My dad learned to make due with the small change made off each product sold. He called it being frugal, us kids called it being cheap!

                                                                  

Before the age of dousing fruits and vegetables with toxic chemicals and when there were more local farms, my father bought his fruit from the vendors who sold the produce from the back of a pick-up truck; nothing like fresh fruits in season.

                                                                        

My Uncle Jack had a farm in Jersey and in the summer, sold my father the excess peaches that Aunt Louise couldn’t make into a pie or jam. The peaches today don’t have the sweet taste of the peaches that I remember from my youth. The taste is different from the peaches of the 50’s & 60’s era… something has changed with the taste of our food…something is missing.

Anyway, because Dad could only sell fruit to our customers while it was fresh and was at odds on what to do with the fruits displaying signs of rot. Guess who was given the bad fruit?
                                                                  

Yep, the Maratea kids were given the apples, bananas, peaches, etc. with brown spots. It wasn’t until I was an adult and went shopping for food on my own that I realized that, contrary to what I was told as a child, bananas don’t grow on trees squishy and brown. Wow!

My father changed his ways as the time passed and grandchildren were born. After my divorce, my two year old daughter and I moved back in with my father. My mother was no longer there. No, she didn’t pass away…she took off, heading to sunny California, but that is a story that I’ll save for the book.

                                                                     

Fred was different with Rere. She was the first grandchild and was treated as royalty. When my father gave Rere fruit from the store, it was the prized peach or apple. My daughter never ate a banana that featured any brown spots.

                                                         

Why the big switch? One day, before I headed off to my job at St. Agnes Hospital located on Broad Street in South Philly, my father handed my daughter a big juicy peach to eat before she left for the Montessori pre-school across the street. I was curious and asked, “Fred, why the fresh fruit now and not when we were growing up?”

His reply, before heading back into the store was, “Dumb ass!” This was his normal response to any questions that he either refused to, or did not have an answer for. My daughter never having to dream about eating fruit without spots did not appreciate the gift given to her and because the peach was too big and she wasn’t able to finish it; she hid it.

                                                                      

I came home from work to find a plumber working diligently on the downstairs bathroom. There was something clogging the pipes. My father was mumbling under his breath about dumb-ass plumbers and how expensive they were, while my daughter, clueless to all the activity going on around her, played with her dolls.

My father and I were in the store wondering what could have possibly caused the back-up and following biblical flood in the bathroom, when the plumber came out holding the slightly eaten peach in his hand.

                                                           

My father, who would have taken the belt to us kids if we ever did anything like this in the good ole days, said nothing to my daughter or me. Grandchildren change the way we handle disasters. My father continued to give the best produce to his granddaughter and a special spot in the fridge for Rere to store her unfinished fruit.

Side note: Later that year, my father found another hiding spot where Rere stored her unwanted dinners; Fred’s snow boots.