Don't Panic

I am a struggling Steelers fan. I have been for about the past five years. Don’t get me wrong. I love the Black and Gold and root for them each week, but the players' off-the-field antics over the years have made it hard to be the fan I know I could be. The fan I am when Landry Jones plays.

Growing up in the 70’s near Pittsburgh, I felt like I knew Terry, Lynn, Jack, and Franco. We referred to them using only first names in my parents’ home. Photos of the team were hung on the walls intermingled with family photos. Commemorative I.C. Light cans were the equivalent of anything ordered from a Home Interiors party.

My dad hosted Steelers parties, traveled to Super Bowls - truly enjoyed the excitement of those 70’s teams. The excitement spilled over to us kids and while I did not really understand the game, I was under 6, I did like the snacks, camaraderie and Steelers Polka. We played that 45 until the grooves wore out.

I took some time off from being a fan during college until my senior year when the Steelers went to the Super Bowl. The guys who lived next door were diehard fans. They painted the Steelers’ logo on their living room wall, stacked up their couches like bleachers on game days and made sure there was plenty of I.C. Light on hand.

I don’t remember much talk back then about the players’ off the field character or extracurricular activities. Even if there was, I wasn’t a parent trying to raise three children in a society where positive examples are often few and far between. I was a fun loving 20 something, voting for Perot, listening to Dave Matthews, living on a diet of Oodles of Noodles, Pop Tarts and Coca-Cola. (Talk about the good life!)

There were some shaky times with Big Ben but it appears he has turned his life around and now has a beautiful wife and family. No one can deny he is one of the most talented quarterbacks in the NFL and at times when he throws the football it is truly a thing of beauty – and this coming from a girl who would much rather spend an afternoon at the Carnegie Museum of Art wondering what an artist was thinking than at Heinz Field wondering what Tomlin is thinking.

But then there is Landry. Ok. Maybe I have a slight crush. His hipster look and attitude is nothing short of what my husband brings to the table. Landry’s ‘Don’t Panic’ speech is something I need to hear daily. I go from 1 to bonkers at the slightest hint of a diversion from the plan. I am working on this by repeating the mantra – “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and doggone it, people like me.” Yeah, so what if I stole it from Stuart Smalley. It works.

Ok, back to Landry. We all know he does not have the precision of Ben Roethlisberger but he has talent. He made some pretty gutsy throws last week, which had me holding my breath. I love stories when people are up against the odds and go out there and do their best when they could easily crumble.

I am drawn to a good underdog story, probably because I have one of my own. I spent a few years of my childhood getting the business because of my speech impediment. I could not make a clear “s” sound to save my life. Braces and speech therapy would later correct this defect. I wish I could go back to that little girl and tell her one day, your voice will be broadcast over both television and radio airways when you become a reporter. Yes, there was a time when that seemed highly unlikely.

A win last Sunday was also highly unlikely but if a bad call, missed field goals and interception weren’t mixed in with those gutsy throws he would have gotten that W.

I want Big Ben to be strong enough and come back to the game as quickly as possible. The team needs him if there is any chance of making it to the playoffs, but I hope Landry gets one more chance to come out there and get that win.

He is not of the caliber of Mr. Roethlisberger but for this gal, rooting for Landry is like rooting for a friend – a friend who may not be the biggest, strongest or most adept for the job but one who has enough heart to inspire us to do our best and to never give up – no matter what the odds makers may say. 

My Edible Glass Slipper

The gorgeous night skies of late have reminded me of when I was a kid growing up in McKeesport. As much as I hated knowing summer was over, the orange-pink and purple sunsets were a pleasing consolation. Standing on our back deck looking at the trees, almost void of leaves silhouetted against the colorful canvas made me…happy.

I remember walking home from school, crunching leaves beneath my feet, daydreaming about – candy. Fall meant Halloween and Halloween meant candy but not just any candy. Delicious Swiss chocolate made with care and precision in a chocolate factory next door to my home.

Now don't get the wrong idea. My next door neighbor was not Willy Wonka and no Oompa Loompas were involved - only a white haired lady named Dorothy. She and her husband operated a candy store that was located on Versailles Avenue but they made their chocolate on Lafayette Street.

This was a dream come true for this little girl who loved and continues her love affair with chocolate. When you have had the best chocolate money can buy within the United States – of course my frame of reference does not go farther west than Ohio or farther south than Virginia – I assume that this chocolate could hold its own worldwide.

Being that Dorothy lived next door, on Halloween I could have just gone to one house and been done, but I was not stupid. When talking about chocolate I wasn't going to turn anything down. I enjoyed a good Hershey Bar as much as the next guy and we're talking about bar size treats not these bite size rip offs from today. But going to Dorothy's was saved until last because we knew, being her neighbors, we were going to get something special.

Bags of foil wrapped chocolate, molded chocolate on a stick, samplers - yeah, we got it all. Sometimes we would need a separate bag for the goodies that Dorothy would be handing out. She was a very generous lady not just on Halloween but on all holidays.

On the days leading up to Christmas I anxiously waited for her to walk up the sidewalk, which for her was no easy task. She needed two canes to get where she wanted to go. Dorothy would have a white paper bag with handles, balanced carefully on one of the canes, weighed down with what she called ‘mistakes', but that just meant they did not meet her high standard of excellence. We could never understand why they didn't make the cut because they looked and tasted ok by us. In fact we would sample a few at time to see if we could detect the imperfections.

At Easter she would bring over her fruit and nut filled eggs, which in honesty were not my favorite, but were a delight to my mother. The Easter Bunny could not compete with Dorothy, which was probably frustrating to my mom who had to think outside the box to fill our baskets. Having anything that resembled the yummy goodness from next door would blow the bunny's cover.

My Grandma Dorothy would walk to the candy shop a few blocks away from her home each Easter to buy our gifts. Mine was a chocolate glass slipper, like that of Cinderella, filled with caramels, melt-a-ways and nut clusters. The slipper was always eaten last, once everything else was gone and I would break it off in sections. I savored the heel – the final and thickest chunk of chocolate.

Although Dorothy and her husband have been gone for decades, her chocolate lives on in a spacious store and factory in White Oak. It is refreshing to be able to walk in, smell the smell that used to envelope my swing set and buy candy that tastes the way it did when I was little.

I was disappointed this past Easter when I filled my kids' baskets with Dorothy's candies and some remained days after the holiday - wrapped and seeming unappreciated. I channeled my frustration into opening each piece and I ate $40 worth of chocolate myself. Sometimes being a grown up needs a grown up dose of sweetness and that day couldn't have tasted any better.

Run Forest Run

We have all heard the phrase you’re not getting older you’re getting better. Someone in my family (I think it is my sister) writes that in my birthday card each year. Yeah, it is nice to read, but with the negative stereotypes that revolve around aging in our youth obsessed society, I’m not sure many people believe it.

Before I turned 40 I was in a panic. I could not say the number, look at the number or write the number. I was frantically searching for people who did monumental things who were around that age to show myself I could still be relevant even though I was going to be “old”.

For my 39^th birthday, my father got me a framed photo of Pittsburgh Pirate Willie Stargell. Willie won the MVP Award, League Championship MVP Award and World Series MVP award back in 1979 when he was 39. He was the only player ever to win all those awards in the same season.  So his nickname was “Pops” – he was still at the top of his game, literally. This was an inspiration for me.

Once the madness wore off and I comfortably sunk into my 40’s, I realized I had temporarily gone crazy and was ready to commit myself to greatness. Before I could commit myself to greatness I had to be physically fit. I was very proud of my husband who had been running and completed a few 5Ks and I thought maybe I could do that too.

It seems like the trendy thing to do these days. Get a cute outfit, colorful shoes, a Fit Bit and run like the wind. I have never been a trendy kind of girl but I did have running experience. I ran track in high school for one year.

This experience was atypical for me because it involved athleticism. Yes, I come from an athletic family but I was not an athlete. My dad tried out for the Pirates when he was a teen, my brother excelled at every sport he ever tried and my sister played softball and tennis. I blew into a clarinet. I was the musical one and that was ok, but something inspired me to jump hurdles in my junior year.

I look back on my track year with mixed emotions. I was not that fast or good. The coaches did not put a lot of time into me because well, they knew it too. I got a 4^th place ribbon once because someone didn’t show up and another runner had the flu and went the wrong way. This was a high point for me. I got a ribbon for a sport! Take that siblings!

John Lennon had his 'lost weekend' and I had my lost track year but the feeling I felt when I completed an event stayed with me. I felt good. I felt like I accomplished something. I earned each drop of sweat that fell from my forehead and whether I was first or last, I put myself out there. I was ready to do that again but was it possible? I am in my 40’s.

This past September marked my one-year anniversary of running. I started small – just running at the local high school track after dropping my son off at school. Getting to one mile was tough but I knew this was a work in progress and in time I would be 5k ready.

I became an all season runner. 'I’ll come running…Winter, spring, summer or fall' like the lyrics in the James Taylor song 'You’ve Got A Friend' but it took everything I had on those cold winter days when the track was unfriendly and there was ice and snow.

I have not run a 5k yet but I will. I run 9 miles a week and each time I run I am reminded that life does start at 40. Here I am doing something I couldn’t even do in high school. If I can do this what else can I do? I may not be the fastest or most graceful but I am 42. My age is no longer a negative thing to say. It is my excuse to - Just Do It. (Sorry, Nike!)

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Sometimes I think I was born at the wrong time. If you know me you know my affinity for the music of the 60's, especially the entire Beatles' catalogue. Yes, I missed out on Beatlemania by a little over a decade, but quite frankly, I think the excitement would have killed me. As much as I love listening to their music, I am not sure if I would have been one the screamers, but just being at one of their concerts, being in their presence and among other like minded fans, would have been beyond exhilarating.

This past weekend I was finally able to watch the much touted Ron Howard Beatles' documentary ‘Eight Days a Week - The Touring Years'. I really wanted to see it in the theater but the only local one that was showing it was in Dormont, with only one daily showing. I couldn't wait any longer to shlep out to the South Hills so I did what many people have done, sign up for a free trial of Hulu, a Netflix wannabe, but with more current programming.

The documentary was being promoted as having new revelations about the Fab Four. After 52 years since their U.S. debut, how could there be anything fans don't already know? Yes, I knew there was never before seen footage unearthed, but considering all the books, articles, liner notes and anthologies, I was skeptical.

From the moment we, yes - my family watched it with me, pressed play, I was entranced. The concert footage was incredible, even if the Hulu version is missing extras from The Beatles' 1965 Shea Stadium performance. I loved seeing the guys play together and enjoy playing together. Watching the early shows, before the monotony of touring began to weigh on them, you are transported to a simpler time when music was fun and an escape from the troubles of the world.

While I was watching I couldn't help think of my co-worker Ernie Spisak who frequently makes colorful references to the music of his youth in his weekly columns in The Valley Mirror. I always pick up on his references, because like I said, I was born at the wrong time. Ernie lived through this and boy, am I jealous. I also think of my dad who was on a date the night The Beatles first performed on Ed Sullivan. He lost the girl because, for that night, four lads from Liverpool were a little more important than stealing a kiss in the living room.

I have been listening to The Beatles since I was five. I remember walking into my parents' bedroom and hearing this amazing noise coming from their clock radio. You know, I don't even remember what the song was, but I remember hearing the KDKA radio DJ saying, "And that was The Beatles!" From that moment on John, Paul, Ringo and George, became a fixture in my life and would provide the soundtrack for my youth, teenage years and beyond - decades after they were no longer a band.

Years ago on WRRK, they would air Beatles Christmas. Starting at 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve the radio station would air 24 hours of straight Beatles' tunes with limited commercial breaks. I made so many mixed tapes trying to compile a complete catalogue of all their songs…even the odd ones like, "You Know My Name Look Up The Number." While everyone was singing "Silent Night", I was outside lighting luminaries listening to my Walkman singing "Sexy Sadie". I can only hope God likes The Beatles too because, well, maybe there should be some penance due for that?

With that being said, even though I wasn't around in the 60's, I've had my own little Beatlemania, and now it is continuing through my children. We've had Beatle themed birthday parties and just last year, my oldest and I went to see Paul McCartney in State College. (It was my son's first concert.)

While watching Ron Howard's documentary can teach fans a thing or two about the ‘touring years', at this point for me, it is about sharing my passion for the greatest band in rock n' roll history because The Beatles had something that captured a generation. Although I was born too late to live it first hand each time I hear one of their songs I am once again that little girl, who in an instant, began a love affair that will last my entire lifetime.