Scratch This

It's that time of year. The days are getting cooler, the leaves are changing and I am dealing with my annual bout of poison ivy. I really don't know why it happens, but for the past eight years or so this has been a recurring theme.  This time, the location of the rash, and how I got it there is baffling except for one glaring factor, my DNA.

Every summer my paternal grandmother, Dororthy, always got a case of the 'Ivy' but she was always asking for it. Trimming the hedges in front of her house in McKeesport became her mission after my grandfather passed away. She had an outfit which usually consisted of her trusty sweatband and possibly one of his old shirts. We would tell her not to do it because she was just inviting trouble, but she was determined and took her date with the hedges very seriously. It was her mission and she was up for the task no matter the risk.

I have not been doing any yard work recently. If you watch the beginning of an old episode of "The Munsters" you'll see what my house looks like these days. Apparently, amidst the overgrowth, lurks the poisonous plant and Eddie playing fetch with Spot.

The part of my body affected, my left side above my hip,  is always covered because I normally wear... a shirt. This year the summer got away from me before I could get "bikini ready" so yeah, a shirt is typically my M.O. Usually the rash appears on my arms or legs except for that one time, back when I was a kid when it was everywhere.

I was about 13 and there was a new medicine on the market that you were supposed to dilute before applying. One of my parents, I cannot reveal who since this is still a sensitive topic and someone made me promise never to repeat this story out loud,  thought if he/she applied it full strength to the affected area it would work better. Well, it didn't and things got way worse. I was miserable but so was this parent who was reminded of their mistake each time I scratched and I scratched . Lucky for my siblings, I'm the oldest so this error was not repeated.

I did do some weeding last month and I took every precaution to prevent any possible 'Ivy' contact. On a hot August day, I brought out jeans, knee high gardening boots, one of my husband's flannel shirts and gloves. Yes, I was a sight. My youngest said to me, "Mommy, you look hot." That was not supposed to be a compliment. Because of the outfit, I was successful in avoiding any rash, but would have had an excuse since I really gave to those hedges and rose bushes. Right, Grandma?

What I did last week to earn such colorful blotchyness, I cannot put my finger on - except for the DNA. A few days after my grandmother would attack her hedges she would sit in her un-air-conditioned house, in front of the fan, covered in calamine lotion, retelling the tale of how she fought the hedges and lost. I would shake my head in disbelief and say to myself, "that will never be me."

Flash forward 30 years and it is me. It has been 19 years since my grandma passed away and the older I get, the more I see her in me. I took a selfie a few months ago and when I looked at myself, I saw her face - minus her classic 50's updo that made her one of  Aqua Net's most valued customers.

The interesting timing of this year's poison ivy party, is that it falls between the anniversary of my grandmother's death (Sept.18) and the anniversary of her birth (Oct. 6). This  year for the first time since they were given to me, her wedding rings fit my finger. So with each itch I remember my grandmother, a spunky lady who loved her family above all things and whose legacy I am proud to carry on. She always said, "You'll get better before you get married." Maybe I'll get better before my anniversary.

And The Blue Ribbon Goes To....

I am a busy gal. I cannot name one thing that I do regularly for enjoyment's sake. Maybe that's something I should work on, but for now let's talk about cheesecake.

For the second year in a row, for my daughter's birthday, I made a cheesecake. This is not my way of getting out of making a traditional cake. While that would be the easier route, the aggravation I saved by not having to decorate it was worth every block of cream cheese [4] I bought to make this extravaganza. Thanks to my mom and the Wilton company, I cannot just make a cake.

One of my earliest memories is watching my mom put thousands of star tips on my brother's Batman and Superman cakes. Each year she outdid herself - graduating to piping roses -which were the prettiest and, of course, yummiest to eat. We would fight over who got a rose on their piece of cake. Yes, nothing says 'Happy Birthday' like a mouthful of buttercream icing and a sugar coma.

Remembering our special cakes is what made birthdays so memorable. I only remember a handful of birthday gifts from when I was a kid that really stand out: a tambourine, a Farrah Fawcett head and my green peridot ring. The taste, the look and the time my mom took to make my cakes are what I really treasure.

So yeah, back to the cheesecake. I like to keep the cake tradition going with my kids and I've made everything from a Hulk smash cake to a  ladybug cake. Last year was the first year we got cheezy.

 The tools were provided by a dear friend who was concerned that I did not have my own springform pan - a necessity for any dessert lover or amateur baker. She also provided me with The Cheesecake Bible. This book lives up to its name in that it contains the ingredients to live by if you want your mouth to go to Heaven.

Last year, I made the French Apple Cheesecake. I am not a big fruit eater and would have preferred to make the plain, chocolate or turtle recipe, but we all thought it was good. That was until the Blue Ribbon Cheesecake entered our sites.

My daughter wanted a plain cheesecake this year and there were two recipes; Blue Ribbon and New York Style. I wanted to go with the New York, but the birthday girl picks. I spent a Friday evening making this recipe- not knowing it was going to change my life. It was 85 degrees outside and 350 degrees inside -probably a little hotter if you factor in the glass of wine I had, so needless to say it was a labor of love.

Most of us have had a good piece of cheesecake. Because it is an indulgence, we remember when and where we ate it, what was on top, and what made it so good. I remember a mouthwatering piece of pumpkin cheesecake I had during an anniversary weekend in Cleveland, Ohio. My husband was so sweet and pretty much had one bite and let me eat the rest. [He probably figured he'd get his cake later.]

With my limited amount of spare time, it is frustrating when I put effort into a recipe and it doesn't turn out. This recipe from start to finish was flawless. There was one heart-stopping moment when I accidentally stuck my oven mitt in the middle of the cheesecake, but like Picasso, I made a swirl with a butter knife and fixed the mistake.

Dishing up the dessert, I was waiting for my opportunity to try it. My family started asking for seconds, which is when I remembered I had fresh strawberries to go with it. Once everyone had their second piece, I went in for my first. The initial bite was almost too good to be true. "Did I really make this?", I thought. Did my husband try to prevent any disappointment and swap out my cheesecake for one from the Cheesecake Factory?

Yes, it was that good and I will make it again. For now, there is only one piece left. It is saved for the lady who started it all and made birthdays a day to show your love through baking.

Still the land of dreams

Waking up each day, watching the headlines, it is very easy to become disenchanted with our country. For most of the year we have been bombarded with politics and as we enter the final weeks before the election, it is impossible to get through the day without a Hillary or Trump story.

I admit – I have had thoughts. Unpatriotic thoughts. Thoughts about leaving the United States about starting fresh in Canada or Liechtenstein. Thoughts that would get me out of choosing a candidate in November. 

While this notion of relocating is utterly impossible and half-baked, it is a romantic notion that gets a few seconds of airtime before crashing into the net. Oh and by the way, my relocation fantasy does not include kids, dog or husband. Oh wait, he proofs what I write, so yes, he will be coming and I am happy to have him. 

Things would have to get a lot worse for me to leave my home. Putting things in perspective, dealing with a President Trump or another President Clinton is definitely more tolerable than religious persecution or sexual discrimination. Plus, our country does have a built in system of checks and balances, which my husband continues to remind me, so declaring war or building a wall would need more than one person's say so, right? Founding fathers, can you back me up on this?

My thoughts became sincere last Wednesday when I witnessed 19 people become U.S. citizens. After a year of preparation these people, representing 13 countries, took the Oath of Allegiance to support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic and to bear true faith and allegiance to the same. 

The first Oath of Allegiance dates back to the Revolutionary War. This is according to a Wiki search, the most reliable source of information on the internets. If you read the whole oath you can see it is possible the text may date back 200 years for there is a section about bearing arms for the country. Applicants can now obtain a waiver to opt out of that part if they have religious objections. (If I was taking the oath I would need to opt out for coordination objections.) Kennywood game attendants can vouch for my lack of skills just based on the milk bottle game. No large plush poop emoji for me this year. (If you visited the park this season you know that was one of the big prizes.)

But looking at these people on Wednesday -a true melting pot of what the world has to offer, I felt proud. Proud that I live somewhere that people still dream of living. Despite talk of building a wall, deporting Muslims, and limiting the number of refugees, there are still people willing to do what is necessary to become a U.S citizen. People who make a thoughtful conscious decision to  absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.

Up to this point, I had taken for granted my U.S citizenry. (Except for the days surrounding 9/11 when most of us felt united and strong in our patriotism.) But seriously, all I had to do to earn my citizenship was be born. In fact, my mother did all the work, so, thanks, Mom. No thought on my part, no contemplation - my parents act of love assured my residence in the greatest country in the world. Get born and be an American, can a person get any more lucky? Mom? Dad?

I am happy that I could witness the ceremony last week. I had only a couple objections ...not opting for the Elvis Presley live version of America the Beautiful for the video montage and the fact that Obama sent a video message to congratulate these new citizens. Come on? Couldn't he have at least sent Biden? He was just here last week.

In all seriousness, becoming an American is a big deal. Being an American is a big deal. Yes, there is a lot of negative right now and yes, we can list a number of reasons why things suck.  But....these 19 people were able to brush the bad aside and focus on what makes being an American great. Shouldn't we? 

A Date With Stu

Reporting the news of the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities involves meeting different people from all walks of life. There are some people who have made an impression that will stay with me as long as I live. One of those people was William “Stu” Getz of Swissvale.

It was two years ago that I had my first run in with Stu. It was during Swissvale’s Community Days. I had been there, taking pictures of the festivities, and getting volunteers for our Opinions On The Street feature. Stu had been sitting under the covered table area, as it was a very hot and sunny day.

He must have noticed me talking to various people and wanted to get in on the action. And for an obvious reason, he had a story to tell, and he wanted me to tell it. 

I saw him standing there waiting to talk to me thinking to myself, I wonder what this guy wants. When I finally turned my attention his way he said, “I’m Stu Getz. I’m a World War II Veteran. If you want to talk to me, I’ll be sitting over there.”

I knew our conversation would take a while. I did not want to blow him off but I was short on time. When I had a chance to go over and speak to him, I told him I really wanted to hear his story, but wanted to call him during the week so we could talk. Stu was a little hard of hearing so this interview would need to be done in person so we set up a time on a Tuesday.

When I arrived at Stu’s house he was sitting on the porch, wearing his Army cap. It would be a lie to say I didn’t get choked up as I walked down the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop thinking about my own grandfather who served in World War II. I never had the opportunity to talk to him about his experiences and I felt privileged to be able to be in the company of someone who was so proud to be a veteran, and could recall events as if they had happened yesterday.

Stu sent me a thank you note after my story ran. That is the kind of person he was, thoughtful and appreciative of the little things in life. Before that summer was over, I was in the neighborhood and stopped in to say hello. We sat on the porch once again and he told me stories about his wife and children. The time flew and before I knew it, the streetlights had come on.

Stu passed away last April and I feel badly that I did not get to see him one last time. I am grateful for that day in July when he waited to speak to me and I am thankful that when I rode past his house the other day, the American flags are still attached to the light pole out front.

Dolls Are For Boys

Seeing the world through the eyes of a five-year-old boy can be enlightening. My youngest child is, in a word - challenging.  As many have said over the years he is "your typical boy".  He is rough and tumble, a ball of non-stop energy and very independent.  I have seen him pin to the ground his teenage brother. But on the flip side, I have seen the gentler side of this young man, through a character I call "Little Daddy" and his baby Flower.

I am not sure when he started playing with Flower, a left over baby doll from his older sister. She was never into dolls like many little girls. Don't get me wrong. She was into princesses and playing house, but did not play with Barbies or doll babies. She preferred stuffed animals and her favorite animal changed quarterly.

This doll did not get much playing time even though she had her own stroller and high chair. She  is one of a few toys kept out for when younger cousins come to play. About a year ago, my little guy kind of adopted her and gave her a name. I tried to throw out some other possibilities, thinking that name was already taken by a skunk in a Disney film, but his mind was made up.

I wasn't sure what to do about my son playing with a doll. People have different feelings about this subject and it can get tricky. My oldest son had a small Emily Elizabeth doll, you know, the owner of the big red dog Clifford? Emily went everywhere with us and amazingly, she has lasted long enough to make it into his keep sake box.

When you have a unique "lovey" that probably cannot be replaced,  it can be scary when it gets lost. We lost Emily quite a few times and one time it appeared she was gone for good. It was after a family member had been babysitting. My husband and I tore the house apart and no Emily. At one point we decided to take a break and get a refreshing glass of ice water. When I opened the freezer, there was Emily.

It was upsetting to see my son's doll in the freezer. I knew my kid could not reach up that high and an adult was responsible for Emily's trip to the Arctic. I cannot remember if I addressed this issue with the babysitter, but I tried to understand where he was coming from. Some people find it unacceptable for boys to play with dolls thinking it might lead to something less manly, but now, watching my youngest play with Flower, I can see that it might lead to something  very manly - growing up to become a great dad.

My son treats Flower very tenderly unlike his other toys. He holds her carefully and takes his time when he dresses her, so as not to hurt her. Watching him cradle her in his arms is one of the sweetest things. He tries to console her when she is "crying" and tells her "it's ok. I'm here."

Just this morning, I was up early to get some writing done. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. It was my son and Flower. He said she had had a bad dream so he decided to wake up and stay with her. I encouraged him to go back to bed but he insisted on watching a show with her to calm her down.

The thing that is the greatest about watching the "Little Daddy" show is that I know the inspiration - my husband. Dads today have to be more hands on than ever with most families having two working parents. How many men do you see these days pushing strollers or sporting baby slings? Carrying diaper bags, dressing up for tea parties, walking around covered in glitter from the day's art project - these guys do it all.

My husband has been parenting with me every step of the way, except of course, the breastfeeding part. I would be dead tired and have to get up for a 2 a.m. feeding and he would sympathize and say "I wish I could help more", then roll over and go back to sleep. I did not resent him - for long.

It is reassuring to see parenting through the eyes of child. Seeing the tenderness, compassion and love shown by my son makes me hopeful that if he is called to be a dad, he will rise to the occasion. It also makes me happy that with the craziness of family life, and we all know at times it can be far from the Donna Reed Show, it is love that he seems to be taking away.

Who knows what the future has in store, but lucky for Flower and I, Little Daddy is here and making sure everything is all right.