And The Blue Ribbon Goes To....

I am a busy gal. I cannot name one thing that I do regularly for enjoyment's sake. Maybe that's something I should work on, but for now let's talk about cheesecake.

For the second year in a row, for my daughter's birthday, I made a cheesecake. This is not my way of getting out of making a traditional cake. While that would be the easier route, the aggravation I saved by not having to decorate it was worth every block of cream cheese [4] I bought to make this extravaganza. Thanks to my mom and the Wilton company, I cannot just make a cake.

One of my earliest memories is watching my mom put thousands of star tips on my brother's Batman and Superman cakes. Each year she outdid herself - graduating to piping roses -which were the prettiest and, of course, yummiest to eat. We would fight over who got a rose on their piece of cake. Yes, nothing says 'Happy Birthday' like a mouthful of buttercream icing and a sugar coma.

Remembering our special cakes is what made birthdays so memorable. I only remember a handful of birthday gifts from when I was a kid that really stand out: a tambourine, a Farrah Fawcett head and my green peridot ring. The taste, the look and the time my mom took to make my cakes are what I really treasure.

So yeah, back to the cheesecake. I like to keep the cake tradition going with my kids and I've made everything from a Hulk smash cake to a  ladybug cake. Last year was the first year we got cheezy.

 The tools were provided by a dear friend who was concerned that I did not have my own springform pan - a necessity for any dessert lover or amateur baker. She also provided me with The Cheesecake Bible. This book lives up to its name in that it contains the ingredients to live by if you want your mouth to go to Heaven.

Last year, I made the French Apple Cheesecake. I am not a big fruit eater and would have preferred to make the plain, chocolate or turtle recipe, but we all thought it was good. That was until the Blue Ribbon Cheesecake entered our sites.

My daughter wanted a plain cheesecake this year and there were two recipes; Blue Ribbon and New York Style. I wanted to go with the New York, but the birthday girl picks. I spent a Friday evening making this recipe- not knowing it was going to change my life. It was 85 degrees outside and 350 degrees inside -probably a little hotter if you factor in the glass of wine I had, so needless to say it was a labor of love.

Most of us have had a good piece of cheesecake. Because it is an indulgence, we remember when and where we ate it, what was on top, and what made it so good. I remember a mouthwatering piece of pumpkin cheesecake I had during an anniversary weekend in Cleveland, Ohio. My husband was so sweet and pretty much had one bite and let me eat the rest. [He probably figured he'd get his cake later.]

With my limited amount of spare time, it is frustrating when I put effort into a recipe and it doesn't turn out. This recipe from start to finish was flawless. There was one heart-stopping moment when I accidentally stuck my oven mitt in the middle of the cheesecake, but like Picasso, I made a swirl with a butter knife and fixed the mistake.

Dishing up the dessert, I was waiting for my opportunity to try it. My family started asking for seconds, which is when I remembered I had fresh strawberries to go with it. Once everyone had their second piece, I went in for my first. The initial bite was almost too good to be true. "Did I really make this?", I thought. Did my husband try to prevent any disappointment and swap out my cheesecake for one from the Cheesecake Factory?

Yes, it was that good and I will make it again. For now, there is only one piece left. It is saved for the lady who started it all and made birthdays a day to show your love through baking.

Still the land of dreams

Waking up each day, watching the headlines, it is very easy to become disenchanted with our country. For most of the year we have been bombarded with politics and as we enter the final weeks before the election, it is impossible to get through the day without a Hillary or Trump story.

I admit – I have had thoughts. Unpatriotic thoughts. Thoughts about leaving the United States about starting fresh in Canada or Liechtenstein. Thoughts that would get me out of choosing a candidate in November. 

While this notion of relocating is utterly impossible and half-baked, it is a romantic notion that gets a few seconds of airtime before crashing into the net. Oh and by the way, my relocation fantasy does not include kids, dog or husband. Oh wait, he proofs what I write, so yes, he will be coming and I am happy to have him. 

Things would have to get a lot worse for me to leave my home. Putting things in perspective, dealing with a President Trump or another President Clinton is definitely more tolerable than religious persecution or sexual discrimination. Plus, our country does have a built in system of checks and balances, which my husband continues to remind me, so declaring war or building a wall would need more than one person's say so, right? Founding fathers, can you back me up on this?

My thoughts became sincere last Wednesday when I witnessed 19 people become U.S. citizens. After a year of preparation these people, representing 13 countries, took the Oath of Allegiance to support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic and to bear true faith and allegiance to the same. 

The first Oath of Allegiance dates back to the Revolutionary War. This is according to a Wiki search, the most reliable source of information on the internets. If you read the whole oath you can see it is possible the text may date back 200 years for there is a section about bearing arms for the country. Applicants can now obtain a waiver to opt out of that part if they have religious objections. (If I was taking the oath I would need to opt out for coordination objections.) Kennywood game attendants can vouch for my lack of skills just based on the milk bottle game. No large plush poop emoji for me this year. (If you visited the park this season you know that was one of the big prizes.)

But looking at these people on Wednesday -a true melting pot of what the world has to offer, I felt proud. Proud that I live somewhere that people still dream of living. Despite talk of building a wall, deporting Muslims, and limiting the number of refugees, there are still people willing to do what is necessary to become a U.S citizen. People who make a thoughtful conscious decision to  absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.

Up to this point, I had taken for granted my U.S citizenry. (Except for the days surrounding 9/11 when most of us felt united and strong in our patriotism.) But seriously, all I had to do to earn my citizenship was be born. In fact, my mother did all the work, so, thanks, Mom. No thought on my part, no contemplation - my parents act of love assured my residence in the greatest country in the world. Get born and be an American, can a person get any more lucky? Mom? Dad?

I am happy that I could witness the ceremony last week. I had only a couple objections ...not opting for the Elvis Presley live version of America the Beautiful for the video montage and the fact that Obama sent a video message to congratulate these new citizens. Come on? Couldn't he have at least sent Biden? He was just here last week.

In all seriousness, becoming an American is a big deal. Being an American is a big deal. Yes, there is a lot of negative right now and yes, we can list a number of reasons why things suck.  But....these 19 people were able to brush the bad aside and focus on what makes being an American great. Shouldn't we? 

A Date With Stu

Reporting the news of the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities involves meeting different people from all walks of life. There are some people who have made an impression that will stay with me as long as I live. One of those people was William “Stu” Getz of Swissvale.

It was two years ago that I had my first run in with Stu. It was during Swissvale’s Community Days. I had been there, taking pictures of the festivities, and getting volunteers for our Opinions On The Street feature. Stu had been sitting under the covered table area, as it was a very hot and sunny day.

He must have noticed me talking to various people and wanted to get in on the action. And for an obvious reason, he had a story to tell, and he wanted me to tell it. 

I saw him standing there waiting to talk to me thinking to myself, I wonder what this guy wants. When I finally turned my attention his way he said, “I’m Stu Getz. I’m a World War II Veteran. If you want to talk to me, I’ll be sitting over there.”

I knew our conversation would take a while. I did not want to blow him off but I was short on time. When I had a chance to go over and speak to him, I told him I really wanted to hear his story, but wanted to call him during the week so we could talk. Stu was a little hard of hearing so this interview would need to be done in person so we set up a time on a Tuesday.

When I arrived at Stu’s house he was sitting on the porch, wearing his Army cap. It would be a lie to say I didn’t get choked up as I walked down the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop thinking about my own grandfather who served in World War II. I never had the opportunity to talk to him about his experiences and I felt privileged to be able to be in the company of someone who was so proud to be a veteran, and could recall events as if they had happened yesterday.

Stu sent me a thank you note after my story ran. That is the kind of person he was, thoughtful and appreciative of the little things in life. Before that summer was over, I was in the neighborhood and stopped in to say hello. We sat on the porch once again and he told me stories about his wife and children. The time flew and before I knew it, the streetlights had come on.

Stu passed away last April and I feel badly that I did not get to see him one last time. I am grateful for that day in July when he waited to speak to me and I am thankful that when I rode past his house the other day, the American flags are still attached to the light pole out front.

Dolls Are For Boys

Seeing the world through the eyes of a five-year-old boy can be enlightening. My youngest child is, in a word - challenging.  As many have said over the years he is "your typical boy".  He is rough and tumble, a ball of non-stop energy and very independent.  I have seen him pin to the ground his teenage brother. But on the flip side, I have seen the gentler side of this young man, through a character I call "Little Daddy" and his baby Flower.

I am not sure when he started playing with Flower, a left over baby doll from his older sister. She was never into dolls like many little girls. Don't get me wrong. She was into princesses and playing house, but did not play with Barbies or doll babies. She preferred stuffed animals and her favorite animal changed quarterly.

This doll did not get much playing time even though she had her own stroller and high chair. She  is one of a few toys kept out for when younger cousins come to play. About a year ago, my little guy kind of adopted her and gave her a name. I tried to throw out some other possibilities, thinking that name was already taken by a skunk in a Disney film, but his mind was made up.

I wasn't sure what to do about my son playing with a doll. People have different feelings about this subject and it can get tricky. My oldest son had a small Emily Elizabeth doll, you know, the owner of the big red dog Clifford? Emily went everywhere with us and amazingly, she has lasted long enough to make it into his keep sake box.

When you have a unique "lovey" that probably cannot be replaced,  it can be scary when it gets lost. We lost Emily quite a few times and one time it appeared she was gone for good. It was after a family member had been babysitting. My husband and I tore the house apart and no Emily. At one point we decided to take a break and get a refreshing glass of ice water. When I opened the freezer, there was Emily.

It was upsetting to see my son's doll in the freezer. I knew my kid could not reach up that high and an adult was responsible for Emily's trip to the Arctic. I cannot remember if I addressed this issue with the babysitter, but I tried to understand where he was coming from. Some people find it unacceptable for boys to play with dolls thinking it might lead to something less manly, but now, watching my youngest play with Flower, I can see that it might lead to something  very manly - growing up to become a great dad.

My son treats Flower very tenderly unlike his other toys. He holds her carefully and takes his time when he dresses her, so as not to hurt her. Watching him cradle her in his arms is one of the sweetest things. He tries to console her when she is "crying" and tells her "it's ok. I'm here."

Just this morning, I was up early to get some writing done. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. It was my son and Flower. He said she had had a bad dream so he decided to wake up and stay with her. I encouraged him to go back to bed but he insisted on watching a show with her to calm her down.

The thing that is the greatest about watching the "Little Daddy" show is that I know the inspiration - my husband. Dads today have to be more hands on than ever with most families having two working parents. How many men do you see these days pushing strollers or sporting baby slings? Carrying diaper bags, dressing up for tea parties, walking around covered in glitter from the day's art project - these guys do it all.

My husband has been parenting with me every step of the way, except of course, the breastfeeding part. I would be dead tired and have to get up for a 2 a.m. feeding and he would sympathize and say "I wish I could help more", then roll over and go back to sleep. I did not resent him - for long.

It is reassuring to see parenting through the eyes of child. Seeing the tenderness, compassion and love shown by my son makes me hopeful that if he is called to be a dad, he will rise to the occasion. It also makes me happy that with the craziness of family life, and we all know at times it can be far from the Donna Reed Show, it is love that he seems to be taking away.

Who knows what the future has in store, but lucky for Flower and I, Little Daddy is here and making sure everything is all right.

Look For The Helpers

Mr. Rogers encouraged kids to look for the helpers in times of trouble. “You will always find people who are helping,” he said. I have recently seen helpers first hand and it wasn’t the people I expected.


This past weekend my family and I traveled to Chicago for the 50th annual Croatian Fraternal Union Festival. This event attracts Tamburitzan groups from all over the United States and Canada. One of the highlights of the event is a mass performance in which all the groups gather on stage, with their instruments, to play and sing songs from the homeland.


This is an amazing sight to see. The stage is filled, rows deep with children ranging in age from 4 to 21, in some of the most beautiful, ornate costumes you will ever see. One of the drawbacks, with so many kids being on stage, it’s hard to pick out your own, unless they are right in front. This really did not bother me at the time, but now I wish, for this performance, I could've seen my daughter.


She fell ill during the singing, tried to get off stage but fainted before she made it safely to the side. No one in the audience saw this because you could not see her - she’s not tall and was in the back. People from our group and people we did not know rushed to her aid.


I received a text while sitting in the audience to come backstage immediately. I ran like the wind in a desperate attempt to see my child. After running through what seemed like a maze, I saw her sitting in a chair, surrounded by people. Of course there were grown ups on the scene, but the person closest to her was a college student.

Marie is studying to become a nurse and was using the training she has accumulated to assess whether my daughter had a concussion. (She apparently hit her head when she fainted.) Another young lady, Annie, is studying to become a pharmacist, She was close-by and was explaining to me what had happened.

These two young women, both Tamburitzan alumni, displayed such poise and calmness. My eyes filled with tears as I gazed upon my child, being attended to by so many people. My daughter looked both small and big at the same time. I touched her and asked if she was ok. That was all I could do. I was in emotional overdrive.


I truly admire people who can jump in and help. Some people run toward trouble and see what they can do. As a young child I remember watching my dad spring into action, putting his military medic training to use when my brother, sister or I got hurt. I also remember neighbors seeking his help when one of their children was either sick or injured. I did not inherit this calmness under pressure skill.


I am the person who freaks out at the first sight of illness. My house goes into quarantine at the first sign of a cold. Loose teeth make me uneasy. I am not your girl when calamity strikes.


With that said, I appreciate people who have a way to remain calm, think steady and take care of others in stressful situations. Although I will never be one of those gifted people, I will forever be in the debt of those who come to the aid of my most precious gifts – my children. Based on the actions of Marie and Annie, the next generation of patients will be in good hands.

The Mom Code

Back in March, my eighth grade son travelled with his school orchestra to the state capitol to play in the rotunda. This was the farthest he has travelled solo and I was a bit anxious. It was going to be a long day - an early departure and a late return. He would need lots of....electronics to make the travel time go faster. His backpack contained his mp3 player, tablet, a book and a modern day extension of my umbilical cord - his cell phone.

The texts started coming almost as soon as the bus pulled away from the school. "I hate this", "It's too loud, I can't hear", "Someone just passed gas”. While I was happy to hear from him, the complaints were not the 'I miss you mom' I would have preferred and became a little much. I encouraged him to talk to his friends and try to have fun.

The phone went silent for a while and I was about to enjoy a few moments alone in my house, which never happens. I kicked off my shoes turned on 'The View' - wondered who these people were and what happened to Whoopi, when my phone buzzed.

The text read, "I knew something would go wrong".

My mind began racing. Did someone get sick? Did they break down? Were they in an accident?

"WHAT HAPPENED?", I typed as quickly as I could.

"I forgot my sheet music!" (frowny face) was his reply. "I am a disgrace to my state."

Now if you knew my son, like I know my son, his text was no surprise. For as smart as he is, he is not the most responsible. Before I could write, "Well, you made sure you had everything that needed charged before you left", he wrote, "I know what you are going to say - I brought this on myself."

Ok. I was thinking that, but I knew he was upset and now was not the time to point fingers. How could I help? Could I take photos of the music and send those? Was there Wi-Fi in the rotunda? Could he use his tablet to pull up the images? And then my light bulb went off.

State Senator Jim Brewster - yeah, I'll call him. Maybe he can step away from the budget crisis and help me solve this orchestra crisis. I was desperate and before I could say impasse, I Googled the number and was on my way to a solution.

A woman named Ranee answered the phone. I asked, "Ranee, how far away is your office from the rotunda?" She said, "Less than a minute walk." Bingo. I explained my situation and from the start she was on board. Getting this music scanned and emailed to her took some time. (I did not know we were dealing with nine pages!) But with minutes to spare before their performance, she arrived to save the day. She said she recognized my son because he was the only one who looked like he needed help.

I tried to express my gratitude as best as I could, but nothing could convey how much she meant to me after what we went through. She said, "I'm a mom to a US Soldier and have had a few mom's take care of him when he was across the country! So it's the least I can do…from one mom to another."

Free Willy Days

Before my career went strictly to the print side of media, I spent some time in radio. I was hired to do traffic and news reports by Metro Networks in Pittsburgh back in 2005, and had the opportunity to fill listeners in on tunnel back-ups and accidents.

Although most of the employees at the time worked out of our Greentree studios, some worked at the radio station they provided traffic for. I occasionally would fill in for the full time reporters when they were sick or on vacation. This is how I came to meet Chilly Billy.

The traffic for the former oldies station WJAS-AM was done from their studios, also in Greentree. When I began training, I was so excited about working among two local legends, Jack Bogut and Chilly Billy. You don't get bigger or better than these two, and I have to say for both of them, you don't get any classier. 

I occasionally did traffic during Bogut's 6-10 a.m. morning show. Around 9:30, Bill would come in to prepare for his 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift. I remember sitting in my studio, which was sandwiched between the WJAS and WSHH studios, watching him arrive. I could see him through the windows that separated us and I would anxiously wait to meet his gaze. He always seemed happy to see me, like an old friend who he had not seen in a long time. 

For me, 9:30 to 10 a.m. was very busy. Rush hour was coming to a close and I had quite a few reports to do. It was a shame because those reports were the last thing I wanted to be doing. I could hear the two legends catching up, swaping stories about their families and reminiscing about their colorful careers. There was plenty of laughter during those 30 minutes and I wished I was with them - not participating - just being able to listen in on the stories about things they had heard and seen over the years. 

I would always stop in at 10:00 a.m. to say hello to Bill. We would have about 3 minutes to talk during the news break before he would begin his show. He would ask about my kids - I would ask how he was feeling and inquire when he going on his next getaway. I was always amazed that first - I was having a conversation with someone in their 80's, and second, with someone who was so well known. I mean Chiller Theater - Studio Wrestling, this guy was the tops. But he treated me like I, was the tops.

I happened to be filling in at WJAS on my mother's 60th birthday. I had the idea to have  Bill call her and sing to her. I was a little hesitant to ask because I wasn't sure how he would feel about it, but I thought, what the heck, this would make her day. Bill did not hesitate when I presented my request. He treated it like it was an assignment and he asked for as many details as he could about her to make the experience as personal as possible. I was able to watch the entire phone conversation and honestly, I don't know who enjoyed it more. Seven years later, my mom still talks about that special phone call and how exciting it was to talk to Chilly Billy. 

The funny thing most people don't know about radio, unless you're in the business, is that the pay is not that great. People hear your voice on the radio and they think you are raking in the cash. In the final days of oldies music on WJAS, before the station was sold and they went to all talk, employees were being asked to take days off without pay.  If jocks had  a regular show and they were talking a week's vacation, that week's show would be prerecorded by the jock. This is the state of radio. Bill had a phrase for his days off - Free Willy Days.

These guys were not in it for the money. They did it because they loved it. They craved that connection with the listeners and felt honored to still be gracing the Pittsburgh airways.

For me, doing fill in work at WJAS was not easy. I had to be there by 5 a.m. and usually left afterwards to pick up my kids or head to my regular job. I already mentioned the pay. But for nine years I accepted the WJAS shifts that came my way. The opportunity to work with people like Jack Bogut and Chilly Billy, in my mind, was priceless. I knew it wouldn't last forever and I enjoyed every moment I spent with them and was proud that I could hold my own. My life was enhanced because of those opportunities. I will always look back fondly and with gratitude. 

I was saddened when I saw Lori Cardille's post on Facebook a few weeks go about her father's recent cancer diagnosis. My intention was to send a card and tell him how much I admired his eternal positivity and how, because of his attitude and love of life, I had no doubt he would be able to get through this rough patch. 

The chance to send my card for him to read has passed.

So I am left with these words to comfort my soul. In his memory I am going to make more of an attempt to do the things that should not be put off. A call, a card, a compliment - the time is now.

To his family, I extend my deepest sympathies for their loss. He will be missed by many but the void he has left in their hearts will never be filled.

Hopefully, moving forward, we can all keep Bill's memory alive. A kind word, a smile, a laugh - this is what makes life worth living. Bill had a great smile and a great laugh. He had a great career and he was one that certainly deserved it.