Summer In The City

The first day of summer is my favorite day of the year. Yes, better than my birthday, better than Arbor Day.

As a Leo, the astrological sign ruled by the sun, I thrive in summer. I am not really big into astrology, but it might explain why I love the warm, long, hot days of summer and why the summer solstice is a big day for me.

So it stands without saying that I try to make the day extra special. We usually stay outside longer than normal, eat ice cream, listen to happy 60's rock and catch fire flies. This year though, it was a little more smashing than I expected.

The Carnegie Science Center has Snowball Day each year on the first day of summer. People are encouraged to bring snowballs from winter for 'name your own admission price' and then you can chuck them into the Mon River. I made a few snowballs after our late March snow and kept them in our freezer.

The kids and I schlepped down to the big city with our little Spider-Man cooler and got ready for the big splash. I was a little disappointed as the instruments the kids chose to launch their snowballs did not give it the air time I expected. Both snowballs landed splat in the dirty river just inches from where we were standing.

No problem. We were still able to enjoy our day at the science center followed by a trip to Rita's for their Italian Ice sale. By the time we were headed home everyone was bushed. The car was quiet as I listened to the summer song tribute on local radio station WYEP. I was immersed in the sounds of Eddie Vedder's 'Hard Sun' as we were in a line of cars, slowly about to enter the Route 30 detour through East Pittsburgh, when all of a sudden BAM! The van was pushed forward by the impact of the car behind.

For a moment I was alone. I was startled and a bit disoriented. Then I remembered all three kids were in the car. My youngest was in the farthest seat back and would have sustained the greatest impact. I became a little hysterical repeating "Are you ok? Are you ok? Are you ok?" as tears streamed down my face.

I then wanted to call the police but knew we had to pull over first. I wasn't sure where that was going to happen since we were stuck in traffic with no where really to go. There was a little gravel area ahead and I set my sights on getting there as I tried to calm myself down not wanting the driver that hit me to see my emotion running down my face.

The driver pulled up next to me and very calmly told me to pull down the street. He said his business was not far and I could follow him. Once we got down there I looked at the van and amazingly, there was no damage. The driver's car also had no damage. He described the accident as a 'kiss' which I didn't understand at first. I thought maybe, like my husband does at times, tries to steal a kiss at a stop light or in traffic. I thought maybe that was how the driver got distracted, but he meant since our cars "tapped" and not crashed.

We both inquired if the other was ok and he asked about the kid in the car. I corrected him and said, "All three of my children are in the car and they are ok."  He told me his soda bottle fell on the floor and the short time it took him to bend down and pick it up was enough time to lose track of the traffic flow. Although he was at fault, his calm and friendly personality really diffused my anxiety and took a sad song and made it better.

He told me if I needed anything to contact him and then he proceeded to direct traffic so I could back out onto the road. I drove away thankful that no one was hurt, thankful that my van was ok, and thankful that the driver that hit me was who God chose to put in my path.

I don't think my kids and I will ever forget our first day of summer crash. As we pulled away we recounted other minor accidents we were in. Each of us had a few to recall except my little guy. He proudly said, "This was my first one!" and I said, "Buddy, I hope it's one and done and this is it."

Nolan fires his snowball toward the Mon.

Tell The People What She Wore

Just in time for beach season Ms. America has decided to eliminate the swimsuit competition. Now I will be at a loss for what I am supposed to aspire to while at the pool, beach, or spray park.

To be honest, I never felt the swimsuit competition was that bad. I was raised on Ms. America pageants. My mom and I would watch the televised show, dress my Barbies for the evening gown segment and then guess which state would win. We always were rooting for Ms. Pennsylvania on the side, in solidarity, even if we thought Ms. Georgia was a knockout.

But now, I guess even someone like me could have been a contestant. This bone came a little too late for this ol' B-eauty.

Let's face it. Women are always going to be judged on their looks. I am not saying that is right or acceptable but them's the facts. Removing the swimsuit competition isn't going to change that. The women who compete in Ms. America have signed up for that. They know the environment, they know what they are in for. They should be respected for their extreme hard work, sacrifice and dedication because that is what it takes to look that good.

Now if a young gal was going to an interview for a teaching job and had to parade in front of the school board in her finest swimwear before they would decide if they would hire her, that is a problem. But the Ms. America pageant is a beauty contest, pure and simple. You take away the swimsuit and the evening gowns and focus more on the contestants’ talents, intelligence and ideas and it seems to me you are left with something more like Shark Tank. So for me, I'm out.

I didn't care that I would never look like those ladies in the pageants. I was a painfully shy kid, who transitioned to a shy 'painfully modest' teenager. I wore long t-shirts to cover up my swimsuit when my family went to the beach. My dad would tell me to be proud of my Olive Oil physique and get some damn sun.

I didn't hate the girls who could pull off a bikini. I knew it just wasn't me. Being the product of some good Catholic school learning, I was taught tough modesty early on. (You don't see much skin exposed on any of the ladies featured in centuries' old icons.) That was ok by me though, since I was a late developer and didn't have much to show off anyway.

I bought my first two piece around age 24, (According to old photos, I did wear a few bikinis as an infant, but that was before I could dress myself.) and I rocked it for about two outings near Virginia Beach where my husband and I were living. Even though initially I was happy to be able to wear one, I didn't feel comfortable. I was self-conscious and exposed - that wrecked havoc on my Catholic subconscious so I ultimately brought my one piece back.  I still pin shirts or dresses that have a 'V' I consider too deep.

Now, don't get me wrong. I wish things could be different. I wish looks weren't so important. I wish I didn't have to dye my hair, pluck my white eyebrow hairs, or use special 'age defying' moisturizer, but that is what some of us have to do. I am too lazy to wear make-up so I don't really go the extra mile to improve my appearance because, this is me.

I stopped watching the pageants a long time ago, not as some kind of boycott but probably because 16 years ago I traded adult shows for cartoons and Pixar movies. I just wish people could stop using entertainment mediums to make a statement. Chew on this, back in 1921 the Miss America pageant started in an attempt by Atlantic City to simply extend the vacation season. It was not started to solve poverty or achieve world peace.

So get rid of the swimsuits if you like or maybe just bring back the ones they wore back in 1921 when swimsuits were practically dresses they covered so much, that might boost the ratings. But don't try to make Ms. America about 'creating an accurate representation of women'. I'm a woman and I know what an accurate representation looks like and believe me, that is not going to do Nielsen any favors.

Cause You're Starstruck, Baby!

I am not in the position to frequently meet famous people. I have met a few over the years, and mostly because of my job.

My very first celebrity encounter was Bill Clinton believe it or not. A high school friend and I went to a rally for Clinton and Gore in downtown McKeesport back in 1992. We waited forever for them to arrive, but our wait paid off. My friend got to shake Al Gore's hand and I got to shake Clinton's.

Yes, it was a big moment for us, but I was a bit disappointed. In our opinion, Al Gore was the handsomer of the two and, as high school girls can be, it wasn't all about politics for us it was also about the looks. I was also interested in Clinton's plan for financing student loans as I was about to start college. (That really paid off for me as 20 years later, I'm still paying down my debt.)

Ok, so maybe that was not an official meeting, but follow that up a few years later when I met Terry Bradshaw. I met him while working as a videographer at a television station in Johnstown. Our sports guy set up an interview and I was to accompany him. This was huge for me - growing up in a Black and Gold household, getting to meet the man whose photo was prominently placed in our family game room. I had big plans to get an autograph for my dad, my brother, myself...etc.

Well, that dream died quickly. The sports guy gave me a pep talk about how I had to act professional and not act like a fan. I was told under no circumstances should I ask for an autograph. I tried to argue my case about how the autograph was not for me but nothing I could say was changing his mind.

We did the interview and I acted professional although I was quite nervous to be in the presence of Mr. Bradshaw. He was down to earth and very polite and I suspect, me not asking for an autograph, was very much appreciated.

I did have the opportunity to meet Billy Gardell when he was in town last year. I have been a fan of his for years dating back to his appearances on the shows Yes, Dear and King of Queens. Even though I am more mature than the giggly college girl who couldn't talk to Kenny Rogers when I shared a hallway with him during a show in Johnstown, I think my Bradshaw pep talk has served me well in dealing with celebrities. I interviewed Gardell about a project he was working on and although he was pressed for time, he was accommodating.

But nothing will probably ever live up to the experience of meeting Yo-Yo Ma in Braddock last week. I knew he would be making a couple stops in Braddock and I contacted one of the organizers to see if it would be ok to bring my oldest. He has been playing the cello for seven years now and to musicians, Mr. Ma is kind of a big deal.

But even if you are not a musician or fan of cellos, Yo-Yo Ma is a pretty recognizable figure. His name is being batted about these days as he is featured in the Fred Rogers documentary "Won't You Be My Neighbor". Mr. Ma made a few appearances on Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, one alongside his young son Nicholas, who is now grown and one of the producers of the film now in theaters.

I wanted my son to just see him possibly perform, but I had very low expectations for how things were going to play out. To be truthful, my son and I were having a pretty good day spending time together, even without the possibility of meeting someone world famous.

We were at an intimate gathering at the Free Store when a moment presented itself and I seized the day. Mr. Ma was accompanied by an entourage which included national recording artist Valerie June, who was in town for a show at the Three Rivers Arts Festival. She performed an impromptu song and once she was done, the cellist walked around the small crowd and was shaking hands while waiting for his cello to be retrieved. He happened to be right next to me and although I was happy to shake his hand, this was not about me.

I immediately directed his attention behind me, where my shy son was standing, and promptly made an introduction. The warmth he showed my son was true and genuine. There was so much going on in the moment - fist bumps and finger magic that I forgot I had a camera hanging around my neck. At one point Yo-Yo said, "Let's get a picture."

The photo is one of the best photos my son has ever taken. His smile is sincere. Comfortable in the presence of an unquestionably talented individual, but what is more remarkable is how the two are standing together. Yo-Yo was half embracing my kid - one arm around my son's shoulder and his right hand rested on my son's other shoulder like the two are familiar, friends, might I even say, kindred spirits.

This chance opportunity, for me, was one of life's extraordinary moments in a sea of routine. I am a bigger fan of Yo-Yo Ma now because I've met him. Anyone can have talent, but not everyone (famous or not) can be truly nice to others.

Although I never had the chance to meet Mr. Rogers, I think I know what that would have felt like thanks to my encounter with Yo-Yo Ma - and it's a good feeling.

Not Sew Simple

I have a problem. Maybe you, like me, have the same problem. I have a hard time saying no to new projects.

 Hopefully I am not alone. There must be quite a few 'Yes, I Can' people out there and that is a good thing, but sometimes our plate overfloweth. I have wild admiration for people whose plate of life is proportionally fixed.

 My husband's plate is proportionally fixed. He cruises through life with a realistic approach - helping when he can, don't get me wrong, but not spreading himself thin.

 I, on the other hand, am like Welcome Back Kotter's Arnold Horshack when a problem arises and a volunteer is needed to fix it.  Ooo, ooo, ooo, Mr. Kotter, pick me, pick me!

 I am not sure what makes me tick and why I am that way. Truth is, I genuinely like to help people, but often I need a few more hours in the day to get everything done. And more often than not, some things just don't.

 My recent undertaking has been a sewing project. A few years ago, a fellow Tamburitzan dance group mom found a bag of Beanie Baby dolls and accessories in our costume storage room. (Obviously a project of another 'yes' person who had a vision but for one reason or another, never reached completion.) The dolls were going to be donated or thrown out, but when I made eye contact with these red headed dolls I knew throwing them out was not going to happen. Not on my watch. I was going to see this project through.

 The dolls were going to get the extreme ethnic makeover they needed to make some little kid happy and hopefully make the group a few dollars toward our general fund. One problem, I am not a crafter. I make little things here and there, but not seriously. I don't measure. I only sew by hand and there's the lack of time issue.

 Well, the doll discovery was two years ago. They got moved around from shelf to shelf in my house. Once I moved them for the fourth time I got motivated. No doll left behind was my new mantra, but I knew I needed help.

 A couple things happened this year that created a perfect storm of get 'r done. My daughter offered to help me and a fellow dance mom was willing to put her superior crafting skills to the test and spearhead the design process. We wanted to create Eastern European looking dolls - girls and boys - in costumes that we would make.

 This would be a challenge because neither my daughter nor I knew how to use the sewing machine we were recently bequeathed, but our enthusiasm and determination made up for our lack of skill. Luckily, our fearless leader was able to give us a few pointers before sending us off with our part of the project: the doll skirts and aprons.

 During the next couple months our task proved a little more challenging than we anticipated. Our deadline, luckily, was pushed back to the first week of June, due to timing issues, which gave my daughter and I more time to discover we were probably in over our heads. But she is stubborn like me and we weren't going down without a fight.

 After buying some sewing do dads, downloading the sewing machine manual and utilizing the crucial help of a friend visiting from out of town, our portion of the project was completed. Six skirts and six aprons - done. I cannot wait to see these dolls on display this weekend at a local ethnic festival. I hope I get the satisfaction of seeing just one little face light up as her parent allows her to chose one for her very own. (I don't mean my daughter either who has already picked out one she plans to buy herself.)

 I have wanted to make clothes since I was in high school and even bought my own antique sewing machine, just for that purpose. In college, I hand sewed a pillow case dress, which ended up being way too short, and the dream went into hibernation. Although the dream was resurrected in doll form, who knows what it might have inspired for my daughter.

 Sometimes my plate of life doth runneth over and sometimes it can be overwhelming, but with a little help from my friends, along with making adorable dolls, I made incredible memories. I am proud of what we accomplished and I am also happy to have tried something new and have something amazing to show for it.