Finisher 2020

It is an impressive piece of hardware.

Not just because you could probably knock someone out with it but to me, the most striking part is what it says -

Finisher 2020

During the summer, my husband enrolled in the virtual Richard S. Caliguiri City of Pittsburgh Great Race. I almost forgot I was part of the original plan to participate in the event. The idea came to us after my uncle passed away back on January 1. I wanted to honor his memory by competing in the Great Race as he did some 30 years ago. 

There was a photo on my grandparents’ television of my uncle crossing the finish line. I was always so proud of this photo and, as a kid, I would look at it in awe. That photo remains etched in my mind now that I completely comprehend how much preparation it took for him to be ready for the 6.21 miles. 

To be honest, I knew I had a lot of work to do to get ready for an event of this magnitude. My longest run had only been a 5k and that took everything I could give. But when you make a plan in January for something that would take place eight months later, you figure you have plenty of time to prepare.

No one knew what would happen just three months after the ball dropped on 2019. 

When I look back on our original Great Race plan it seems like decades ago. I had completely planned on getting myself in running shape and proudly crossing the finish line wearing a tee shirt showcasing the bib number from my uncle’s race. 

So as with most things that were planned for 2020 - the Great Race became a virtual event. That sealed the deal for me in terms of participation. I didn’t want to honor my uncle virtually. It was back in May when organizers decided to make it a more pandemic friendly event and by that time, I had already made the switch to cycling. (My family and I started taking frequent bike rides to pass the time when we were in lockdown.)

My husband decided to still go through with the race. I was proud of him for entering his 10K time of 50 minutes and 14 seconds which he earned running around the former Eastland Mall site. Once he submitted his information, he was mailed the typical race swag - event t-shirt and medal. 

Again, the medal is an impressive piece of hardware, with the event name and date on it framed by the city skyline and autumn leaves. But I particularly like the way the word “finisher” and the year “2020” come together in the left-hand corner. Looking at the medal, really examining it, I thought we all deserve a medal for getting through this year. God knows it wasn’t easy. 

These past 360 days seem more like 1,080 days and even looking back to this past January seems like a completely different year. We’ve all had obstacles and disappointments to overcome but we’ve made it. We all deserve a pat on the back and definitely a medal!

Yes, I realize that moving from December 31, 2020 to January 1, 2021 won’t make a big difference. There is no magic fairy that is coming down to “poof” all the bad away, but putting the past 365 days in the rear-view mirror and looking ahead to a fresh clean slate does add a little spring to my step. 

There are so many things to look forward to in the year ahead - covid-19 cases decreasing, restrictions being lifted, socially UN-distant family gatherings, please add your wishes and desires to the list. 

I would like to thank each of you for being a part of my 2020 therapy. Writing these blogs and often getting feedback has been one of my comforts during these past 12 months. I hope we continue to stick together through the upcoming year ahead. I wish everyone a hopeful and healthy 2021.

Flippin' Crazy

It all happened so fast. 

In the blink of an eye I was laying face down in the snow thinking one thought and one thought only.

I'm dead. I'm dead. I've died. I'm dead. 

Ok. That sounds a bit weird to be thinking of a line from the movie Finding Nemo (the scene when Dory and Marlin think they have been eaten by the anglerfish) right after you've heard every bone in your neck crack, but that is where I was at.

Let’s rewind. The other day, I decided to take my kids sled riding where I used to go as a child. After we received eight inches of snow and our superintendent declared a snow day, I felt like I didn’t have a choice. The fates were pushing me in the direction of fun. 

We have been very fortunate to have a small hill in our backyard that has provided an avenue for sledding for the past 16 years. Our neighbors have been gracious enough to let my kiddos ride the powder highway into their yard for almost two decades. While that is nice to have, it is also nice to take it to another thrill level and that was my mission.

There is a large hill, a.k.a. “The Mound”, in McKeesport. It not only was the best place for winter recreation but in the summer, it was a great place to watch the July 4th fireworks. It was close enough to our house that my brother and I could walk there if we had to, probably a ten minute trek, armed with sleds and a dream.

There was a little dip at the bottom of the hill that if you hit it with enough speed your sled would go flying into the road so it was important to always have a spotter in case a car would come by. I called the dip the “backbreaker”. 

I had taken my kids to The Mound before but it has been a while since we’ve had a significant snow. I could only entice two of the three kids to go but nonetheless we packed up our sleds in the van and made the 7 minute drive. 

Once there, the kids and I hiked to the top of the hill. I forgot how hard it was to trudge uphill through ten inches of snow. I was surprised to see there weren’t many sled tracks visible. Usually, The Mound is a pretty popular place for kids to go. But this just meant my kids would have to go down a few times before really getting the full speed effect. 

My youngest was frustrated by this and using his saucer sled made things a bit more difficult. (You have very little steering ability with these types of sleds.) So I had to keep providing encouragement. My daughter though, was having the time of her life on her orange toboggan type sled - speeding down the hill. 

At first, I was just an observer and car spotter, but my daughter’s enthusiasm was contagious. I wanted to try too! So I made a couple runs down the hill, channeling my inner kiddo -yelling all the way down. I guess I got carried away and decided to give the saucer a go as well. 

At this point my son had made a good path and I followed it for the most part.  I did veer to the left in an uncharted section of snow which stopped me in my tracks. I started to walk back up the hill and my daughter decided to go warm up in the car. I told my son three more runs and we would go home. 

He was now using the orange sled which was way better for this type of snow and I was demoted to the blue saucer. My next run was the fateful venture that resulted in the saucer spinning around and, as I was traveling backwards down the hill,  pretty fast I might add - I hit something that booted me from the saucer and propelled my legs to go completely over the top of my head. 

My son watched the whole thing in amazement and was totally unaware of the potential for serious injury. He exclaimed, “Wow, Mom you completely flipped!” 

As I got up, somewhat in shock, I realized if I could walk and move my head things must be ok. I also told myself if I had broken something I would be in pain. I told my youngest to wrap it up. It was time to go home. 

It has been a few days since the sledding incident and I am happy to report I am ok. I am still a little sore but I think my shoulder area bore the brunt of the flip which is probably why I am not writing this in a full head/neck harness. 

My take away?  I am not sure. I mean I don’t want to think I am too old to go sled riding but maybe I’m too old to go sled riding? Although next time, I could pad it up like the Steelers do before they take the field. I can get some nice shoulder pads and a padded helmet and make a real statement when I hit the slopes in the ‘Port.

Who knows? But for now the only saucer I’ll be coming in contact with is the one that goes underneath my coffee cup. 

Merry Christmas everyone! 

 

St. Nick Reboot

Now that we have jumped head first into the Christmas season, there is a lot of talk about Santa Claus' alias - St. Nick. Growing up Byzantine Catholic, looking at ornate icons of the saints during liturgy each Sunday, I could never quite understand how the man we know as Santa evolved from St. Nick but as long as there were presents involved, who was I to question it.

St. Nicholas Day (December 6) was celebrated each year when I was little by putting our shoes by the door the night before in hopes of receiving small treats and money. There was nothing extravagant about St. Nick Day but I remember fondly the chocolates, coins and sometimes dollar bills that would be waiting in the morning. (Tradition has it that St. Nicholas once secretly threw bags of dowry money into the window of a poor family to save the daughters from being sold into slavery which morphed into the shoe custom of today.)

As a young girl I attended a Catholic school in McKeesport which was named for St. Nicholas. December 6 was celebrated first by going to liturgy, then special lunch in the cafeteria with a visit by the saint himself. I am not sure who had the honor of dressing up in the bishop's vestments (appropriate for Nicholas who during his lifetime served as a bishop in a town in Turkey) but once he arrived we would stand and sing the Hymn to St. Nicholas in both English and Church Slavonic. 

I was a painfully shy child and I did not like it very much when I was called to "perform" in front of people. Once I began piano lessons, I became the reluctant Liberace whenever someone came to visit. "Kris, play that new one you just learned. You know that one I like with the da-da-da and bab-bab-baaa." Yes, my parents were proud just to hear me play but I was so nervous I could hardly read the notes. I tried to get through as quickly as possible so I could be done. 

One day when I was six we went to visit my grandpap Nick in the nursing home and I was once again called to perform. This time I was asked to sing the Church Slavonic version of the St. Nick hymn. Obviously, I did not want to do this. I could muster my way ok enough through the English but seriously, another language? Plus, my grandfather was suffering with Alzheimer's disease and did not recognize anyone in the room that day. Not my mom, not his wife and certainly not me. 'So why did I have to sing,' I thought?

I did not want to disappoint my mom even though I was troubled by selfish thoughts. It did not occur to me at the time how painful it must have been for her to be there with her father who was not present - or so I thought. 

I began singing and after the first few words, I had accompaniment. My grandfather joined me without missing a beat. He did not remember his family but he remembered the words to a song he probably sang countless times on his name saint's feast day. As you can imagine the tears flowed freely from the eyes of my mother and her mother, once again catching a glimpse of the man they knew. 

At the tender age of six, I was not able to fully comprehend the moment and could only wonder why these ladies, who had asked me to sing in the first place, were now obviously upset. Six-year-olds do not know how to recognize tears of joy.

Now decades after that beautiful memory, I have my own Nicholas, named after his great-grandfather. He has a special meal each year on his feast day and even though he is in his twenties, he did engage with me this week when I asked him what he would like us to prepare. And yes, he and his brother put out their shoes last night.

At church on Sunday I will hear the words that gave my grandfather a voice in the silence of his disease. Centuries ago, St. Nicholas may have secretly brought gifts of money to the poor but in the 80's he gave my family the sweetest gift when two unlikely voices joined in his name, bringing joy to our world that Christmas season.

And Another One Gone

I'll meet you at the Kangaroo!

If you grew up in western Pennsylvania, you know exactly what I am talking about - the Kennywood ride, sandwiched between the Jack Rabbit and the Merry-go-Round, guarded by the nearby statue of George Washington.

The ride was perfect fun for people of all ages. It was basically one step up from a Kiddieland ride, a simple round track, but the steep hill and subsequent drop, took it to the next level. Plus, there was strategy involved. It was a good move to make sure you got in the car first to ensure you would be the squisher and not the squishy when gravity pushed bodies together.

My first memory of this ride goes back to grade school. I remember being in the car with my friends and we decided to yell out words we knew in different languages when we went off of the drop. Bonjour! Hola! Wienerschnitzel! There was laughter - lots of laughter and smiles plastered to our faces from the contagious giggles.

It was a pleasure, years later, to be able to share this ride with my children - a new generation of riders. This ride was critical for us because my kids do not like roller coasters. Rides like the Kangaroo, Auto Race and Noah’s Ark, plus of course an order of Potato Patch fries, helped them have the Kennywood experience without going upside down or out of their comfort zone to have fun.

The announcement that four classic rides: Kangaroo, Paratrooper, Bayern Kurve and Volcano, the ride formally known as the Enterprise, were getting the ax at “our” park was hard to take. The hits just keep coming in 2020. The rides disappearing are forever changing the landscape of a place that us “Yinzers” consider a second home. School picnics, Fall Fantasy parades, first dates - Kennywood has been a familiar environment that always channels your inner child no matter how old you are.

The list of casualties keeps growing and includes beloved gems like The Turnpike, Log Jammer, and Gold Rusher. I’m sure you are like me - you have crystal clear memories of these rides and the people who helped make them special.

I remember during the summer of ‘85 meeting my brother at the Bayern Kurve when “Something About You” by Level 42 would come on the PA system. I loved when the cars got up to maximum speed and the loud horn would go off. 

I remember being on a date, as a teenager, and being persuaded to ride the Enterprise for the first time - at night!  I really thought I would get sick but interestingly enough, sitting so close together, it didn’t feel like we were going upside down at all. It was the perfect way to cap off a day of fun at the park.

Things change. I get that. I accept that. But we didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. Three years ago, when park officials announced the Log Jammer was going away, riders only had a weekend to pay their respects. Ride malfunctions and long lines prevented many people from getting their last ride experience.  Yinzers are a sentimental bunch. We are fiercely loyal to a fault. Disappointment does not go over well.

This latest announcement came after the 2020 season ended, a season different from any other with a delayed opening, due to covid-19, and restrictions that changed the way riders could experience the park. The aforementioned rides have already been removed from the Kennywood website.

I think after this year we have become numb to bad news. I can’t even put a positive spin on this - other than to be thankful for the amazing memories I have logged over the years. Kennywood has played such a pivotal role in my life and has made western PA a wonderful place to grow up.

I hope this latest round of cuts helps ensure the longevity of “our” park by providing space for the next best thrill rides. Maybe in years to come, fortysomethings like me, will look back nostalgically on rides like the Steel Curtain or Cranky’s Drop Tower.

But until then, we can still meet at the Potato Patch. We can drown our grief in a large order of cheesy fries. Who’s with me?

Angels Among Us

Isn't it amazing how the older you get the more nostalgic you become?

I have always been a sentimental type but it seems like once I hit my 40s, my nostalgia went into high gear. But this past week, everything came rushing to the surface when a very prominent person from my childhood passed away.

Growing up in McKeesport we had the best neighbors. Our babysitter lived directly across the street. The town candy maker lived right next door and a family, just like ours, lived in a home a few doors down. They had three kids, just like us, in the same order: girl-boy-girl, all around the same age. The dad was a Vietnam vet, just like my dad, and the mom, well...Barb was a God-fearing woman just like my mom.

It came to pass that our families would become real close and the kids all grew up together. Their house was our safe house - in case my brother and I would come home from school and mom wasn't home yet, we were told to go across the street. There was one time I came home from school and my front door was closed.

I assumed no one was there, so I happily skipped down the street. About an hour later, after I had already changed out of my uniform and made myself at home, my mom came to the door, with my baby sister, and frantically told Barb I hadn't come home yet. Seconds later, I appeared in the living room, disappointed to see my mom knowing it was time to go home yet wondering why she was so upset.

I have lots of great memories growing up with what seemed like a "second" family - birthday parties, sleepovers, playing together in the summertime. Barb was only a phone call away and the two moms were able to lean on each other throughout life's ups and downs. And yes, there were plenty of those. Including the time, after my grandfather had just died, that a pep talk from Barb was just what my mom needed to help her get through the loss of her father while continuing to meet the needs of her young family.

It seems a bit ironic that we would find ourselves needing a pep talk of our own as we were saying our goodbyes to Barb nearly 30 years, to the day, after my grandfather passed away.

As the children got older, our families drifted apart. The kids started lives of their own. The closeness that was once there was not the same, but the memories never lost their allure. It was a treat when unexpectedly I would run into my oldest child counterpart and of course the reminiscing would begin - the games we played, the laughs we shared - they would all come flooding back. The benefits of social media allowed us kids to at least keep track of what everyone was up to.

I remember finding out over the summer that Barb was sick. I reached out immediately to try and find out what was going on. The treatment would be aggressive, but doctors were hopeful about her prognosis. Her health took a turn a few weekends ago. Last Wednesday, I received a text stating Barb's suffering was over.

Going to the funeral home was hard. Looking at her peaceful face, I could tell things had not been easy for her. I knelt there waiting, hoping for that warm, Italian smile that lit up a room. The smile that made you feel special and welcomed all at the same time. The memories came into focus as photographs told the story of years well lived.

Hearing my friend cry, overcome with grief at the loss of her mother, my heart broke. I was not prepared for the raw emotion I both witnessed and expressed. I realized how much Barb had meant to me and how much I was touched by her faithful, loving, humorous nature. We shared a lot of laughs over the years and for that I will always be grateful.

Speaking to one of Barb’s granddaughters at the funeral home, I had a familiar feeling. There I was speaking to someone I had never had a conversation with, yet I felt like I had known her all of my life. I felt special and welcomed all at the same time.

Barb hasn’t travelled far. She will live on in a vibrant way through the ones she left behind. For those of us lucky enough to have known her personally, we know sometimes angels dwell among us.

There Is No Place Like...

Home. 

Even when "home" has changed considerably over the years. 

I am not talking about my home now. I am talking about my childhood home. I am fortunate to still be able to visit the place where I grew up and spend time with my parents. But that place is almost unrecognizable from when I was living there. 

It seems like once my siblings and I moved out - the home improvement projects began. It first started with a new kitchen, then a new bathroom. Last year, they added new living room furniture. Last week, they got new carpeting in the basement and now the dining room is about to get a makeover. 

Now don't get me wrong. This hasn't been an overnight endeavor by any stretch of the imagination. There has been a lot of improvement but the projects have taken place over the span of let's say 17 years. 

The work that started this week will cover  the wallpaper that has been in the dining room since I was less than double digits. It makes me sad to see it go because I really was attached to it. The wallpaper was part of the fabric of our home and that final element of what existed from my childhood will soon be but a memory.. 

Maybe you think I am too sentimental. I didn't even say anything to my parents, when they told me their plan, that would indicate any sadness on my part. I am happy for them. They deserve an upgrade that is 35 years overdue. I look around my own home and see so many things I would like to improve on but when you are knee deep in paying for college, dance lessons, sports sign-ups, your HGTV dreams are often put on the backburner. My parents have earned this privilege after raising three kids.

I actually remember when my parents’ dining room wallpaper was put up many, many years ago. My dad’s younger brother, who was quite handy, did the work himself. I can picture him kneeling on the floor smoothing out the wrinkles as his radio provided, what is now considered classic rock, motivation. 

It was a treat for us kids to have our uncle there, on and off, for a few days to get the job done. It makes me sad, now that he is gone, that his project will be covered with paint but I guess it is comforting to know it won’t be ripped off of the walls. 

My mom mentioned the different coloring of the wallpaper once she took the decorations off of the wall. With the dining room being right next to the kitchen, there was bound to be some weathering underneath shelves and hung pictures over the years - as I said - more than 30 years. I know that once the work is done, she will add her special touch, arranging her country knickknacks to create the warm ambience that helps make their house a home.

There are a few things that remain at my house from when I was growing up. The reddish/orange carpeting is still intact in my former bedroom - the carpeting that I accidentally caught on fire when I was burning love letters after a break up. (It was only a very small section and my parents remain in the dark about this.) 

Two corner china cabinets are still in the dining room that were special buys, including a thrift store purchase I was a part of, and so does the antique piano my mom bought at an auction when my piano teacher said my little plug in organ with 20 keys wouldn’t cut it anymore if I wanted to continue. 

But while I am a little sad about the "improvements", I am happy that the most important part of the house hasn’t changed in 46 years - both of my parents still live there. The moment I walk through the front door it feels like “home” and it doesn’t matter what is on the walls or what furniture I sit on. I know there will be something good to eat in the kitchen, my dad will be in the gameroom watching MASH and mom will come down the hallway with treasurers, for someone in my family, she found during her thrift store excursions. 

So when Dorothy said, ”There is no place like home,” she was absolutely right. Even though Auntie Em and Uncle Henry probably made some improvements while she was in the Emerald City - it was the feeling she missed most of all. And that feeling is something Home Depot and Lowe's haven’t quite figured out how to sell.

Operation Sixteen Candles

 

It was only a matter of time. 

We knew the risks but also yearned for some normalcy for our children. So, we put on our best smiles, sent the kids off and hoped for the best. Everything seemed to be going fine and then, just like that, multiple high school activities put on hold thanks to covid-19.

Here were my daughter's choices: get a nose swab or quarantine for 14 days. She may or may not have been exposed to the virus while at a recent rehearsal. But what happens when your 16th birthday and party fall during that 14-day period? You sigh and prepare to scramble once again for a Plan B or even C - something we've all been doing since March. 

I'm getting good at scrambling but not so good I don't feel guilt. Guilt that I let my better judgement get away from me. Guilt that I let the party planning get this far. Guilt that, once again, I cannot protect her from disappointment. 

With my oldest son it was easy.  A few months ago, he was a graduating senior. Plan Bs were coming together before our very eyes in the final weeks of school. Everything prior to that had been cancelled: the musical, concerts, senior breakfast. But he was ok with (yes, I'll say it) the new normal. He didn't want all the hoopla attached to those rite of passage events. He was fine with scaled down, low key and under the radar. 

My daughter on the other hand is like me - wants what has been expected. Wants the pomp and circumstance of it all. Wants to be the center of the universe on her 16th birthday. You only turn 16 once, right? She wanted the party - wanted to be surrounded by a few of her friends. (You know, still mindful of social distance.) Wanted, in this crazy world we live in, to put aside all the madness and just be a kid without all the worries that come with it right now -masks, online learning and lack of stability. 

I am unable to deliver her one simple wish.

Looking back, I don't really remember my 16th birthday.  My mom tells me all I wanted to do was spend the day at Kennywood. Although I don't remember this day of August fun 30 years ago,  I do remember what was waiting for me when I came home. I remember going up to my bedroom and seeing a new television - already set up and turned on. Up to this point, I did not have a television in my room. This was a game changer. This electronic device allowed me to watch MTV whenever I wanted especially on Sunday nights when the alternative music show 120 Minutes was on past midnight!

Like me, my daughter will not be getting her license right at 16 so, there has to be something special to overshadow that fact. I've been going a little overboard furnishing her new bedroom - new sheets here, a desk there - oh wait, a new comforter. I just feel so helpless that buying things is all I can do.

When my grandmother turned 16, she had already dropped out of school to get a cleaning job to help support her family. This was during the depression. She gave her paycheck to her father, wishing she could buy the things a teenage girl longs for - stockings, makeup, clothes. Once in a while, after a day of cleaning, she would come home with things of little value, like knee-high stockings, which she would put on in secret so her parents wouldn't see, to allow her a few secret moments to feel - like a kid. 

I don't know what to do at this point. It is hard for me because in the grand scheme of things, a missed party isn't all that big of a deal. (Especially when you hear my grandmother's story!) But if we were talking about turning 15 or 17 it wouldn't even be an issue. If in 30 years, all my daughter remembers about this milestone birthday is how happy she was with the new stuff she got for her bedroom, I guess that isn't all that bad. Heck, I associate my 16th birthday with a new television. 

But I am not one to back down from a challenge. Covid, you may have me backed in a corner but I will not let you win. I'll do my best to let my girl have a special day no matter what it takes - I've learned from the best and now it's time to put my planning skills to the test. Operation Sixteen Candles - Let's go!

Nora's 16th birthday 9/18/14

The Feeling is Virtual

Well, it's over. 

Summer's timer has dinged and the fun is almost done.

My three kids are now all back at school and boy does that look different. They are all learning from home. My oldest son is taking college classes in the basement. My daughter and youngest son are doing their school work from the dining room and upstairs bedroom. This is unlike any beginning of a new school year we've experienced - ever. 

Yes, there is an adjustment all the way around. But for a moment, I would like to talk about the teachers. Now that I work in a school, I see what has been happening. Things that have been happening behind the scenes for weeks, if not months. The only analogy I can think of is a magician who pulls the tablecloth off of a table and all the dishes are left in their places. But for teachers, the tablecloth was yanked away and everything they ever knew went with it - and they were left to pick up the pieces. 

I guess that analogy can pretty much be used for any of us right now - parents, students, school administrators just trying to do their best to keep everyone safe and wishing that we could just go back to the way things were. I think we all realize how far off we are from that possibility.

But back to the teachers, many of them are having to prepare recorded lessons or even attempt to deliver live lessons online. The majority of them are using technology they knew existed but didn't have to really concern themselves with. Now they are trying to appear like they have taught like this for years. Yes, that magician would be so helpful right now. 

We parents have not been privy to this intimate view of our children's education and for educators, it is scary to greatly expand your audience. But from what I've seen so far, these people have upped their game and plan to see this year through giving it their best shot. This year may look different but the dedication to students remains the same. 

I was pushed out of my comfort zone this past April when I had to teach Sunday school lessons using Zoom. When you do a lesson on Zoom you have to be fully prepared. Prepared for technology issues, prepared to talk because people on the other end are reluctant to participate, prepared to watch and hear yourself - which sometimes is hard since we are our own worst critics - prepared for criticism on how we can do better.

Some school districts were criticized at the end of the 2019-2020 school year because there wasn't more offered to the students. More interaction, more materials, more support. But keep in mind, we were all thrown into the deep end of the swimming pool and we all were trying to stay afloat. 

Not all school districts are created equal and some already had technology in the hands of their students that they could use. Others had to get and distribute what devices they could and supplies across the country were limited because of the great demand.

But now, everyone is in agreement things have to be better in education all across the board. And from what I've seen in the days I've been back to work, everyone is taking their responsibility very seriously. There is too much at stake. Parents are taking classes on how to use the technology. Students are Facetiming friends to make sure they have the correct links to their Meet times and assignments. Everyone is taking it one day at a time because trying to plan ahead is now a job reserved exclusively for the man upstairs. 

So please, if you see a teacher, know a teacher, love a teacher - tell them they are appreciated and doing a great job. Let's help them help our kids.

Braddock's Defeat

Today, July 9th, marks the 260th anniversary of the Battle of the Monongahela (Braddock's Defeat). A statue of a young George Washington stands guard near the Braddock Carnegie Library where he earned quite the reputation for being brave as one of only a few officers to escape unharmed, despite bullet holes in his uniform.

It will be a quiet day in Braddock. For many, the day will pass without a thought of what happened in this region 260 years ago. Before 2011, only a few historic markers existed that alluded to Braddock's Defeat. But how could something so significant be one of the area's best kept secrets?

"It's not a local problem. It's a western Pennsylvania problem," explains Robert Messner, who opened Braddock's Battlefield History Center four years ago. "This area was so rich in natural resources, in industry, that we never had to think about tourism as an industry."

Messner said part of his motivation to open the center was knowing that people were being turned away when they would inquire about any existing battle sites.

"I thought for a community that is flat on its tail because of the decline of the basic steel industry turning away potential tourism, what a waste."

Tourism is the number two industry in the state but Messner says most of the dollars are made in the eastern section of the state near Gettysburg and Hershey. Messner says what our half of Pennsylvania has to offer, between Fort Necessity, Fort Pitt, Braddock's Field and Bushy Run, is a historical gold mine.

"We've got the father of our country running around here as a young man and he's making mistakes all over the place in his earlier years before this battle [of Monongahela.]"

This battle was a turning point for Officer Washington who decided to give a military career one last chance before resigning to a life of farming. He heard that the British general Edward Braddock was coming to throw the French out of Fort Duquesne and thought he could learn something from this well respected figurehead. Braddock wanted Washington on his side due to his valuable knowledge of the terrain, so he made Washington a member of his personal staff to resolve any rank issues between British and colonial troops.

"This was his last major engagement that Washington fights in before he shows up 20 years later in Philadelphia at the Continental Congress wearing his French and Indian War uniform from this battle campaigning to lead the Continental Army in the American Revolution."

Messner says Washington was chosen largely due to the reputation he built during Braddock's Defeat when he pleaded with Braddock to allow the troops to fire from cover like their opponents. This battle was considered an Indian victory and those fighting under Braddock, who survived, were disgraced - everyone except Washington, who many historians say was the indispensable person in American history.

"If it had not been for what happened here, if he had not come on the expedition, if he had not been so brave here, and if people did not spread that truth, God knows what would have happened."

Photo courtesy of Braddock's Battlefield History Center

How The Life Goes On

I have seen enough nature shows to know occasionally things go bad.

You've probably seen a few too. For example, when the orca whale slides onshore and grabs a cute, unassuming baby leopard seal. Or when the lion grabs an impala who strayed a bit too far from the pack.

Nature has been a little rough closer to home as well.  We typically get to experience the joys of spring when a robin's nest in our cherry tree is filled with fuzzy babies. Last year, one fell out of the nest, before it was ready to fly, and it did not survive. It was pathetic to see and hard to explain to an 8-year-old who was staring at a lifeless bird.

Fast forward to this past Thursday. We were about to begin our quest to tackle the day when the now nine-year-old ran into the house with an urgent message.

"There is a dead rabbit in our yard!"

Here's the backstory. We have been enthralled these past couple of weeks by our own little nature show involving a couple of baby bunnies. The little guys were usually not far from their mom's watchful eye and boy are they ever cute. Hopping around and really getting some good air as their little legs lift off of the ground. It is almost as if they have a little trampoline underneath them.

We picked up on their hiding spots; one beside our shed and the other in what looks like a poison ivy patch to the right of our house.  It was worrisome when a day would go by and we wouldn't see them but then the next day we would notice a small tuft of white and a sweet little tail bouncing about.

When alerted by my son's news my first response was, "It's not one of the babies is it?" But even though they were spared, the revelation that it was the mother was probably even a worse outcome. How would the little ones survive?

Everything I had to do that morning took a backseat because, you see, the story is a little more complicated than just a dead animal in the yard. The dead animal was tangled in my son's baseball backstop net. The net system is on loan and the cost to replace it - around $100. It appears the rabbit was probably being chased in the night and didn't see the netting. Her head got caught and she couldn't get free. She died from strangulation.

My first call was to animal control. I was worried about the babies and wanted to know if someone would have to come pick them up to ensure their survival. Luckily, because we have seen them out in the grass eating, the man I spoke with said they could fend for themselves. During the conversation, I did not reveal how the mother had died. I felt guilty.

My next couple calls were to men I knew that could help me remove the lifeless mass. My husband was at work and I did not want him coming home after a long day to deal with carcass removal especially at the start of his birthday weekend. But my options were limited and I wasn't having much luck. I wanted to be strong and "man up" but this was going to be unlike anything I've done before. Heck, I can't even remove mice when they get caught in a trap. How was I supposed to take care of an adult rabbit?

But then that "Bishop Determination" I've inherited kicked in and there was no other option but to get the job done. The job took all the courage a girl could muster and time, lots and lots of time. I had to prepare myself both physically and mentally for the task at hand. It would have been so easy just to make one cut of the net to release the lifeless rabbit but knowing what that would cost, I was reluctant to do it. 

I basically used my gloved hands to free the rabbit's head with the care and delicateness of a surgeon. It was the ears that gave me trouble, I'm sure you can understand, but once I had tucked them through the net, the rest was easy. Obviously, my children made themselves scarce for this procedure with my youngest expressing concern every couple of minutes, "Mom, please don't do this. You don't have to do this!"

The relief I felt when I slid the rabbit out from the net triggered an instant emotional response. My little guy put his arms around me and we cried together. He was sad because he felt responsible for the mama bunny's death. My tears were a combination of winning a victory for not needing a man to rescue me and secondly for having the death net in our yard in the first place.

This morning, as I waited for my coffee to brew, I looked out of my kitchen window. I saw the brother bunnies chasing each other and hopping around. I felt a sense of relief knowing they are doing ok and that they have each other.  According to bunnylady.com, rabbits don't have emotions the way people do but when they are bouncing with energy it means they are happy. And speaking as a mom, that is all you can ask for your kids.

Brother bunny 1 - photo credit Nolan Keleschenyi

Not Ready For This

The day is here. 

The day I have dreaded for 17 years. Can you believe it? No? Well, put yourself in my shoes. In a few short hours I may have a licensed teen driver in my house.

Now many have you have been through this before. You are probably shaking your head in solidarity. But I am on the precipice of sheer madness and there is nothing I can do to stop it. 

Luckily, for me, this journey took a lot longer than it should have. My son got his driver's permit 19 months ago. We've had to renew it once. But let's face it. He really wasn't ready. His father and I weren't really ready. Our journey unfolded at our own snail-like pace. 

There was much talk between my son and his sister last summer about getting his license so he could drive them both to school for his senior year. There was also much talk about stopping at Dunkin' Donuts every day and getting frappatinos and mochalottos, which neither of them had the budget for. All the "talk" came mostly from the younger member of the duo. But that ship came and went due mostly to lack of motivation on his part and lack of sheer interest on my part. 

Here is the reality. My son is smart; super smart, but lacks some common sense. I've seen him get in the car and wonder why it isn't moving. Yes, he forgot the keys. I have seen my son run through a stop sign and then say, "Oh, I didn't see that." (But hey, haven't we all done that?)

But I've also seen him flawlessly pull into a parking spot I never would have attempted. I've seen him merge perfectly when I didn't think he had checked his mirrors. He has assured me - "Mom, I've got this."

At this point I cannot hold him back any longer. I have to encourage my little bird to fly and the best way to fly is to start up the car and hit the gas. I know from my experience I wasn't a good driver at first. In fact, I failed my first driver's test because I didn't use my turn signals once. But in my defense, the test was in a parking lot. Why did I need to signal in an empty parking lot? (Can you tell I am still bitter?)

Heck, I couldn't even parallel park until months after I had my license when a friend's father saw me struggling one day and patiently walked me through it. Without Mr. Jones, I would not be the amazing parallel princess I am today. 

So, looking back on experience, I know I need to let go. As luck would have it, when we went online to schedule the test, the first available opening, surprisingly, was today. I skipped past that date and went right to the next available option - July 23 and of course ol' hawk eyes spots the 2nd and says, "What about that day?" 

And I say, "It's booked."

"No, no," he says, "See, there is a spot for 3:45 p.m." (You cannot put anything past this kid except maybe a stop sign.)

I say, "Do you want to do it that soon?"

"YES!" He says, emphatically.

So here we are. I know this is the right thing to do and the next step we must take. Due to the new covid-19 driving text regulations, I'll be the licensed driver in the car with him while the examiner, who will remain outside of the vehicle, administers the test. I was there when the kid came into the world. It is only fitting I'll be there when the open road becomes his. 

Practice makes perfect and yes, we'll start off slow - driving to work, driving to the post office, driving me to the Fine Wine and Spirits outlet. Hopefully, with experience his confidence will grow and my anxiety level will decrease. I know I'll never stop worrying but maybe once I can send him out to get the groceries, I'll look at things in a different light. 

Until then, keep me in your thoughts. Who knows, Independence Day might have a little more meaning this year for one almost 18-year-old.  Yet, I hold this truth to be self-evident, I was not cut out for this. 

Nick, age 7 months, in my Dad's work truck.

Answering The Call

I got some exciting news a few weeks ago.

A friend of mine is going to be ordained a priest next month. This is exciting news because we weren't quite sure when it was going to happen. We thought we knew, back before there was a state shut down and our country was stopped in its tracks by Covid-19; it was originally supposed to be this month.

Had life gone on as usual, he probably would be a priest right now but that was not how things played out. He missed out on all of the traditional events held for students wrapping up their studies at the seminary - they were all cancelled. Not to be rescheduled.

I got the ordination news via text. There has been a delay in any concrete information as to when his ordination would take place. He is originally from an area that was particularly hard hit by the coronavirus and things are just starting to open up in his hometown. I had just spoken with him a few days prior and there was nothing to report on the big event. He and his family has been eagerly awaiting news so they could begin planning the next new chapter of their lives.

 You may have noticed I mentioned his family. He is married and has two children under six. (Byzantine Catholic priests are now allowed to be married as long as they do so before they are ordained.) All the time he has been going to school here in Pittsburgh, he has been juggling his studies along with his husband/father roles.

I know how hard it is to manage all of the above. When I went back to school to get my meteorology certification, I was married, working part-time, had a one-year-old and was living out of state. By the time I graduated from the three-year online program, I was expecting my second child the following month. I know how hard it is to go back to school as an adult and I have sincere admiration for those who take on the task.

As a child, my family did not have any "priest" friends. We did not have our pastor over for dinner and my mom did not call him on the phone and have long chats. As I became more involved at my current parish, I have had the honor to befriend some really good people who have chosen the most selfless vocation there is - a shepherd to the sheep, helping administer to those on a journey of faith. These people are only human, people like you and me, who just happen to have answered a heavenly call.

It has been enlightening, from where I'm sitting, to have had this experience with this particular friend. I have befriended seminarians in the past but this is different. This has been the experience of getting to know this man and his family with the understanding that what is about to happen will forever change the course of their lives. Knowing they will soon move away and he will eventually have his own parish to oversee and it will take the love and support of his family and friends to help him deal with the highs and lows of leading a congregation.

 It has been a tough time for Catholics over the years. Scandal after scandal has rocked the faithful to their core - some to the point of losing their faith. It makes one wonder why someone would even consider stepping in to a seat that is already hot. But, as is the case for any profession, there are good people and bad people. Luckily, there are still individuals not afraid to put themselves out there as stewards to a wounded flock - stewards hoping to lead by example and do what they can to help the faithful stay the course.

My friend is one of the good people and has been there for me whenever I needed help with our church's Sunday school program - willing to help at a moment's notice.  Willing to talk when a listening ear was needed. Willing to help me at times my faith was wavering; speaking with the understanding he doesn't have all the answers. He knows there may not always be a black and white solution to the problems we face but if we address them prayerfully and with an open heart our faith will see us through.

I have been honored to have been part of this man's journey. I have been blessed to get to know his supportive wife, who also made every effort to assist our congregation where needed, and their adorable children. It is sad to see them go but I know they will be embraced with loving arms by the next group of faithful who will be graced with their presence.

Due to the social restrictions in place, my family is not able to be present for the upcoming ordination service, but the event will be streamed online. There is nothing that has strengthened my faith more than to have this family in my life - to see them live out their calling in such a patient and loving way. I know the goal of faithfulness is attainable when our church is infused with special people whose calling goes beyond their own home and their purpose transcends an Earthly explanation.

An Alternate Ending

And just like that, it was all over.

It has been an emotional roller coaster these last couple of months- wondering what would happen with my son's high school graduation in light of Covid-19. There were meetings, emails, and letters sent out trying to involve all the stakeholders to see what option would be best.

Many families did not want to have the proposed parking lot ceremony - they wanted the traditional stadium graduation which was always supposed to be final stop on these kids' high school journey. The social distancing guidelines would not allow this on the originally scheduled day, or even throughout most of the summer,  so it was decided to do what could be done on the day set aside nearly one year ago.

It was uncertain back in May just what this kind of ceremony would look like. We attended a parking lot event on a much smaller scale for National Honor Society a few weeks back, but it was a windy day that rendered the microphone useless and visibility was at a minimum for all the participants. I did not have high hopes once we tripled the number of people who would be participating.

One of the biggest aspects of an event such as graduation is taking photos. I knew this would also be limited, but once I found out my son would be one of the speakers (as co-salutatorian) I needed to know what my options were to capture the moment. The day before the event, I was told that I would need to stay in my car because roaming around the parking lot would not be encouraged.

I did not anticipate the atmosphere we would encounter once we arrived at the school.

Imagine hundreds of kids, decked out in their caps and gowns, on their graduation day, in an outdoor setting with their classmates they had not seen in two months. It was more like a tailgate party for a concert at Heinz Field. It made me anxious, happy and confused all at the same time. I kept replaying in my head the conversation, the day before, with a school security officer - then I looked at my son, sitting in the back of our van and I said, "Let's go. It's your graduation day and we are getting photos with your friends."

For the most part, after the graduation photo shoot, we remained in our van. But during my son's speech and when his name was called - the moment required getting out and moving to get a closer view and to be able to hear more clearly. With a large number of people out of their cars, I didn't think I would be the one to get the first slap on the wrist for not social distancing.

It was a night to remember for sure. So many things etched in my memory. The decorated cars, the smiling kids, the Class of 2020 masks, the hugs...Yes, I grabbed moms I had journeyed with for the past 13 years and gave them a hug. I cried so many tears - happy tears. Tears for the gift of this special night which almost was cancelled due to weather concerns. I cried tears of relief that this chapter had a happy ending and so many people made it a priority to see it through and give the kids the recognition they deserved.

But you know what the best part of it all was? The ending. The plan was for the cars to exit the school grounds for a parade leading to the traffic light on Route 30. As families departed, to the sounds of School's Out by Alice Cooper, we were met by people- people who lined the streets to send these kiddos off with the fanfare of a Super Bowl championship extravaganza. The first face we saw was Principal Sean Gildea, who welcomed our family with open arms at the start of our journey in the district 13 years ago.

Teachers, friends, firefighters, police officers, people who just happened to live on the parade route greeted these graduates with shouts of congratulations and enthusiastic waves as they began their next chapter post high school. I don't know who enjoyed the moment more - my son or his father and I.

As I write this, the tears well up again. I am so thankful for this beautiful memory. Yes, the ending was not what we expected but in many ways it was better. Like the storm that precedes the rainbow, the colors outshine the darkness. And for me and my 2020 graduate, those colors will last a lifetime.

EA 2020 graduates Madison Spahr and Nick. 

Hot and Ready

They say you never forget your first time.

And that is the truth - at least for me when I think about my first Krispy Kreme donut.

It was the weekend of April 17, 1998 and a friend and I were visiting a former co-worker who had moved to Charleston, South Carolina. It was a long drive from Johnstown, PA and, if I remember correctly, once we arrived, we went out for a late dinner. This left us quite tired once we got back to his place and everyone immediately crashed for the night. 

The following morning, my friend and I were treated to true southern hospitality - coffee and donuts in bed. 

I remember laying eyes on the round confection covered in chocolate icing. It looked delicious and elegant at the same time on its own round plate. The first bite was life changing. I immediately asked my friend where he got the donuts from.

"Krispy Kreme," he said. I told him I had never heard of a Krispy Kreme. He was aghast. "You've never had a Krispy Kreme?"

At the time, I was only familiar with Dunkin Donuts, Donut Connection and Eddie's Donuts (in Trenton, New Jersey on the way to the beach.) My friend explained the amazing Krispy Kreme concept - fresh off the presses donuts when the hot light is on. What an idea! 

The first store opened in Winston-Salem, North Carolina in 1937 and I guess because of their southern roots, Krispy Kreme was mostly a below the Mason-Dixon Line attraction. (Until the 2000s, which we will talk about later.)

 I'm not sure if it was on this particular trip to South Carolina when I had my first hot and ready donut but it certainly became a regular habit once my husband and I moved to Virginia Beach and a few Krispy Kreme stores were close to my workplace. There were even times, back when I did morning traffic reports on the radio, we had hot donuts during our shift. Oh, those were the days!

It was such a treat to introduce family and friends to the 'hot now' donuts when they would come down to Virginia to visit. My oldest was only two when we moved back to Pittsburgh so his early memories of Krispy Kreme are not very clear. We do have photos of the kids at a Krispy Kreme in Richmond years ago, when there were only two kids, not three, and ironically, we had stopped in to visit the friend who introduced me to the Krispy Kremes in the first place. The kids were given paper side-cap style hats as they watched the donuts get a bath in the sugary glaze on the conveyor belt. Plus, they both had icing on their little cheeks.

But it has become a tradition in recent years to stop and get donuts just before we begin the 8-hour drive back to Pittsburgh from our annual Sandbridge vacation. The sting of leaving the beach is lessened by the comfort of stuffing a soft, sugary pillow of dough in our sad little faces. The smell that lingers in the car is like an elixir numbing us to our return to everyday life. 

It was only fitting this past weekend, that my husband and I, along with our soon to be high school graduate, made the 1-hour drive to the nearest Krispy Kreme in Washington, PA. (In the early 2000s, the company went public and opened numerous stores including one in Monroeville, where Chick-fil-A now stands, but it seems the public model didn't work well for the formerly private southern based firm and many of the stores, which opened during that time, ended up closing.)

Krispy Kreme had been offering, for one week only, a special 2020 graduation dozen in response to the pandemic and the tough break these hard-working kiddos were dealt. It was worth the 2-hour round trip journey just to smell that smell, which our son even said "smelled like Virginia" and bask in the glow of an untouched box of decorative donuts. These special offerings were not "hot" but tasted so fresh just the same. It is a shame how quickly a Krispy Kreme can be eaten. It takes lots of self-control to not eat the whole box. 

So hats off to you, Krispy Kreme, for making another special memory for our family. In a few weeks, we'll be back in Virginia, and while I'm not wishing away my vacation, I do have my sights set on a hot and ready that never disappoints and always reminds me of my first time. 

I'm All Verklempt

Do you have that person in your life?

That person who, early on, made such a difference they changed the course of your journey?

Well, my person happened to be a teacher and during Teacher Appreciation Week, I thought it might be a good time to share my experience with this man.

Now keep in mind it has been 30 years since I was a student in Raymond Geissler's U.S. History Class during my junior year at McKeesport Area High School. I ended up having him for two classes during my high school career including economics. He was a big personality. I remember hearing his voice all the way down the hall between periods. Students would be hustling from classroom to classroom and you could hear him from one end of the hallway to the next.

As much as he was likable - he was also tough. Before a test he would give his famous speech. "If anyone is caught cheating..." I don't remember the exact wording of the speech but it contained a warning that the word cheater would be written in our permanent file "in red ink, in my handwriting."

This speech was so convincing, I couldn't even think about cheating. I felt like even if I thought about it, he would know and then my permanent file - red ink - branded for life.

Mr. Geissler taught me more than just about getting by without cheating. He also taught me about work ethic. When I took his economics class we would have daily homework but it wasn't always collected. Sometimes days would go by without him asking for proof we did the assignment.

I guess that routine gave me a bit of false comfort on the one evening I did not do my homework. The next day when he came around to collect our papers (and I remember it like it was yesterday) desperately wishing in the moment I could go back to the night before and actually complete the assignment. But, it was too late.

After class, he pulled me aside and asked me why I hadn't done the work.

I didn't have a legitimate excuse.

He told me if someone contacted him to give me a reference, prior to that day, he could say, "You could be count on her 100% of the time." But now, if someone contacted him and asked about me he would say, "You can only count on her some of the time."

I was devastated. How could I have screwed up so badly? My friends tried to help me feel better by saying he took it too far and was being overdramatic but those words ended up guiding me well throughout my life. Don't get me wrong. It is hard to live by Mr. Geissler's standards but it is nice to be thought of as dependable. I have shared that story with my children. They think it is horrible and unnecessary. I now think of it as tough love.

But my favorite memory of Mr. Geissler, is the day I decided to do an unplanned monologue in front of his class. I don't know what was going on with me that day but I was moved to raise my hand and ask if I could share an experience I had the night before. I had been studying, on my bedroom floor, and using his U.S history notebook as a coaster for a hot beverage. (Yes, this is exactly what a teacher wants to hear.) I ended up spilling the beverage but the thick cover of the notebook absorbed the liquid and no harm was done to the thin, white pages, filled with notes from class.

I guess I was inspired by Mike Myers' recurring sketch on Saturday Night Live "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" where he would impersonate a stereotypical Jewish, middle-aged woman with an exaggerated New York accent. She would throw in some Yiddish words and when she got upset she would say, "I'm all verklempt."

Yes, I borrowed that line from Linda when I retold my story. It felt good to be in front of the class - having my classmates attention and making them laugh.

After class, Mr. Geissler pulled me aside. He had a twinkle in his eye. He told me how much he loved my story and how much he loved seeing that side of me. Prior to that day, I had never shared that side. In fact, I hardly raised my hand to participate during his class. You wouldn't even know I was there. He asked me to share that fun side of me more often.

That day, he gave me confidence and I never looked back.

My career path has included both radio and television work and I firmly believe those opportunities would not have been possible without Raymond Geissler. I will always been indebted to him for inspiring a once awkward teenager, coming off of years of bullying due to a speech impediment.

I'm sure he didn't know that day what he did for me but I have spent each day since then thankful God placed him in my life at just the right time.

So during Teacher Appreciation Week try to remember a teacher that inspired you and if you can, let them know. 

A teacher affects eternity: he can never tell where his influence stops. -  Henry Adams, American historian.

Better Things

In a few days, my oldest son's high school graduation will be just one month away.

One month.

If you had talked to me back in September, I would have told you it was too soon. I wasn't ready. Oh yeah, he was ready, but I, was not. You see, he is my first to finish 12 years of school, 14 if you count preschool and kindergarten. How could it possibly be time for him to graduate?

This is the kid who did not want to go to kindergarten. This is the kid who cried and would not let go of me when I tried to drop him off at school. This is the kid who had to be pried off of my leg by the school principal in order to enter the building. How could it possibly be time for him to start college?

I expected my emotions to be all over the place right now -  wondering if I would be able to keep it together as we commemorated all of his lasts - his final orchestra concert, final National Honor Society ceremony, final awards night - leading up to the prom and then finally graduation. Now my emotions are really all over the place wondering just how Covid-19 will transform every preexisiting vision of him receiving his diploma.

During his freshman, sophomore and junior years in high school my son was part of an ensemble that played Pomp and Circumstance for the baccalaureate service honoring members of the senior class. I imagine at each of those events, as the notes he played on his cello blended into a monotonous, repetitive tone, his mind wandered ahead to his own graduation. "One day, kids will be playing this for ME and oh how good it will feel to be on the other side."

No one knew that the other side would look a lot different.

I struggle with grief-like feelings these days. I cry often. (My poor husband.) I am not ashamed to write about it. I hope it will help. I'm sad for losing what I was looking forward to. I'm sad for what my son will miss as he spends the last days of his senior year at home. Sometimes I'm conflicted about these feelings knowing others are going through much tougher circumstances. But grief is grief - you've got to ride the waves.

Earlier this week, I was asked to take a survey about how I would like to see my son's graduation ceremony play out. Do I want a drive by ceremony on the actual scheduled day or do I want to hold out for a future date when things are maybe a little "more normal" for possibly a more traditional ceremony?

I remember wearing my red cap and gown on a June day back in 1992. I remember how happy I was that my hair looked good and that I could wear silver tasseled cords, draped around my neck - hanging down the front of my gown, signifying I was graduating high school with honors. I was proud. I was happy. I was excited to start the next chapter of my life.

I think about my son, sitting in his cap and gown in our van being handed his diploma through the window. I think about his grandparents not being there. I think about trying to make this experience as special as possible for this kid who deserves so much more yet seems quite content to participate in whatever kind of ceremony happens on the day it was originally scheduled.

And another wave hits me.

Then I think about Ray Davies, lead singer of The Kinks, and optimism becomes as clear as the opening piano notes on his masterpiece Better Things. The song contains the following sentiment which sums up what I desire for the Class of 2020.

Here's wishing you the bluest sky
And hoping something better comes tomorrow
Hoping all the verses rhyme
And the very best of choruses, too
Follow all the doubt and sadness
I know that better things are on the way

I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead
The past is gone, it's all been said
So here's to what the future brings
I know tomorrow you'll find better things

https://youtu.be/qs6G9tisVdU

Senior Recognition Night, back in October, for the EA Band. This would turn out to be our only "traditional" senior event.