Only because I love you

I've been thinking that perhaps this blog needs more regular features and maybe one of those regular features could be to affectionately, or non-affectionately depending on my mood, make fun of the individuals who don't read this blog, even though through blood or friendship they claim to be really close to me. My little brother Vinnie turned 24 on Sunday so I'll start with him. He's a pretty easy target because as those of you who've visited my parent's house in Alexandria know, Vin used to be pretty chubby. He also had thick-rimmed dark glasses, but not in a cool way. The reason visitors know this is that I like to sometimes sprint upstairs upon arriving home, rummage around in the huge wicker baskets that my mom uses to "organize" our precious family photographs, and find a particularly embarrassing one of young Angelo (his real first name). Then I like to put in up on the mantel or by the fruit bowl, or near the list of chores my mother has left for us to do that day, even though we are adults, even though we don't live there anymore.

Since Vin grew up to be a tall, nice-looking boy I don't feel bad talking about the fat period. It's interesting, because rather than tone down the nerdiness during those poignant years of childhood (peaking at about 10-years-old) Vinnie amped it up with his hobbies, like developing an intense interest bordering fanaticism with the Titanic, as well as only listening to classical music until he learned about the best band ever: Soundgarden. Posters, magazines and albums ensued. Soundgarden or bust, baby. There was no other music in the world that rocked like "Black Hole Sun" rocked. Save Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture," for which he still reserves a special place in his heart and CD collection, I'm sure.

One other item of note is that my father and I used to take it upon ourselves to lie to the boy and he'd always believe us. This doesn't say much for our character, I realize, but it was funny. And it's important to ensure kids get knocked down a few times in life. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, the story being such a laugh for my dad and I, still, but one night my father threw some clean laundry into my brother's bedroom, onto his bed - not saying anything to disturb Vinnie, as he was probably working hard on something at his computer, something maybe related to the Titanic - and my brother turned around, caught the laundry "flying into" his room and immediately ran downstairs proclaiming that his shirt has floated onto his bed, obviously the work of some deranged spirit - a poltergeist. We had no choice but to run with this. My dad sat down and had a serious talk with Vin, explaining to him how the house had been haunted all along - how he and my mother had known, but didn't want to scare the kids. Vin, naturally, began looking up ghosts on his computer, alerting his friends to the situation and figuring out what to do next while my dad and I congratulated ourselves, in whispers, on our brilliant work. Needless to say, after he'd found out what had happened (thanks, Mom - what? You don't believe in a little fun?) he didn't talk to us for a few days. This might be a good point to end all the story telling, because honestly, I didn't like that, him not talking to me. Because he's my one and only brother, who I love.

Who used to be pretty fat.

Whilst in the monastery

This weekend my father and brother attended a retreat at a monastery in rural Virginia. I must, again, assert that I am not kidding. When I asked them how it was, both said it was great, and that they didn't really do much of anything except "contemplate life." Okay. Vinnie did say he had some spectacular discussions with an 82-year-old priest who would tell him a story ("I was brought up in Africa, and learned a lot about the culture...") and then roughly three minutes later, would tell him the exact same story ("I was brought up in Africa..."). I got a big kick out of that.

However, my favorite thing about this retreat is the string of emails exchanged between my mother, who was at home, being normal, and my father, forwarded on to me. You'd think there'd be no emailing while with the monks, contemplating, right? Wrong. Dad's got a Blackberry and nobody's gonna take that away from him. Not Jesus, nobody.

From: Kathleen Rotondaro To: Fred Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Just had chicken fajitas from Baja Fresh and am sitting here watching the news..

Do you think Vinnie would like to be a monk? Seriously, I'm sure it is very peaceful. Are you going to get up at 4 for Vespers?

From: Fred Rotondaro To: Kathleen Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

It is 3:30. He seems to like it. I am reading in my room and I guess Vin is too. I am of course frustrated because I can't use my phone and find out how much money we made. Vin says he will go to vespers or vigil or whatever I could say I miss you and wish you were here but then one of us would be sleeping on the floor. Brother Alfred of the Weeds

From: Kathleen Rotondaro To: Fred Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Brother Alfred--I want to take some wine up with me tomorrow. Do you have any worldly guidance for me?

Love, your wife on the outside

From: Fred Rotondaro To: Kathleen Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Re: wine. Not really hon. Some good whites in the cooler and reds in the rack under the paintings. Don't take serpico red. That is Vinnie's favorite. I think some cakebread is in the cooler.

B. Alfred

From: Kathleen Rotondaro To: Fred Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Thank you, Brother Alfred. Am now up in the bedroom with the dog and with the door locked.

Love, the girl

From: Fred Rotondaro To: Kathleen Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Love you dear. Be careful. I am going to read some more and then go to sleep. I am probably the last one up. I will call tomorrow when I go out for a walk. B. Alfred

From: Kathleen Rotondaro To: Fred Rotondaro Sent: Fri Jan 27

Ok. Love you too.

From: Fred Rotondaro To: Kathleen Rotondaro Sent: Sat Jan 28

Good morning. Up and at em. I read last night that the a.m. vigils were changed forty years ago from 2 a.m. to 4. Some monks thought this was indulgent. So do I. B. Alfred