Ice, Ice, Baby...

The other day I was laying in bed half asleep, resting up before I headed off to the gym. I felt the house shake a little and thought I was dreaming. Suddenly, I heard a loud smash and sprang out of bed to see what possibly could have made such a loud noise. Joey was running out of his command center at the same time I came running down the stairs. We went to the door only to see the driveway was covered in large broken chunks of ice, some large enough that if they had hit my car, it would have been demolished. We started kicking the big pieces around, kind of like in the iceberg scene from Titanic. Then we thought how cool it would be to ride down the hill on one of the larger chunks of ice. Check it out...

So in this picture you will notice a few things:
1) The huge chunk of ice we wanted to ride down the hill on.
2) The huge chunk of ice behind me under my car.
3) How close this ice came to completely wrecking the Subaru.
4) That I am looking up and not at the camera.

Number 4 is my favorite point, as it leads into the next portion of this story. As I was sitting on my ice-sled, I glanced up and realized that not even half of the ice on the roof had fallen and we were playing right where it hadn't yet fallen. We decided the car needed to be moved ASAP, but first we had to clear the huge ice chunks out of the way. Joey pushed the huge unliftable chunks with a rake if he couldn't smash them, and I kicked and threw the other pieces that I could move (Tough Mudder watch out). We moved the Subaru out of the driveway and proceeded upstairs to "take care" of the rest of the ice that was hanging off the roof, which appeared as if it could fall at any second and smoosh Dodge or anyone else that tried to come in through the side door.

Lucky for us, the bathroom window opens right to where the ice was hanging off of the roof. We opened the window, Joe took the rake and began hitting the ice. Nothing happened after several good blows, but then finally we heard it rumble and knew it was coming down. The ice fell in a massive solid sheet for several seconds. I thought for a moment that Joey might get ripped out of the window if the rake he was holding got stuck in the fall. That Joe is smart though and threw it out as it all came down with a huge (and very satisfying) crash. We kind of both squealed with excitement in the moment before we were able to safely pop our heads out the window to see exactly what had happened. This is what had happened...

So... as you can see, this massive ton of ice completely owned our side porch. Being an optimist, I think we are lucky we took the situation into our control and nothing other than the porch and a crazy lawn ornament were injured. Not knowing how to tell my father about the remodel, I simply texted him the above picture (no words needed). His concern was more for the little light located to the right of the door than the porch itself, which I found odd. Luckily, the light-bulb had simply died and had been promptly replaced upon my return home that evening.

Prior to this event, a strange and exceptionally ugly lawn ornament sat on the corner of the railing acting as a small beacon of light to welcome our friends and family. I loathed this thing more than anything in our house. It was a 2 foot tall, metal rooster with art deco shaped limbs and a blue lit orb for a belly, which he apparently played beats on with the drumsticks he held with his wings... what the?!?!?! I am not even joking and this is a disgustingly accurate description of the little thing. I cringe every time I picture it. But anyways, this was one casualty of the ice crash and I was so ecstatic that it didn't come down to me throwing it away when my Dad was working or something. Maybe I could have told him we brought it to the "farm" or something. After all, he did say that about a stray cat I adopted as a child. Oh how I digress...

So Joe and I got a real good adrenaline rush out of this whole ordeal. Dead porch, dead lawn ornament and the broom we threw up there trying to break icicles a few days back had come back down too! Little did we know, it wasn't yet over. That night we went out to dinner and upon our return, we we astonished that my Dad had dug the rooster out of the wreckage and gathered his broken, blue, orb belly and had tried to bend and piece it back together and there it sat on what remained of the railing.

Today, this funky rooster resides comfortably inside above the kitchen sink. Though his belly may be broken, he remains a solid part of the Melillo family.

Do You Play Music?

A few years back, I walked into the gas station that you pass right as you get into Greenfield from the Mohawk Trail before you hit the rotary. I had to pee and buy something to drink. The gentleman that cashed me out oddly and enthusiastically asked me, "Do you play music?". I assumed he was asking if I played live music with some local band or something, but also I was thinking, "was I in band in high school with this guy and somehow forgot him?" or "well, should I say 'yes' because I have played the flute since I was in third grade and technically this means I do play music?". In a sort of panic, I responded "No!" and went back to my car.

Since this weird encounter though, I have been meaning to get back into music. It made sense seeing as how I did play for a long time on almost a daily basis (operative word is almost- sorry Mr. J!!!). My flute went missing after high school graduation and I have been searching it out ever since. I think I may have one lead, but I cannot be certain. Irregardless of whether or not my flute is found and returned to it's rightful owner, I have always wanted to play a string instrument, specifically the cello. In North Adams though, that is not offered in the public school system's music program. From recent investigation, I gathered that this would be an expensive and extremely arduous task given the fretless nature of the cello. 

I made the executive decision to begin my quest of strings with the acoustic guitar. I plan to eventually ween myself off of frets and then embark on my real conquest; the cello! Colin so kindly offered me one of his acoustic guitars, which I accepted excitedly. So over the past 2 days I have played for several hours just trying to get my little fingers to move how they need to. So far I can play 2 chords (E major and E minor)!

And just tonight my brother Tony gave me my first guitar picks! I never knew how sore my finger tips would get, but "they" say it'll get better. The guitar itself is a little big for me I think. Colin said ALL the female musicians play a full sized guitar and that I should try to do the same. So that is precisely what I am doing.  If Taylor Swift can hack it, then I better be able to too. I feel like my fingers are too chubby and short, and that my arms are too short to hold the guitar. I bet it'll get easier and I'll get used to it, so I do have hope!

Ideally I'd love to meet up once a week with someone until I have the basics down and then maybe biweekly after that. Preferably this would be free. I don't exactly have big bills to be slinging around for a hobby. Sallie Mae wouldn't approve at all! So if you are reading this and you are good at guitar and think you could tolerate a newbie, please let me know! I can kind of read tabs and I am willing to practice often! Let me know if you want to play a leading role in shaping and molding this blossoming string musician.

Stay tuned for some updates! 

(Pun totally intended.)

Fact or Fiction: You Decide

Introducing Colin-

Colin (a.k.a. ColCol, Coli, Brandon) is my domestic, man partner. He had me from first wink; it must have been his gorgeous, blond eye lashes.  He has been hanging around with the Melillo tribe for quite some time now. I guess one might say that our relationship began rather organically.

Fact or Fiction? You Decide.

One lackluster evening, Colin and I returned to my house with the intent to spend a little quality time with my old man. In true Dad fashion, the living room had been rearranged and my large, sectional couch now divided the living room from the dining room. Perhaps I should have prefaced this entire post with the fact that whenever we plan on spending any significant amount of time with Dad, we always prepare ourselves for the unexpected. If you have spent even a few minutes with my Dad, you probably understand why. As I mentioned in his introduction, he is a man of questionable humor.

Colin and I seated ourselves on the portion of the couch that was now acting as a room divider, while my Dad lounged comfortably on the other leg of the couch.  Upon settling in, we noticed that the movie “Taken” was playing on TV. Just a brief history about the movie in case you haven’t seen it (it will all make sense soon); This is a movie about a girl that is kidnapped and her father is a retired secret agent of some kind. He sets out on a mission to bring his little sweetie home. There is lots of action and a good amount of fighting, particularly with guns. Back to the scene though…

So here we are sitting on the couch watching the movie with my Dad when I realize a couple of things...

1. My Dad is wearing women’s sweat pants. You know, the more fashionable kind with the scrunchy bottom so you can keep them up on your calf (or under your knee) and show a little leg??? All I can do is laugh a little and sigh.

2. He is still as annoying as possible, evidenced by him holding a wooden hand back-scratcher that he keeps whipping me with.

3. In his other hand, he is holding a hand gun.

Now the first two things I mentioned (sweatpants and back-scratcher whippings) are things I have come to accept having been around my Dad for some 24 years now. But the handgun… Why oh why could he possibly feel the need to unlock and handle a handgun with such gusto? Apparently, in order to add a little spice to the experience of watching “Taken”, my Dad was play-firing along with the gun fight scenes as he quoted some memorable lines. Unsure as to the exact status of the gun, Colin threw me over the back of the couch and we crawled into the kitchen where for the time being we removed ourselves from any clear and present danger.

We went upstairs and I have not attempted to spend any additional quality time with my Dad since. While I have not re-encountered the handgun, the women's sweat pants (and even some women’s running shorts) have made several reappearances.

Could this story possibly be true? I’ll let you decide for yourself.

Formal Introductions

Greetings! 

Hello and welcome to Once Upon A Melillo... A blog created to share with you and the world, the thoughts, stories and memories that have come to define one young Melillo girl. I have pondered where to begin and I have come to the conclusion that I will begin here...


I'm a girl. I like to be busy. I love my family. I think that in some way or another, each subsequent blog entry will touch back on these themes in some manner or combination. I'll be sure to tie the themes of my life together for you all so the patterns are clear and so you don't have to think too hard. This is a blog, not a Shakespearean sonnet; it does not require analyzing or 'reading between the lines'. I'll try to mean what I say and say what I mean. 

Now I think I'll take a minute to introduce the members of the Melillo tribe. I should preface these introductions with the fact that out of pure love, my brothers and myself have somehow ended up back home with our father, a man of many talents and of even deeper mystery. This man of wonder is the human-being that has inspired such strong thought and psychological disarray that I felt the initial yearning to generate this little gem for all you internet savvy Melillophiliacs. 


Now onto the tribe!!!


Joseph (a.k.a. JoeJoe, Joey, Jopey) is the youngest, sassiest and most epic of the Melillo children. He has sandy brown hair, hazel eyes and he just loves his little man cave.


Anthony (a.k.a. Tony, Tone Bone, ToTo) is the eldest of the Melillo children and at times can be just about as sarcastic as they come. He has hair black as the eyes of a crow and has shoes white as the freshest snowfall. 


Big Poppa Melillo (a.k.a. Tony, Anthony, Padre, Daddio) is a lethal combination of questionable humor and questionable gaming skills that generate quality conversation and debate within the tribe and its' auxiliary members.


Dodge (a.k.a. Dodgey, Bubba, Doogin) is a large, boxy, yellow lab that has a huge, empty head and a tail that could cut down a Christmas tree in one swing. Sometimes he is stinky, but he has the most charming smile you've ever seen on a dog. 


Jingle Bells (a.k.a. Jingles, Tony's girlfriend) is an extremely elderly, feline family member. We are fairly certain that she is somewhat deaf and blind, but she has somehow developed an enhanced sensor for the presence of Tony and of tuna fish. 


Orangie (a.k.a.Orange, Yellowie) is our second less elderly, feline family member. Recently his devotion to Tony has been questioned as he ventures into and becomes increasingly fond of other Melillo's living spaces. 


The aforementioned parties (including myself) currently reside under one roof (with only 1 bathroom). This leads to many frequent, humorous yet questionable situations on a daily basis.

You would be lacking imperative information if I forgot to introduce to you a pivital member of the tribe-

Grammie Melillo (a.k.a. RaeRae, Rae, Blueberry, GramGram) lives about 20 feet away in her own little house with her sidekick Gunner. 


My momma (Jean) and stepfather (Bill) will be featured in their own blog posts in the near future; after all, how could they not be?!? I know your curiosity and excitement are eating you alive, but try to relax for now... All in due time. 


So that is that for introductions. Enjoy the posts that are brewing in my brain as we speak. I question what is appropriate to share and what is not and also in what amount of detail. I guess that's the beauty of the internet and the artistic license  that blogging allows. You'll just have to tune back in and check it out for yourself!