I Like What I'm Hearing

One of my favorite pleasures is listening to music. It doesn't get better then when I am in the car...alone and I can turn up the volume to my heart's content. Monday was a cold, dreary day and I needed Paul McCartney's voice to soothe my sadness.

I was listening to The Beatles Revolver album, which I never actually purchased. It is a remnant from my husband's bachelor days. It belonged to one of his roommates and being the fan that I am, it never made it back.

I was travelling on Lebanon Church Road in West Mifflin when I came to a red light. I must have been really into a particular song because I did not know I had company. The music must have been so loud that the driver next to me could hear it too.

I am very conscious to not subject nearby motorists to my musical jukebox. I think I have pretty awesome taste in music and I would love to start my own musical revolution but I am realistic - there are people out there that do not enjoy the occasional tune by Barry Manilow or Gary Lewis and Playboys.

So with that being said during the warmer months I usually keep my volume at a decent level. But in the winter time, windows are up and all bets are off. My musical bubble is like a personal security blanket which I shared the other day with a stranger.

Just when the French horn solo wrapped up in the track "For No One" I noticed the driver in the car next to me was trying to get my attention. I thought he wanted to get in front of me when the light turned green so I nodded and waved him forward. I looked up to see if the light had changed but it was still red. I looked back at the driver and he was now motioning for me to roll down my window.

I always think the best of people and while common sense dictates better judgment I rolled my window down. For a split second an element of fear crossed my mind but I truly did not think this Dave Grohl look alike would harm me.

"That's the best song on that album," he says just as the light turns green. As we begin to accelerate he continues sharing his feelings about the album. I am trying to be polite and I genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say, but I also wanted to avoid getting into an accident.

Our conversation only lasted a few seconds and ended with me giving him a thumbs up. Which by the way I never do, but I wanted to incorporate as many non-verbal methods of communicating as possible since I was trying to keep my eyes on the road.

I had to chuckle as I arrived at my destination about the moment I had just shared with that man. In my 25 years of driving I have never had a conversation about music at a red light. It made me feel a little weird that I had accidentally invited someone into my musical bubble but in the end I am glad it happened.

We come in contact with people we don't know everyday. Usually we are too caught up in our phones, our lives, in driving safely, to really notice our similarities. To get through these trying times it might be a good idea to reach out and let people know, "Hey, I get you." No commitment - just a quick acknowledgement and be on your way.

I'll probably never see that guy again but now when I listen to Revolver I know I'll remember that conversation - yeah, the one that almost resulted in a call to Flo the Progressive lady. But I'll remember how the world got a little smaller and how music can persuade us (if only for a few seconds) to come together.

Parting With The Vibe

The circle of life is in full swing at Casa Keleschenyi. In the month between December 15 and January 15 we put our 15-year-old dog to sleep and our 14 -year-old Pontiac Vibe throttled for the last time. It is a period of adjustment as we continue to mourn our four legged friend and now have a heavy heart for the loss of our best car to date.

My husband and I were not knowledgeable car people when we first started out. We had a lot of respect for people who researched cars, prepared finances for cars, but we were not them. Our rendezvous with the Vibe came out of necessity. We were driving a Volkswagen Jetta - a sleek, black, classy number upside down in negative equity. Oh yeah, it was gorgeous and purred like an expensive Persian cat, but our family was expanding and so was I. Our first born was on his way and when we put the car seat in the car for a test run, my belly touched the dashboard. Wish I had that photo.

Once the baby arrived we had to position the car seat between the driver and passenger seats to provide enough leg room for the grown ups. We would never be able to take an additional passenger. On the way home from the hospital it was just the three of us, stuffed in our Jetta, but happy as can be.

As babies do- they grow and within eight months we were at a dealership. We were desperate for a new ride as our trips between our home in Virginia and family back in Pennsylvania were getting more frequent because of the first grandchild. Comfort was a nine hour issue and the time to fix it had come. We spent an entire day working out the deal for a new car and we had only one choice - a Frosty Pontiac Vibe...a car we had never heard of before that day.

We had no idea that when we drove off the lot, we had the best car in the world. In the 14 years that we owned it, the only time we had to put a lot of money into it was last November. The car had around 160,000 miles and we were not ready to send it to the junk yard in the sky. We were told a few years back that even though it was a Pontiac it had a Toyota engine. It was made well and we sure got our money's worth.

The Vibe broke down on the Parkway East two weeks ago. It did not look good and we were hoping that just maybe it was a cheap, quick fix. It wasn't. That Toyota engine finally gave out. Our Vibe was dead.

We are preparing to donate our vehicle to a non-profit. Many take vehicle donations whether they are running or not and sell then at an auto auction. The non-profit gets they money it sells for. For us it is a win-win. They take care of the pick up and we support a local organization. It was still hard to clean out the car. Mementoes from years gone by - photos, cards, even some baby items that were tucked away in the storage area, were rediscovered. The guardian angel clip my mom gave us that hung over the visors was the last thing to be removed. It was sad.

The Vibe was not my primary mode of transportation over the last couple years since a van became necessary to transport 3 kids comfortably. But each time I got in that car I loved the way the seat felt when I sat down. A familiar, comfortable feeling - like an old friend. It wasn't like the van I have to hop up into. The Vibe - you eased your backside into. It had a moon roof, which we hardly ever used because what was the point, but when we did it felt like a luxury.

Two of our three kids came home in the Vibe after they were born. One on a cold January day six years ago with no heat working in the car. There were trips to the emergency room, trips to the beach and trips to school. Soon another vehicle will be part of our comings and goings, which in a few years will include trips to college.

Now it is time for our next car adventure to begin. Unfortunately, we cannot just go buy another Vibe, since they stopped making them back in 2009. So hopefully we can take our time and uncover another hidden gem that will eventually get us to each college campus no matter how far.

Walkmans, Friendship and Bono

Sometimes you have to operate on impulse. As a parent and responsible adult it is often not an option to go off book - make that purchase, treat yourself and grab that ring. This week a friend and I grabbed that ring and will run with it all the way to Heinz Field in June. We will see U2 perform 25 years after we saw them at Three Rivers Stadium in August of 1992.

The band announced last week that they would go on tour to mark the 30th anniversary of their Joshua Tree album. This album was one I bought on cassette when I had just turned 13. I listened to my cassette over and over -front and back -back to front. I had a paper route at the time and each day my trusty Walkman and I would deliver those papers. I had a couple friends who helped me through those delivery days; Billy Joel, George Michael and Bono. Yes, there were lots of mix tapes in between but those three guys were my go-tos.

 I remember leaving my 13th birthday party, which I chose to have at Chuck E. Cheese to kind of stick it to teendom, and listening to the magnificent voice of Paul Hewston [Bono] and wishing I could belt out notes with as much passion as him.

U2 stayed with me during my high school years and in the summer of 92, as a recent graduate and almost college student, a few friends and I got tickets to the Three Rivers Stadium show.  At that time a ticket cost around $25.00. We all bought t-shirts too (probably another 20 bucks), which I proudly wore around my college campus until I wore it out. I didn't go to many shows during my high school/college years but I remember seeing U2 was a big deal. Big production, big sound. It was a warm summer night and I had just turned 18. Life was full of possibilities and us girls had great taste in music that would see us through the decades that lay ahead.

Now to the present. The shows which weren't a frequent occurrence then are even less of an occurrence now. The show has to be a pretty big deal to A. shell out the cash and B. arrange for childcare. The last show I saw was during the Three Rivers Arts Festival because A. it was free and B. the kids could sit on a blanket with me. Yes, people, I put the roll in rock n' roll as in that's how this family of 5 rolls.

I was watching the news after a rough day last week when I saw that U2 was going on tour. I watch the news on mute since it is not always family friendly and that way I can read the closed captions. I could believe what I was reading! My coming of age album would be the focus of this tour. I decided to sleep on this news and see how I felt when I woke up. Tickets were not going on sale for another week. I had time.

The next morning I texted my friend -  one of the girls with me at Three Rivers Stadium 25 years ago. She now lives in North Carolina and I knew for her this concert would entail more than a jaunt down the Parkway.

(8:53 a.m.) Me: Would you consider coming in town to see the show?
(8:54 a.m.) Her: How crazy! I was just looking over the tour dates.
(8:56 a.m. )Me: My husband would not want to go and Joshua Tree is my fave album
(8:57 a.m.)Her: My girls are still in school but if my husband is around I could.  I saw presale was tomorrow. It would be awesome to go with you.

In the day it took to finalize whether this was a go on her end - she joined the U2 Fan Club so we could participate in the presale. She got tickets and now all we have to do is wait. We were meant to go I tell myself. We just had to.

Say what you want about bands and their crazy ticket prices. Say what you want about celebrities that are outspoken and may ruffle some feathers, but this show isn't about that. It is about two friends recapturing their youthful spirit in this crazy world. Many things have changed in 25 years. Heck, Three Rivers Stadium is gone, 25 dollar ticket prices are gone and poor Walkmans are extinct. But some friendships stand the test of time and putting them to music make them infinite.

You're The Next Contestant...

I am an impatient person. I always have been and I probably always will be. If this comes as a surprise to you then I deserve an Oscar. If this is not a surprise to you then you are a family member.  If it wasn't for my mother and being a mother my patience would be zero right now. (There is a DNA issue involved but I won't get into that.) Life has a way of making you less tolerant. As a woman, some days I can be more tolerant than others. On Monday, tolerance was a wasteland.

You know how there are some establishments you go to where something always goes wrong? These are places you try to avoid at all costs or only under certain conditions. I have only a few, which is good, but it seems my optimistic cheery attitude usually comes back to haunt me. "This time it will be better," I say to myself. "Last time was a fluke," I assure myself as I trustfully walk into an impending situation.

I was running errands with my oldest son earlier this week. He had an orthodontist appointment and I was trying to check off as many things on my list beforehand. This is my problem. I am always trying to beat the clock instead of letting life wash over me. It is like I am on the Price is Right and its the game where you have to put the dollar amounts in front of the right prize. Once the amounts are in place the contestant must pull the lever to see how many they got right and fix the ones they suspect are wrong before time runs out.

I had to go to the post office and due to proximity I went to a branch where I usually encounter lines and frustration. Today my little voice said, "Things will be different. Don't you worry. You've got 20 minutes until the appointment, you got this." With a smile and a song I walked through the doors. I would walk out 20 minutes later with a need for Prilosec or something you take for high blood pressure.

Three people waiting on customers and only one person in front of me. "This is great," I thought. "Whew, I would be in and out." But as I thoroughly observed the situation the people being waited on had numerous packages to mail and an adult person wearing a pink winter hat with bunny ears needed help locating additional tape. When there was an open window I still had a few minutes to spare. I was ready to step forward with my package but the attendant had to organize the bins right at that moment. I thought she was going to wait on me but there I stood there waiting patiently on the outside but going a little crazy on the inside.

Of course I get the question, "Am I mailing anything hazardous, perishable or liquid?" No, but my patience had died and my blood was boiling so I guess it was good that I wasn't getting overnighted to Alameda. My package was a defective item that needed to be returned so I was already perturbed. My payment screen came up with a number of options ranging in price from $15 to $3. I thought all of these were mine for the choosing. I repeated myself twice that I wanted the cheapest possible. The attendant continued to explain my options, which on any other day would have been considered helpful, but today were   slicing away at the sliver of patience available for this transaction.

 I say, "I want the $2.94 Library Mail option."

The attendant asks me if I am a library.  As if I, a human person standing there, am a building.

"Are you a library?"

I wanted to yell. I wanted to recreate a scene straight from Seinfeld using Jerry's voice.

"Lady, do I look like a library? And what is with all these choices if the only one I can choose is the one you tell me to?"

 I did not know the shipping options along with 'priority' and 'next day' included names for categories of things you could be mailing.  I did not make this connection until I chose the next cheapest 'Media Mail' and the attendant said if you are not mailing media this option does not apply to you. There was a form included with the item explaining the defect, couldn't that be considered media? "Then why is it on the screen," I wanted to ask.

At this  point I was mad and I was talking like a ventriloquist with my teeth clinched in a forced smile trying to be polite fighting back my inner rage. This was my fault. I was short on time and the attendant was only doing his/her job but my internal struggle was real. I have worked in customer service and I am very conscious to not be rude when dealing with people. In retrospect I was not rude, I was not overly polite, but I was not rude.

I left the post office older than I was when I went in. I vented to my son who did a funny voice and made me laugh.

I need to stop trying to beat the clock. I am not going to win a brand new car whether or not I get everything done. So next time I have that urge I am going to ask myself this important question,

"Are you a library?"

Let's Get Physical

One of the most surprising events of 2016 was that I joined a gym. Those words while hard for me to say are just as hard for me to type. I have a gym membership and that is weird.

For me exercising is not a spectator's sport. I sweat alone. That is why running is so good for me. I can be on a trail, pass people and they are gone. I am again alone and all is right with the world. I guess it may seem strange for a person like me to be so against being a member of an exercising club. A bunch of people wanting to be healthy and fit-sign me up should be the response, but that has not been the case.

I fought it as long as I could. When the weather got bad last winter I made the best of the high school track nearby. Yes, there were days when it was snow/ice covered but I could utilize the field and not worry about falling.  New regulations now prohibit using the track during school hours so unless I want to run in the dark or with my five-year-old it is no longer an option.

In November, when temps went below zero things got dicey in the park where I normally run. The trail seemed fine but the parking lot was icy. I almost fell and I did not want a broken leg for Christmas so it was time to weigh my options…get a treadmill/elliptical machine that would eventually become a coat hanger/hamper or join the gym.

My husband already has a membership so he graciously took me to sign up. The gym is relatively new so everything looks sparkly and bright. The staff was very friendly and as luck would have it the person helping me made a mistake, which took my sign up fee down from $30 to $5 bucks. This to me was a sign to embrace the gym and not allow gymtimidation to rule my existence. The gym fees would almost be worth it just to walk around, watch one of the 10 televisions and fill up my water bottle at the automatic water fountain/dispenser.

We went back the very next day to shred the tread- mill and I must admit it was a little exciting. In order to go before work my husband and I must be there around 5:30 a.m. (Yes, part of the deal is if I go he goes. So win-win, right?)  It is dark and it is early but it can be a great way to start the day.

We have been able to go at a more reasonable hour during the past couple weeks due to the holidays and my husband being off. Now it is going to get real and hopefully we can stick to it. Of course the weather has been relatively mild as of late and I could be running outside but hey- did I mention the automatic water dispenser and wall of televisions? Yes? Well sorry.

 Because the gym is in my neighborhood, even at 5:30 a.m., I run the risk of running into people I know. I am normally a social person but at the gym I need to be in the zone and stay in the zone until the pain is real. On the first day I did see someone I knew. We greeted each other quickly and were on our way. She seemed to have my philosophy and all was good. 

The judgment free zone we are supposed to be in has for me been just that.  I really love that motto especially now that things are a little more crowded with people trying out their resolutions to lose weight. Most of the people who are there look like regular Joes not like those people in the commercials with the fancy pants outfits and bods of steel. 

I was worried I needed some workout clothes and a makeover to fit in, but not the case. (Although I would rock legwarmers and a sweatband.) These people have t-shirts, shorts, comfy pants -nothing special just like me.  I also love the fact the majority of the people I have seen in there are around my age and older - giving it all they got.

Being a gym member has been positive for me. It is only temporary, just through the winter, but I would recommend it. I cannot wait to be outside again running along the tree lined trail [alone] but for right now I can use one of my favorite lines from the 80’s movie Mr. Mom starring Michael Keaton - if you call and I'm not home I'll be at the gym or the gun club.

Auld Lang Sigh

I don't have an actual bucket list. Yes, there are some cool things I have done that I am glad I was able to do and one is celebrating New Year's Eve in Times Square. This is something that I feel kinda proud to tell people I have experienced but I would never, not in a million years, ever do it again.

The day started out pretty well. It was a warmer December evening - coat, hat, gloves required but not so cold you needed layers. My college boyfriend had family in New Jersey so we were able to take the train into the city and would not need to park in Manhattan. We went early in the afternoon and were able to enjoy a tasty corned beef on rye sandwich at a deli in Times Square and then join the excitement outside.

New York City is a buzz on a normal day but it was electric on this holiday eve. As we sat in the deli with the sounds of Abba's Greatest Hits pumping through the establishment I did not believe I could be any happier. Looking around at all the people from all corners of the world joined together I felt like the main character in the off the wall 90's film Muriel's Wedding. When things were going right in her life she would say, "My life is as good as an Abba song."

After we left the deli and were walking around I noticed store owners were boarding up their windows. I wondered why this was necessary. Were these precautions for the festivities or were they expecting a hurricane, I thought to myself, but with the bars of Fernando still fresh in my mind, I did not give it a second thought. Besides I was about to see Dick Clark.

When we got to Times Square, there were barricades all along the perimeter. Once we passed through we were supposed to stay put. As the area continued to fill up with people you were not guaranteed a spot if you left and wanted to come back. There was a heavy police presence in 1995, but probably only a fraction of what is needed today. The officers were pretty strict and seemed to be focused on keeping order.

It was very cool to see the stage where Dick Clark was set up to broadcast. It would be hours before the show would begin, but by 9 p.m. we were in our place. Unfortunately, we were behind the stage and would not be able to see him or his guests. "Who cares," I thought, still in my own Waterloo. "We have the big Times Square screen and will be able to see and hear everything anyway."

About an hour into the standing, listening to the countdown of hits from 1995, I felt like an animal caged in the zoo. My boyfriend and I realized we would not be able to go to the bathroom for a long time. Others around us, who had probably been on a bar crawl prior to getting into the pen, did not let their surroundings stop them. Many young men were relieving themselves where they stood - in the street! This was the first time the melody to my Abba soundtrack started to hit some sour notes. I was disgusted and made sure their celebratory stream wasn't running my way.

As the clock got closer to 11 I kept waiting to hear Dick's voice. We were still watching videos for the year end music countdown and our conversation had died out. I am not sure where this countdown came from but there were not many songs I recognized. At the time I was a DJ at my college radio station and had my finger on the pulse of popular music. These songs weren't striking any chords with me and I was starting to get tired.

I was starting to think nostalgically of the years I spent ringing in the New Year with my family. I was longing to be by our fireplace breathing in smoke and getting ready to beat pots and pans. I tried to force those thoughts out of my head because spending New Year's Eve in New York was cool and I was cool, damn it. I wasn't a baby who needed her family.

It was almost 11:30 and still no audio from the big ABC show. I thought for sure it would be Dick's voice I would hear counting us down to the new year. Now the only thing getting me through was the big finish- the ball drop and the kiss in Times Square. I somehow expected Rhett Butler to deliver my lips the smooch of a lifetime - the most romantic experience of my young life.

The ball seems really close on TV with cameras zoomed in. In person it was far away, like another galaxy. And the kiss, as soon as our lips touched and the confetti fell we were on the move. I was surprised at how quickly people departed. I guess the people near the Dick Clark stage stay put for a while in the hopes of getting on TV but in the port a potty I was standing in, people were ready to vaminos.

Once on the sidewalk, my feet did not touch the ground. The crowd of people leaving was so jam packed we got caught up in it. I was barely able to hold onto my boyfriend's jacket but knew if I let go I would get trampled or lost. Getting lost would be quite the predicament since we did not yet have cell phones and I did not know his family's number in New Jersey. The movement of bodies almost took my breath away and I could not wait to reach the train station.  I finally understood the boarded up windows.

Even without Dick Clark, I continue to watch his countdown show each year. I know if I had not had this experience years ago I would wonder what it would be like to be in Times Square on New Year's Eve. I would think it must be a romantic experience, one that I would like to share with my husband for that magical midnight kiss.

Luckily, I checked that experience off my list at a time when I was young and naïve enough to endure it. These days I keep it local, with a smaller crowd, and a clean bathroom with easy access. With three kids who stay up past their bedtime, the 12:00 a.m. kiss lasts as long as the one in Times Square decades ago, but when it's over the longest walk I have is to my bedroom and there's only one other person fighting to get to the same spot.

Happy New Year!

Stuck In The Middle With You

It is weird how you become instant friends with people when you are in a crisis. Ok. It wasn't actually a crisis - it was me thinking I could get where I needed to go during a Parkway East closure by using the exits that were still open. You can stop laughing now.

I left the North Shore on Saturday at 12:10 p.m. I proceeded to the Parkway East in an attempt to take the Oakland Exit and arrive at Carnegie Mellon for my son's orchestra performance. My GPS said it would take 6 minutes. Much like the lyrics in the Gilligan's Island theme song - where a three hour tour became years, my six minute jaunt across town took one hour and forty minutes.

I am not familiar with the ins and outs of driving in Pittsburgh. Since I never worked in the city, it never became a place I was intimate with. When I first got my driver's license I was not allowed to drive into Pittsburgh. That was off limits. To get around that, my boyfriend and I would take the Parkway East, exit at Stanwix, turn around and come home - all because we just wanted to catch a glimpse of our picturesque skyline.

12:15 p.m. There was nothing picturesque about where I was stuck on Saturday. As soon as I merged onto the Parkway I knew I was in trouble. The Forbes Exit lane was backed up to Grant Street and that was my destination. I texted my son and told him I might be late. I had 50 minutes. But as I looked around all three lanes filled up quickly. There was no where to go. And nothing to look at. The city was behind me and the view of the river was - Pittsburgh winter. Brown and blah.

12:20 p.m. My first thought was food and my second was that I was pretty much on E, but food first. I had bought my youngest a value pack of raisins the night before. Within seconds I devoured that box and only wished there was a street vendor with coffee and chocolate walking through traffic like the t-shirt guy I saw when the Grateful Dead was in town in June of '95. Today no such luck.

12:30 p.m. It was interesting to watch people in cars near by straining their necks to see what was going on up ahead. We could only guess that an accident out of view had caused the major back up we were stranded in. People were rolling down their windows talking to each other like buddies who they had not seen in a while. When a police officer could not get through the bumper to bumper traffic, he left his car and departed on foot. Yes, this was going to take some time.

12:40 p.m. Because I am a person who is always doing something I was out of my element. Forced to sit somewhere and do nothing is not how I roll. I had Christmas cards to write out, lists to make, online shopping to do, but without the cards and my laptop - the North Pole grinded to a halt. There I was left to sit and observe.

12:50 p.m. In forty minutes, I had not moved. I texted my son and told him I would not be there for his performance. People in front of me started to do the unthinkable. Within this confined space, they were turning around to head in the opposite direction. This prospect seemed like my best bet, since I would soon run out of gas, but it would involve me backing up my van, possibly a 15 point turn, in order to escape the Parkway.

12:55 More and more cars were doing this - the lady next to me rolled down her window and asked if I would be attempting an exodus. (In order for her to leave, I had to leave.) I told her I didn't think so. I said, "I am not so good at going backward."

She was facing the good side of the van - the one with the side-view mirror in tact and without a huge dent in the front. Had she seen those she might not have asked but she said she would guide me through. And she did - letting me know how much room I had. "Keep going", "You're doing good",
"You got this."

At one point I was lined up next to another car waiting his turn to get out. Both our windows were down on this cold, cold day and I asked him if he saw what happened up ahead. He didn't see anything either but assured me it must be an accident.

1:10 p.m. I was in line to make an exit onto Grant Street. The traffic light at the top of the ramp allowed commuters to inch ever so slowly to freedom.  When I finally reached CMU it was 1:40. I missed the performance, but I was able to catch a glimpse of humanity. In a bad situation, the people around me were able to keep their cool and even assist others who they had never met. Times like these make me realize -we are all in this together and a little kindness from a stranger can be a positive keepsake during an inconvenient afternoon.