Help the Poor In New York City


Each month we participate with incredible people in a monthly food walk which starts in Little Italy, Manhattan. We are asking all of our people in the five boroughs of New York and surrounding areas to get involved by sharing this post and tagging any restaurants or food businesses (don’t have to be Italian) who would be happy donating warm or cold meals or supplies for this cause. To find out more you are welcomed to DM us. Please Share and TAG us in your posts. This is an opportunity to do something for people who have a lot less. Many blessings to you for taking a moment to share, or comment with a tag. 🙏🏻🙏🏻 


What Pegman Saw~Scylla and Charybdis


  Harvey and George finally got a chance to spend a few minutes away from Muriel and Gloria while they were on vacation.


“Yeah, Bruh,” Harvey gushed to his oldest friend, “This is the life. If we could live close to a place like this, life would be an absolute feast. Don’t listen to those lunatic girls, with their fad diets.”


“Absolutely!” George admitted. “I’m so sick and tired of all their healthy fads, for fear of made up cooties like lactose, gluten, and crap like that.  They’re just money~making scams anyway.”


Eventually, after having had too much of a feast, the boys started feeling wiped out. Exhausted, they asked for some Alka~Seltzer. George pointed out: “Just because their diet is a disease, doesn’t mean ours is necessarily a perfect cure. We pushed it too far and it became an equivalent disease.”



This week’s What Pegman Saw  takes us to New South Wales in Australia. The picture was supplied by KRawson

the cats at the soup kitchen

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Odd Trio.”

The Kitchen on Pine Street can often be quite an exceptionally interesting place. Its official name is the Long Beach Food and Friendship INN. Having no previous experience with soup kitchens I don’t know what I could possibly compare it to but there’s always something distinctive going on there.

When I work there I’m expected to bluff my way past all kinds of characters and to put up with a wide variety of eccentric obnoxious behavior and circumstances.

One of the jobs I typically get is giving out a bowl of soup to each guest as he asks for it. Besides soup we always have a full, hot meal, salad, as well as drinks (always non-alcoholic), dessert,fruit and miscellaneous other kinds of things to keep people happy. The food is good. We get it from Trader Joe’s, Waldbaum’s, King Kullen and other nearby food stores.

Because in our neighborhood there are many factories, as well as a public school across the street, we have a lot of dumpsters in our general vicinity. One problem with this is that there’s always a steady supply of stray cats which each of us must bluff his way past. Unfortunately we’re constantly forced to throw away a lot of food. This inevitably attracts all those annoying creatures. At least so far they haven’t made any real trouble for anyone, as far as I know.

Considering that it’s Long Beach, there are a large number of beaches nearby. I feel like showing up at the soup kitchen with a beach towel one of these days, winding it up, and swinging it at all those obnoxious cats in order to chase them away. I know there’s no way that can possibly solve the problem but it would at least dispel any immediate trouble.

don’t think twice it’s all right

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”

Two Saturday mornings ago I was sitting down eating breakfast, at a local restaurant, with my cousin Larry and his wife Rose. My plate had a picture of a bluejay in its design. It was so enchanting I quite regretted having to pour so much syrup over the fine illustration. I knew there was no way the ink could run, but it would still spoil the pristine appearance of it all. It was quite a lovely meal other than that one unfortunate problem. When we eventually went back to their house, on my way up the front stoop, I couldn’t help noticing that a neighbor of theirs was hanging around their mailbox with his dog, who, he pointed out, was named Bob.

“Bob?!”, I spontaneously blurted out. “What in the hell kind of name is that for a dog?”

“Isn’t it the most interesting name?” he replied.

“Dude, surely you jest.”

“I quite think it fits him so well.”

Our confrontation went on for several minutes until I finally gave up on this seemingly pointless episode. I was especially stunned when he explained that Bob is an avid Dylan fan.

the greatest american hero, or hoagie

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “You, the Sandwich.” For many years my cousins, Larry, Gary, Joe, and I were on a bowling league with the Knights of Columbus St. Jane Frances de Chantal Council 6526 in Wantagh, New York.  We bowled every Friday night at Wantagh Lanes. While we were on the league they gave me the name B.L.T.  It only makes sense that were a restaurant to name a meal after me it would have to be a B.L.T. sandwich.  Of course there’s no rule that says its ingredients would have to be restricted to bacon, lettuce and tomatoes. I’ve always been quite smitten with Swiss cheese so it could have quite a healthy helping of that on it too.  In order to be consonant with the way I operate it could, at least occasionally include things like turkey, chicken, ham, fruit and anything else that may remind people of my lopsided antics. Never having been overly fond of spices I could see how anything with an exceptionally intense kick should be kept to a minimum. I’ve never been able to handle anything too sloppy or sticky. The local Lido Kosher Deli has a hamburger that drives me crazy because it’s so hard to handle, being so extremely sticky. My sandwich, by definition, would have to be plain and simple in that respect.  As long as its ingredients include those three primary ones, and it’s reasonably need and easy to handle, it’s quite the perfect edible symbol of me.

an unlimited expense account

If I could have only one day during which I could have access to any and all luxuries, I should like to have an exceptionally fine gourmet meal, with all the best of possible liquor. There would be a bottomless pit of food and drink. All would be invited. A compulsive bookworm, I’d also really like to stock up on all my very favorite novels, plays, poems and short stories.  Unfortunately one day would be entirely too short a time to make any significant travel possible, but perhaps I could fly to Europe at least in order to spend a little while there. Having always enjoyed fancy clothes, jewelry and cologne, I could see to it that I make quite an exceptionally enchanting appearance too. During my short trip  I could visit all the best men’s stores in order to get decked out in all the most impressive styles.  Of course my day couldn’t possibly be complete without my extending an invitation to Beatles Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, requesting that they serenade me with all their best songs. I’d buy an exceptionally nice guitar so I could join them. I’d want more but no one day could possibly include everything. Those are just the highlights.

here comes your nineteenth nervous breakdown

Throughout my adult lifetime, I’ve always been, to varying degrees, inordinately anxious, especially under stressful circumstances. The very best thing I can possibly do on the eve of a big moment of truth-a significant trip, a job interview, or some other milestone-is simply to relax and to go to bed even earlier than my accustomed bedtime. Besides that I enjoy reading, playing my guitar or any other simple relaxing activity. I also occasionally watch television, but that’s not a habit of mine anymore. I’ve always quite bitterly despised the telephone so it helps if I can scrupulously avoid that particular thing.  I absolutely never even think of taking any risks whatsoever with food. If I know I am going to be subjected to pressure, my diet the day before is inevitably simple with absolutely no spices whatsoever. Any risk of stomach trouble would be terrifying.  I always put whatever materials I may be obligated to have in my possession-a number two pencil, identification, money or anything else of any importance-in a very safe, easily accessible place the night before I need them. For the past quite a long time my anxiety hasn’t been overwhelming, but it’s still sufficiently significant that I can’t play games with it.

food glorious food

 For as long as  I can remember I’ve always been quite a most hearty eater. My niece, Bridget, and nephews, Michael and Sam, have frequently passed remarks about how it’s so difficult for anyone to find out about my tastes in food because I always eat anything that’s put in front of me.  I can remember that when I was a kid in Jackson Heights I’d always considered strawberry my least favorite flavor of ice cream, and I’ve never been crazy about spaghetti or most kinds of seafood.  As a youngster I’d never liked liver but a few years ago I ate some with onions, when Uncle Frankie made it. I quite enjoyed it.  Lasagna has always been my favorite food, and home made apple pie my favorite pastry.  I now attend a church where a very large number of the parishioners are from Hispanic countries and the Orient. It’s quite enjoyable for me to go to  their parties and fund raisers because I can try all kinds of exceptionally funky new foods.  I enjoy going to restaurants with distinctive menus because then I get a chance to try new things ranging from goat to buffalo. There is only one problem with my eating habits. I have quite an insatiable need to finish each and every single last morsel on my plate, no matter how difficult it is for me to handle it. I should suppose it is a kind of a neurotic quirk.  People have often complained that it strikes them as more pathological than conscientious.  Of course I have absolutely no patience whatsoever with the vegetarians’ insatiable need to run our lives. I defiantly reject absolutely everything they stand for. The very idea of animal rights is simply insane anyway.

flower power

I got home yesterday only to find a huge bouquet of exceptionally lovely fragrant roses awaiting me.     Although there was no accompanying card or return address I know quite well that they were from my old Knights of Columbus council 794 in Lindenhurst.     I haven’t been a part of that world since April 2006, but they still remember me.   The bingo people sent me the flowers because of all the interesting times we’d always had together.   I spent a lot of times helping there on Wednesdays and Thursdays whenever I was available.    Everyone knows how difficult a bunch of characters can be found at bingo games so that’s most certainly quite a significant accomplishment.     Each week I could always be counted on to help, mostly in the lobby selling things, and sometimes in the kitchen with the food.    I eventually developed  quite a distinctive rapport with the other bingo helpers, and the people who came regularly to play.    Exactly because it was so long ago, and because eight years isn’t exactly a milestone, you might wonder exactly what could possibly have possessed them from out of nowhere to send me something so nice now.     Members of my Lindenhurst council, and the bingo players,  always were the absolute epitome of entirely atypical behavior.     Every week I was expected to put up with all their offbeat antics.    I don’t  think they ever gave anyone flowers throughout all the long time I was really active in the council.    It might be a really new practice they’ve only recently started.    One of these days very soon I shall have to make sure I drive over to Lindenhurst and thank them in person for the nice flowers.    

hep foods

Nobody can say that my eating habits have ever been precisely orthodox.   Whenever I go to a restaurant, or there are distinctive foods available at either a party, church or workplace, I’m the kind of character who can be counted upon always to go for the really eccentric stuff.   I’ve never been concerned about drinking only red wine with meat or white with seafood.    I’ve always raised more than most people’s share of eyebrows over the years for my taste in food combinations and toppings.    I often put salad dressing on meat.   In spite of all the whining I get from others, I highly recommend it.     There are many people who just can’t get over my liking ketchup on eggs, though I think it’s a more common practice than they’re willing to admit.     Maybe it’s because my parents were both from northeastern Pennsylvania but I’ve always had several seriously offbeat quirks anyway, including some involving food.   The weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten may have been a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with pickles.    It was quite a very long time ago and I haven’t ever bothered with it even the least bit recently.    I can remember having gotten quite a kick out of it.     It just occurred to me, as far as I can remember, entirely on an impulse.