Could You Please Kill That?

I have been very lucky. Since I was a little girl, I've pretty much had someone in my life who could remove, squash or kill those eight legged pests that compromise our enjoyment of life.

Just this morning, I almost walked into one of those silent ninjas as he descended from the ceiling. All I had to do was gasp and my husband instantly peaked around the corner.

"What is it?" he said.

"A spider," I said calmly.  "He's hanging right here. Just get a paper towel." In our home I need to specify what type of weapon is needed for each particular battle with a bug.

Like David Copperfield, my husband made the creepy crawlie disappear. And no, this one would not return.

One of my earliest memories is of my brother and I playing outside riding our Big Wheels. I would not go very far before I would spy a multi-legged creature. "Ronnie, come here!" I would yell. And with the power of Thor my younger brother would stomp the life out of anything I deemed intolerable.

There was a period of time between college and marriage when I did not have anyone immediately at the ready for bug duty. This was a precarious time and often resulted in phone calls to male friends who might take pity on a damsel in distress.

One time I stayed in the bedroom of my apartment for hours because there was a weird green bug in the doorway. The person I called to help wanted me to actually say the words, " Can you please come help me!" Since I didn't want to be that girl, I suffered alone -summoning the strength to deal with Greeny myself. And yes, I did feel a sense of pride when I ground him into the carpet with my left blue Chuck Taylor.

Over the years, I have come to appreciate the pests I deal with here in western PA. We have the thousand leggers, which are the fastest suckers I've ever seen.  One minute you see them and then they are gone! Creepy but harmless.

And yes, we have the crazy stink bug. The worst thing about them is when they fly around in a dark bedroom. As you lay in the cozy cocoon of your bed and you hear their propeller-like whir and then - silence. Where did they go? Are they on your pillow? Lights come on and the hunt begins.

Of course, spring brings spiders galore, but I can handle them (the little ones) for the most part. When my husband worked nights and I was home with the kids - I had to be the one who dealt with the screams of, "Mom, IT'S A SPIDER!" But his schedule is different now and if he is home - he gets the call of duty first, no question.

It does make me feel good to know that I can deal with the occasional crawlie. The kids and I even have a routine for stink bug sightings. Someone grabs the spray bottle and shoots it down from the wall with a steady stream of water. Another kid grabs a container and covers it up. I have the option of dealing with it immediately or waiting until it's convenient to flush it down the toilet version of Sandcastle's Dragon's Den.

But let me tell you why I have been able to come to terms with the bugs we deal with here in Pennsylvania. They are nothing like the huge pests we dealt with for years while living in Virginia. Whatever fancy name you want to give it - palmetto bug, waterbug, flying waterbug - a roach is a roach. We had them in three out of our four apartments.

Now don't get the wrong idea. We were not living in dens of filth - like you sometimes see on the news. The moist southern climate makes it the perfect environment for these palmettos. We were told exterminators were useless in multi-dwelling structures because each apartment is it's own entity. Landlords would not pay to have each apartment treated and even if they did - it would not guarantee the bugs would not come back.

In terms of numbers, there were probably only a dozen waterbug sightings total over the years - it wasn't a Hitchcock film by any stretch of the imagination, but they were scary, ugly, creepy, horrible and every and all adjectives you can use to describe bad things.

So today bring on the thousand leggers, stink bugs and spiders - I've seen what is out there and I know it could be worse!

All The World's A Stage

If I remember correctly my very first live musical was Anything Goes. It was not on Broadway or at the Benedum. It was performed by students of McKeesport Area Senior High School.   I was in 9th grade and the show would be my introduction to musical theater. I remember how gorgeous my peers looked in their costumes. I remember how lovely their voices sounded. I remember how, to me, the students were stars with as much talent as a Kristin Chenoweth or Matthew Morrison.

I still from time to time find myself humming "Blow Gabriel Blow" - the catchy number that got stuck in my head that night so long ago. Although I admired the students that participated in the musical, I knew that would never be me. I did not have the courage, singing talent or burning desire to be on the stage. It was something nice to think about, but not something that was meant for me. I did play in the orchestra pit during a Broadway review we did my senior year, but that was as close as I got.

I did get involved in theater during my college years. My roommate and I were on the stage crew for Cabaret and played inquisitors in Man of La Mancha. But the pinnacle of my senior year was playing my favorite Disney princess - before she was a princess - Snow White in Into the Woods. I came on during the final scene, had one line (which consisted of a dramatic yawn and the words excuse me), and  danced in the final number with my prince. Not much, but enough to satisfy any yearning I had to be on the stage.

I have seen quite a few musicals, both professional and high school productions. Nothing beats the feeling of seeing the curtain rise, hearing the overture and knowing you are about to escape reality, for a short time, and enter into a world where characters sing through their problems, dance through their disappointment and live happily ever after.

This weekend, my son played in the orchestra pit for his high school musical. The cast and crew had been preparing for months.  Those in the orchestra had done most of their preparation solo, but for the past few weeks they had rehearsals every weekday evening. I was so excited to see the show on opening night and hear all the instrumental parts come together.  While the actors and actresses tell the story, the orchestra drives the plot and sets the tone as each scene unfolds.

I must confess, I saw the show multiple times. I wanted to see how each performance was different. I wanted to catch the little nuances that only someone familiar with the show would catch. Yes, I was a musical groupie and I didn't care.

There were a few kids in the musical I have known since they were in kindergarten. It was a strange feeling to see these young men and women, who have blossomed before my very eyes, on stage. I felt a sense of pride and of course, sadness. Sadness that these kids are not little anymore, sadness that in a few years they will graduate and sadness that I am getting old-er. But enough of that.

Everyone involved in the show did a wonderful job and I am sad that it is over. Yes, it was a busy couple of weeks with drop offs and late pick-ups but I would do it all again and hopefully I will do it again three more times before my son graduates. Even if he stays true to his DNA and does not set foot on the stage during his high school years, I am so proud that he is a member of the pit crew.

If you have the opportunity to support your school district's musical - please do. There is so much preparation that goes into these shows. There is so much the audience doesn't see - the fundraisers, the rehearsals, the set/costume design - all for one weekend. There is so much local talent tucked away in our schools and who knows, maybe some of them will make it to the Great White Way. But even for those that don't, the lessons learned about dedication, team work and perseverance will come in handy on that journey we call life that when set to music, becomes a little bit sweeter.

                   Snow White and Goldilocks
                   Into The Woods UPJ 1996

Y'All Come Back Now

You never really know what you are getting when you move into a neighborhood. I remember when my husband and I bought our first house in Chesapeake, Virginia fifteen years ago. Before deciding to sign all the necessary paperwork, we knocked on doors and talked to people who lived next to or across from our potential dwelling. I wanted to see what the neighbors were like and if they would help make our vision of home ownership come true.

This activity was a bit weird because, well, really, what was I going to find out? But I was six months pregnant with my first child, and I wanted to make sure I wouldn't be bringing my baby home to a neighborhood of serial killers. (I blame the hormones.)

Those who did answer their doors were nice enough but revealed little about their neighborly qualities. Nothing prepared us for the little boy next door who would walk into our home without warning or the wife who seemed like she was in a cult and hardly spoke when her husband was around.

For being in the south, typically an area known for extreme friendliness, our first house experience did not uncover the lasting kinships you would expect. Don't get me wrong, we still keep in touch with friends we made through church and work, but none of our neighbors.

When we moved back to Pittsburgh, I found people more friendly than when I left. (I don't know if it was because I was so happy to be back home after six years that everyone seemed like my best friend.)

On the street where we found our current home, I did not interview our potential neighbors. We needed our own place fast. My family of four, and dog, were living with my parents and my personal three month deadline for this situation was running out. But nothing could prepare us for the amazing people we would be surrounding ourselves with.

It all started with the 90-year-old watch-lady across the street who loved to see and hear my little ones playing in the yard. She would call us if there was a car parked on the street she did not recognize - making sure there was no riffraff out and about. Sweet Mabel has since passed away, but the family who bought her house has been a wonderful addition to our neck of the woods.

We have handy neighbors who help us repair things and caring neighbors who are always looking out for my children. Recently, our neighbor two doors down brought us his famous multi-layer Jello dessert to cheer us up after our dog and car died in a span of four weeks. I could not bring myself to return his dish empty because I was so touched by his kindness.  (Unfortunately, it took me a month to whip something up so I could finally get his Pyrex back.)

Now that the weather is getting warmer, we will start to mingle outside again. People will wave while sitting on their porches, conversations will be had while doing yard work and hopefully I'll share some wine with the gals on a summer night.

I'm kind of sorry I didn't knock on any doors twelve years ago. It delayed the process of getting to know the people who would provide the southern hospitality we had missed when we actually lived down south.