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.

All I Wanna Do Is Zoom A Zoom Zoom

I have traveled outside of my comfort zone recently.

It was a trip I was reluctant to take. Surprisingly, although the view was different, it was good.

You see, I am not an adventurous person by nature. I eat the same foods and don't really stray from my usual menu. I watch the same shows - sometimes watching them over and over. I like  things that make me feel comfortable - things I can rely on to deliver positive results every time.

I like predictability.

Right now, everything is unpredictable. A bad place for a person like me to be. But there is something deep down inside of me that counters my fear of the unknown. I call it the Bishop Determination. It's part of my DNA that motivates me to do what I have to do to get the job done and right now, getting the job done involves...embracing technology.

Oooooh that wild, wonderful world. Some people have been Skyping, Zooming and Facetiming for years. Me?

"Yeah, I'll get to that one day," I said.  Four years ago, a dear high school friend moved to North Carolina. We were going to have wine hour on Skype. Guess how many times that happened?

None.

But now, if you want to be a player in the game...learning technology is a must. Teachers who have taught for decades in a brick and mortal school are now setting up virtual classrooms. Companies are holding weekly employee meetings using laptop cameras and an online video conferencing platform. Families are encouraging older members to Facetime in order to provide human interaction.

For people like me, this coronavirus was the catalyst to get moving. I had to. Three weeks ago, I learned I would be teaching a Sunday school lesson using the online video conferencing platform Zoom. (There are many others you can choose to use.)  I had no choice but to put my oars in and start paddling. I downloaded the app, scheduled a "meeting" and invited the students.

I taught the lesson this past Sunday. I was nervous. I was anxious and every other 'ous' you can think of. I probably put about four hours into preparing and practicing for the 30 minute class and it was definitely worth it. The kids seemed to have fun. The time flew and even though there was a slight hiccup with connecting with one of the students, I feel confident about doing another class next week and not making the same mistake.

Once I got a taste of the ease of using Zoom, I've been scheduling meetings left and right. I even schedule meetings with my 9-year-old. He gets a kick out of seeing himself on the laptop and "conferencing" like he's a grown up.  I had a few Zooms with friends earlier this week including one with my high school friend in North Carolina. I apologized to her about taking so long to embrace the face to face technology. We now plan on Zooming once a week.

So give yourself a pat on the back if you are one of those people going out of your comfort zone these days. Keep moving forward - as Walt Disney said, "opening up new doors and doing new things… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."

A Three Hour Tour

So how are you holding up?

What is this? Day 1,002 of social distancing?

Do you feel like Gilligan - just hoping the professor can figure out a way to get us off of COVID Island?

I thought things were going pretty well until I went to Aldi yesterday and the cashier called me "sir". Yes, I need a haircut and highlights and maybe going braless was a bad idea.  I could have my husband cut my hair but I think I would rather be called sir.

It really isn't fair. My youngest has a head full of curls and my daughter has long hair she can pull back. I'm not sure what to do with my head right now. I have to wash my hair every day to help it look half decent and the key word there is half. The "sir" incident was actually a wash day.

I bought a box of hair dye a few weeks ago, before they started disappearing from store shelves, and it is still sitting on the kitchen table. My daughter agreed to help me out but I really haven't cared that much about fixing my hair. In all honesty, where am I going? Date nights consist of watching Netflix shows in bed, while wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

I was watching a movie the other day and there was a scene in a restaurant. A romantic candlelight dinner at a table for two surrounded by other patrons. The woman was in a lovely dress and her makeup looked amazing. The man was in a suit. Freshly shaved, and I imagine wearing cologne. (Unlike the mountain man I've been cozying up to lately.)

I felt a bit sad - wondering when we will get to a point that would be possible again. It seems like decades ago when my husband and I were out for dinner, just the two of us. But then I thought - that seems like a lot of work. Getting dolled up, driving to a restaurant, waiting for food...Really? I have a pantry full of ramen and a plethora of Easter chocolate so for the moment - bon appetite.

As much as I am looking forward to doing the things we used to be able to do - it will take some time for me to get back in the practice of "living". Showers everyday, setting alarms for 5:30 a.m., actually going to church instead of watching the service on my computer - in our jammies. My family has settled nicely into the less demanding routine of social distancing. It might take us a while to adjust to social approaching.

This week has been chilly which hasn't done well for the morale at Casa Keleschenyi. Luckily, we just signed up for Disney Plus so we have a number of great animated movies at our disposal. In addition, there are a number of classics like Herbie The Love Bug, The Parent Trap and, my favorite, The Sound of Music we can get reacquainted with.

With snow back in the forecast this week, I am thinking about putting up the Christmas tree for a day. Listening to carols and eating sugar cookies might be just what is needed to lift our spirits. Plus, we still have our Christmas lights up so while we are at it - we can flick those on too.

Here is to whatever you are doing to get by right now. Even if you're looking more like Gilligan than Ginger it's ok. And maybe all I need is a white bucket hat to help out with my hair situation these days. Ironically, they are on the trend list for spring/summer of 2020. Who knew the cure for a bad hair month could lead to me being a fashionista? Stay tuned folks - there is more to come from Covid Island.

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

I knew a few days after our stay at home order began, I needed to find things for the kids to do.

I especially wanted to find things that were outside. I know how I am when I am cooped up in the house and how much a little fresh air and sunshine can help improve the mood. I also needed to find something that didn't cost a lot of money - outfitting three kids for a new sport or hobby could certainly add up.

It didn't take long before I realized everything I needed was right under my nose. Ok, not under my nose but in our shed.

Bicycles!!

We have four bikes in our shed. Two of them worked. Two needed to be fixed. This was always a 'something we would get to later'. You know, when we had time. Guess who's got lots of that now? Everyone!

The purple bike was given to us a few years ago by a neighbor for our daughter to use. Guess who never used it? Our daughter.

The big black bike was found on garbage day on the side of the road. Guess which family member took it for a spin? Not one. Thanks to Zak's Bike Shop, in the Christy Park section of McKeesport, we were able to reasonably get both bikes ready for the road.

There was also a 10-speed in the mix that was bought for our oldest on his 13th birthday. My dad made a triumphant entrance riding the bike up the street for the big unveil during my son's party. It has probably been three years since he last took it for a spin. Guess who is riding it now?

Maybe you have picked up on the math lesson here. Five people minus four bikes equals one person who does not have a bike. This really hasn't been a problem for us. There haven't been many instances when all of us are riding at the same time. I am on the hunt for a fifth bike though and I'm really hoping I've been a good girl and maybe the Easter Bunny will bring me one. (Decked out with a basket, handlebar streamers, and a bell.)

At first we started taking the kids to the abandoned Eastland Mall site to ride. It is a massive space and, although somewhat rugged, it is a lot of fun. Plus, there are some great views of the Monongahela River and Duquesne hillsides.

The greatest thing for me about riding a bike is the feeling I get when I'm on one. It is like I am a kid again. The rushing of the wind in my face is so similar to the feeling I would get riding down the steep hill, daring to sometimes go hands free, from the Short Stop - the Grandview Avenue store we were allowed to ride to for a candy bar and a pop.

The biggest difference now is the fear in the back of my mind of falling off the bike and possibly breaking a bone or... my face. I fell off of my bike as a child and a banged up knee is what I got. I know that is no longer an option now that 30 plus years have gone by and let's just say, my hardware probably isn't as sturdy as it used to be.

We have packed up the bikes and taken the kids to the Great Allegheny Passage trail in McKeesport. It is really a great place to go with lots to look at including: the JFK statue, the police/fire station, the old National Tube Works, railroad tracks and again the Monongahela River. There is a bridge you can ride across with the river underneath - maybe a challenge for those who have a fear of heights, like we discovered with my 9-year-old.

There was a moment of embarrassment the first time I rode up the hill leading to the flyover bridge. There were a lot of experienced bikers zooming past me. "Passing on the left" they would say - and I was clinging to the metal fence lining the side. I swallowed my pride and didn't even let it bother me. I thought, "I'm 45 and on a bike after a 20+ year hiatus. I am Toe-Wanda." ( Fried Green Tomato movie reference.)

I am feeling a little bit better these days about wearing yoga pants, which works well with bike riding. I may not feel as good once Lent is over and the chocolate flood gates are opened but that is a worry for next week. Maybe I'll have to bike four miles instead of three.

Don't let the biker pose fool you - we are happy.

And Sew It Goes

Some events in our lives are so vivid, the memories replay clearly as if they just happened yesterday.

One of those memories was triggered last week when my mom informed me that a teacher I had in grade school had passed away.

This teacher was not one of my favorites. In fact, she scared me. I came to find out, during my experience with her, that she was a sweet and caring woman, but first impressions were big for this shy seventh grade girl. All I saw was a stern, southern woman, and I wanted to keep on her good side.

Let's travel back in time to the year 1987. I was attending a small catholic school in downtown McKeesport. There was a partnership with a nearby public school and during 7th and 8th grade my classmates and I were able to participate in the "shop" classes they offered alongside their students.  The classes included wood working, computers, sewing and cooking.

It was a great opportunity to get out of our school for part of the day but there was a catch. We were dressed in our Catholic school uniforms and when we showed up at the public school - we had nowhere to hide. Yes, there was daily ribbing about our attire but we got used to it after a while.

I have fond memories of making chocolate ice cream in cooking class, furnishing a napkin holder in wood shop, and managing a hot dog stand in computer class. I have not so fond memories of learning how to thread the bobbin in sewing class.

The classroom had rows of sewing machines for each student to sit at like a desk. My Catholic school classmate and I sat way in the back to kind of slide under the radar. We really didn't know anyone and we basically kept to ourselves. Our project in this class was an animal pillow and I was making a monkey. But first...we had to learn to use the machine.

Mrs. Elizabeth Carrozza probably demonstrated how to thread the bobbin (the little silver round metal piece that helps feed thread to the needle) numerous times but sitting in the back of the room didn't improve our vantage point. After the demonstrations she went to each student's machine to see if they did it right.

Most students in the class had previous experience with the ways of Mrs. Carrozza. She ran a tight ship and kids knew not to mess around. I wasn't messing around but I could not do the task at hand. I was desperate. I was scared. I wanted to disappear. I feared the wrath of this loud, tall southern lady.

Even my friend, my classmate couldn't help me because she was working on her own machine. I begged and pleaded with her but time was running out. Mrs. Carrozza was getting closer and closer to our row. Of course, my friend's bobbin was perfect. Then - there was mine. I almost fainted.

Maybe it had been a long day. Maybe she wasn't feeling well. Maybe this was the one millionth time she had taught this lesson and was over it - but I got an earful. I was already embarrassed because of my uniform but then I was called out for not paying attention and basically being a disgrace to sewers everywhere. (I probably embellished that last part.) My eyes were brimming with tears but I would not dare cry. Not one tear was shed until my foot stepped out of her classroom. And then - the flood.

It just so happened as I was leaving the public school, with my classmates to board our bus, my dad was driving by in his work truck. He reported to and from a building that was nearby and pulled over to say hello. Imagine his surprise when he saw his daughter, covered in tears, thinking something terrible had just happened.

I choked through my tears to explain how the mean lady yelled at me - bobbin, monkey, embarrassed - and then I had to get on my bus. I'm sure dad said we would talk about it later while he held me in his arms. Little did I know, when my bus pulled away, dad was going to have his own little chat with the sewing lady.

I don't know how the conversation went down. I like to imagine my dad angrily walking through the school building on a hunt, peeking into each classroom searching for the one, the one who had made his baby cry. Yelling "Carrozza! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

But in reality, I am guessing my dad was won over by her southern charm, which I personally didn't see until the day after bobbin-gate. I think he explained how painfully shy I was, at the time, and possibly asked for a little more patience. She didn't know me from Adam - just another Catholic school student that was bused in for an hour each day. But now she had some background information on this plaid claid, quiet kid. My dad probably said, "This girl can do this but she may just need a little extra help."

I did get the help I needed from Mrs. Carrozza to finish my monkey pillow and it turned out ok. I was not a young Martha Stewart by any means but I was proud of the end result. I kept that pillow on my bed for many years and I am sure I have it tucked away somewhere - a treasured souvenir from my youth.

Mrs. Carrozza was 92 when she passed away. She was only a few years away from retirement when I was in her sewing class. I am sure teaching in a public middle school for 24 years, made it necessary to have a tough exterior, but I am glad I got to see her softer side.

I never look at a sewing machine without thinking of her and the bobbin story, while not funny at the time, it is now a heartwarming tale of a parent trying to make things right for their kid and a teacher making things right for a student.

Now that I have a little more time on my hands, maybe I should dust my sewing machine off and make a new animal pillow. Maybe this time, I'll make the cat.

A late 80s latch hook Snoopy and his doghouse I made in Mrs. Carrozza's class.