Kennywood's Open

My family and I recently spent the day at Kennywood. When you drive past an amusement park almost every day it is easy to take for granted the magic that is contained within. But as I walked through the tunnel that leads to the park and I heard little ones yell 'echo', 'echo', my childhood came rushing back.

Kennywood has always been a part of my life. One of my earliest memories is of a trip to Kennywood that almost didn't happen. I was probably around 5 or 6 and I was playing with my younger brother. We were on the steps and when I yelled 'boo' he was so startled that he fell down the wooden steps sustaining a small cut.   This made my mother very angry and she yelled, "Kennywood is cancelled!"

I was shocked at what happened to my brother. Causing him to fall down the steps was not my goal. My grandparents were at our house because they were going to the park too. My grandpap, Nick, came into my room where I was crying and told me it was going to be ok. He was going to smooth things over so we could still have fun. We ended up at Kennywood that day and the chaos from earlier was forgotten. I remember riding the replica Cadillac cars in Kiddieland with my brother. We laughed as we pretended to be our next door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Gastel, an older couple who had an actual Cadillac.

I remember countless school picnics, of course with matching outfits, and photos taken that would end up in a keychain picture viewer - which would immortalize that moment in time. I remember wasting countless dollars on the wiffle ball toss game just so I could win a Bangles cassette that I could have bought for much less. I remember the little yarn admission bands that predated the sticker bands and who could forget purchasing books of tickets. We went through so many tickets during a day at Kennywood, but at the end of the night there were always an odd number left in your pocket.

I also remember the time my brother chickened out of riding the Ferris Wheel. He and I waited in line, along with his friend, Mike, to get on board one of the colorful gondolas. Unfortunately, the closer we got to the front of the line the more their anxiety about heights grew. Midway to the front of the line, my brother bailed. Mike bailed just as he and I were about to board. My desire to be braver than my brother was greater than my fear of being stuck with a group of strangers. The all boy trio I was stuck with did not, as they repeated constantly, value life and decided to stand up and shake our gondola when we got to the very top. My ride from hell did not end in death, luckily, but I learned a valuable lesson that day....boys are stupid.

Living near Kennywood has afforded me a few privileges - getting to be a part of the Fall Fantasy parades as a member of McKeesport High School's Marching Band and also getting to take photos at the park as a member of the local media. But what I treasure most is getting to share what I love about Kennywood with my kids. Watching their joy as they devour Potato Patch fries, screaming with my daughter on the Racer, laughing with my son as the whistle blows when the Bayern Kurve reaches maximum speed, and seeing my little guy imitate World War II 'Flying Ace' Snoopy on the Red Baron ride. This year we added a family trip through Noah's Ark.

Although things have changed about Kennywood during my lifetime, there is enough of the magic from my childhood that remains. We are so lucky to have Kennywood and what it represents only a short distance from our homes. As I get older, my nostalgia for the past increases and only a few places remain that take me back to a simpler time - a time when you met at a ride when a certain song came on, you ate cotton candy until your stomach hurt and a roller coaster plunge 90 feet down a ravine, is met with fearless abandon and the desire to do it again!

A Bonny Farewell

The world recently lost one spunky Scottish lady, but Heaven just got a bit more fun.

I was Christina Wilkinson's caregiver for about four years until she moved to Texas in 2014. She was not actually related to me but by the time we wrapped up our "working" relationship, I felt like we had a bond that went beyond family - if that is even possible.

When I got the call last Monday that she had passed away, the news affected me deeply even though I had not seen her since her 99th birthday, when I traveled to Houston. I was not able to be there for her 100th or 101st birthday although we spoke on the phone on both occasions. Our conversation on February 28 would be our last conversation and was admittedly brief. Her breathing in recent months had become labored, but she managed to tell me a little about the festivities held in her honor.

She could not hold up her end of the conversation so her caregiver completed the call. I do know that I was able to tell her that I loved her and I am grateful that those were our final words to each other. I have regrets that I did not see her more often once she left. If only Texas weren't half a world away. But now she is with me always and since Monday I have been replaying in my mind memories from our years together.

Some of my most treasured memories include the annual spring greening. We would go to Home Depot and she would peruse the plants du jour and pick out the ones she thought were just right. From those plants we would create lovely planters that would decorate both her front and back porches. Even with her poor eyesight, she knew just what plants to put together and the arrangements would be admired all summer long.

I especially loved Christmas time. She only had a little tree, but I would spend hours bringing all the decorations down from the attic to holiday-up her cozy abode. She told me where to place each item and there was no going off book. Aunt Chris, as I called her, had a story for many of the decorations which would often lead to reminiscing about family and friends. She often was reflective about how many loved ones had gone before her and wondered why at 90+ she was still around. I told her God didn't need her yet and there was still more for her to do.

I guess one of the biggest lessons I learned from Aunt Chris was how anything is possible. When I turned 40, and was feeling sorry for myself, I was looking for role models, people who even though past their "prime" were achievers. I looked to Willie Stargel - who was the World Series MVP at age 39 or Lucille Ball who was 40 when the first episode of "I Love Lucy" aired. Weeks after my 40th birthday, Aunt Chris would move to Texas at age 98. This was a move that although did not happen as swimmingly as it sounds, was surprising and awe inspiring.

It was out of necessity that she had to move. Her health was not so good at the time and being close to her son and his family in Texas seemed like the best option. She knew this but was reluctant to leave her home, her things, her life and completely start over. This is a scary proposition at any age and I don't know where she found the strength, but she did it.  (I do give her son lots of credit for rising to the occasion amid a hurricane of Scottish stubbornness heading to the airport.)

But even though she is gone, each day I write for The Valley Mirror is a gift in a way from her. It is because she needed to get her paper every Thursday, the day it comes out, that I got to know the staff at the paper. With my background in journalism, and need for a job once Aunt Chris moved away, everything fell into place. When she and I talked on the phone she always asked me how things were going at The Valley Mirror.

It is strange sometimes how in hindsight things become so clear - how she and I were meant to share those years together so I could eventually share my stories with you. The world has lost part of its appeal now that she is no longer a part of it, but I am a better person for having known and cared for her.

Linda's Legacy

With Mother's Day approaching, my siblings and I are trying to find a way to honor our mother for always being there for us. She not only brought us into the world, but she nurtures us, teaches us and loves us with every fiber of her being. For me, she is the one person I have always been able to count on - hands down. I strive each day to live up to the example set forth by my mother for my children.

But while I am very lucky to still have my mother around to share her guidance and wisdom - I do not have my mother-in-law. In fact, I never had the chance to meet my mother-in-law. She died six months before I met her son.

Over the years I have often wondered, "Would Linda have liked me? Would we have gotten along? Would she have approved of her son's choice for his wife?"When I have shared these thoughts with my husband of course he says what I want to hear. "Yes, she would have liked you."

But he does admit his mother was very protective of him and that may have caused us to butt heads once in a while. We probably would have exchanged words when after an endoscopy I asked my husband to dig up my flower garden. I really don't think he was down from the anesthesia yet and I was cracking the whip. "Get up sleepy head there is work to do!"

But after 18 years, these questions still linger. I feel like I've missed out on a part of marriage that may have helped me understand the inner workings of my spouse. Oftentimes during the course of our years together, my husband will say to me , "You are your father's daughter" or he will playfully call me by my mother's name when I sneeze after meals, get a name wrong or hoot and holler in a way that is reminiscent of her.

 There are times when my husband's behavior or way he says something reminds me of his dad, but I never know when he is being like his mom. Looking at our three children, I wonder what traits have they inherited from her side of the family. With her ties to Ohio, I wonder, "Is that why my son roots for the Bengals?" And because of her love of country music I wonder, "Is that why my daughter likes Tim McGraw?"

Linda's love of music may also have been a point of contention between she and I. Although she loved The Beatles, she thought Elvis reigned supreme. I know we would have debated that point extensively probably only to resign ourselves to the fact that "I Saw Her Standing There" is one of the best songs ever. I would have given Elvis points for "Kentucky Rain", which gets me every time I hear it - I'm not sure if subconsciously that's because of her family ties to the Bluegrass state.

My husband and I have tried to piece together what we know about her ethnicity and for that reason we celebrate St. Patrick's Day each year. I make corned beef and cabbage as well as soda bread, which has become a beloved tradition. For even the small sliver of Irish that might be represented in my children's DNA, I want them to have a connection to her. God knows we celebrate every Hunky holiday under the sun for my side of the family- they should get the best of both worlds.

I treasure the stories my husband has shared over the years about his mom. I have so many of her handwritten recipes that I wish I had the time to make. I love watching the home movie of my husband's first birthday. He was so miserable sitting in front of his cake and his beautiful mother did everything she could to put a smile on his little face. Etched in my mind is how she removed the small plastic Snoopy from his cake (which I think frightened him) and kissed it to show it was ok - how she sampled the icing to show the baby how it is done - and how she lightly fluttered around the kitchen seemingly so happy to be celebrating this special occasion.

I know Linda was a hard worker and had many jobs over the years. I know she went through years of heartbreak before finally having children. I am thankful that she never gave up on having a family because without her determination and sense of purpose, the world would be without her daughter and son and her five amazing grandchildren.

So while I look forward to celebrating another Mother's Day with my mother, part of me will be thinking about my mother-in-law. While I continue to ponder all the what ifs, I believe in my heart she is always with me.  I may not always recognize obvious moments when her personality is shining through, but with every meal my husband makes, in every song my children sing and in every hug we share - she is there. I may never know if she would have been happy with me for a daughter-in-law, but as Elvis sang, "Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be."

Drink Comfortably

I cover a lot of ribbon cuttings, groundbreakings and grand openings because of my job. I have to admit I have always wanted to be "important" enough to hold those huge gold scissors and snip the yellow tape, red bow or decorative string in two. Although I have covered many of these events it wasn't until this past weekend that I really understood why people have this ceremonial "ritual".

Three guys I have known for twenty years opened their own business this weekend. It has taken several years for their brewery to come to fruition, but it seems it was always destined to be. I had the pleasure of working with these gentlemen (a term I use loosely) early on in my career and although a mischievous sense of humor can overpower their other human qualities, their dedication to hard work always shined through.

Working at a small town television station you find out who has what it takes to make it in this rough and tumble world. Long hours, ancient equipment, low pay - these are the things that try a person's mettle. But these guys would never shirk from helping a person when they were in a jam and ALWAYS left you with a laugh for the road.

Seeing their establishment up close and personal was truly a memorable moment. These guys worked so hard and completely transformed what was once a dismal, empty space. Dry wall, painting, laying cement -  these three left their blood (literally), sweat and tears all over this brewery and it is a marvel to see what they were able to do.

I never really thought of all the decisions that go into starting a new business until I saw their place. All the pieces that had to be acquired, the furniture, the bar, the lighting fixtures. This labor of love came together slowly and the investment of time and money is overwhelming. It is such a gamble to go out and try to put your mark on the business world. It is certainly not a venture for the faint of heart but for these three, it is a mission they have no choice but to make successful.

The most telling part of this story is the fact that the threesome was originally a foursome. One of the partners died tragically two years ago. The sudden loss of the driving force behind this venture could have been the end to the dream, but that was not an option. Honoring their friend, by providing great beer to the masses in a comfortable setting, was going to be a reality - no matter what it took.

There is a shadowbox behind the bar which contains an embroidered shirt for the silent partner who inspired this journey. He lives on each day the brewery is open, in every toast that is toasted, and in every growler that is emptied.

It is these kind of stories that make a ribbon cutting day one to savor. Yeah, it is nice to see the photo op, it is fun to hear the snip of the scissors and cheers of hurray, but it is important to reflect on the moments along the way that inspired people to take a chance and go for it.

I have always liked Franklin Delano Roosevelt's quote, "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." But for these guys the quote would go - there is no fear just drink beer!

Could You Please Kill That?

I have been very lucky. Since I was a little girl, I've pretty much had someone in my life who could remove, squash or kill those eight legged pests that compromise our enjoyment of life.

Just this morning, I almost walked into one of those silent ninjas as he descended from the ceiling. All I had to do was gasp and my husband instantly peaked around the corner.

"What is it?" he said.

"A spider," I said calmly.  "He's hanging right here. Just get a paper towel." In our home I need to specify what type of weapon is needed for each particular battle with a bug.

Like David Copperfield, my husband made the creepy crawlie disappear. And no, this one would not return.

One of my earliest memories is of my brother and I playing outside riding our Big Wheels. I would not go very far before I would spy a multi-legged creature. "Ronnie, come here!" I would yell. And with the power of Thor my younger brother would stomp the life out of anything I deemed intolerable.

There was a period of time between college and marriage when I did not have anyone immediately at the ready for bug duty. This was a precarious time and often resulted in phone calls to male friends who might take pity on a damsel in distress.

One time I stayed in the bedroom of my apartment for hours because there was a weird green bug in the doorway. The person I called to help wanted me to actually say the words, " Can you please come help me!" Since I didn't want to be that girl, I suffered alone -summoning the strength to deal with Greeny myself. And yes, I did feel a sense of pride when I ground him into the carpet with my left blue Chuck Taylor.

Over the years, I have come to appreciate the pests I deal with here in western PA. We have the thousand leggers, which are the fastest suckers I've ever seen.  One minute you see them and then they are gone! Creepy but harmless.

And yes, we have the crazy stink bug. The worst thing about them is when they fly around in a dark bedroom. As you lay in the cozy cocoon of your bed and you hear their propeller-like whir and then - silence. Where did they go? Are they on your pillow? Lights come on and the hunt begins.

Of course, spring brings spiders galore, but I can handle them (the little ones) for the most part. When my husband worked nights and I was home with the kids - I had to be the one who dealt with the screams of, "Mom, IT'S A SPIDER!" But his schedule is different now and if he is home - he gets the call of duty first, no question.

It does make me feel good to know that I can deal with the occasional crawlie. The kids and I even have a routine for stink bug sightings. Someone grabs the spray bottle and shoots it down from the wall with a steady stream of water. Another kid grabs a container and covers it up. I have the option of dealing with it immediately or waiting until it's convenient to flush it down the toilet version of Sandcastle's Dragon's Den.

But let me tell you why I have been able to come to terms with the bugs we deal with here in Pennsylvania. They are nothing like the huge pests we dealt with for years while living in Virginia. Whatever fancy name you want to give it - palmetto bug, waterbug, flying waterbug - a roach is a roach. We had them in three out of our four apartments.

Now don't get the wrong idea. We were not living in dens of filth - like you sometimes see on the news. The moist southern climate makes it the perfect environment for these palmettos. We were told exterminators were useless in multi-dwelling structures because each apartment is it's own entity. Landlords would not pay to have each apartment treated and even if they did - it would not guarantee the bugs would not come back.

In terms of numbers, there were probably only a dozen waterbug sightings total over the years - it wasn't a Hitchcock film by any stretch of the imagination, but they were scary, ugly, creepy, horrible and every and all adjectives you can use to describe bad things.

So today bring on the thousand leggers, stink bugs and spiders - I've seen what is out there and I know it could be worse!

All The World's A Stage

If I remember correctly my very first live musical was Anything Goes. It was not on Broadway or at the Benedum. It was performed by students of McKeesport Area Senior High School.   I was in 9th grade and the show would be my introduction to musical theater. I remember how gorgeous my peers looked in their costumes. I remember how lovely their voices sounded. I remember how, to me, the students were stars with as much talent as a Kristin Chenoweth or Matthew Morrison.

I still from time to time find myself humming "Blow Gabriel Blow" - the catchy number that got stuck in my head that night so long ago. Although I admired the students that participated in the musical, I knew that would never be me. I did not have the courage, singing talent or burning desire to be on the stage. It was something nice to think about, but not something that was meant for me. I did play in the orchestra pit during a Broadway review we did my senior year, but that was as close as I got.

I did get involved in theater during my college years. My roommate and I were on the stage crew for Cabaret and played inquisitors in Man of La Mancha. But the pinnacle of my senior year was playing my favorite Disney princess - before she was a princess - Snow White in Into the Woods. I came on during the final scene, had one line (which consisted of a dramatic yawn and the words excuse me), and  danced in the final number with my prince. Not much, but enough to satisfy any yearning I had to be on the stage.

I have seen quite a few musicals, both professional and high school productions. Nothing beats the feeling of seeing the curtain rise, hearing the overture and knowing you are about to escape reality, for a short time, and enter into a world where characters sing through their problems, dance through their disappointment and live happily ever after.

This weekend, my son played in the orchestra pit for his high school musical. The cast and crew had been preparing for months.  Those in the orchestra had done most of their preparation solo, but for the past few weeks they had rehearsals every weekday evening. I was so excited to see the show on opening night and hear all the instrumental parts come together.  While the actors and actresses tell the story, the orchestra drives the plot and sets the tone as each scene unfolds.

I must confess, I saw the show multiple times. I wanted to see how each performance was different. I wanted to catch the little nuances that only someone familiar with the show would catch. Yes, I was a musical groupie and I didn't care.

There were a few kids in the musical I have known since they were in kindergarten. It was a strange feeling to see these young men and women, who have blossomed before my very eyes, on stage. I felt a sense of pride and of course, sadness. Sadness that these kids are not little anymore, sadness that in a few years they will graduate and sadness that I am getting old-er. But enough of that.

Everyone involved in the show did a wonderful job and I am sad that it is over. Yes, it was a busy couple of weeks with drop offs and late pick-ups but I would do it all again and hopefully I will do it again three more times before my son graduates. Even if he stays true to his DNA and does not set foot on the stage during his high school years, I am so proud that he is a member of the pit crew.

If you have the opportunity to support your school district's musical - please do. There is so much preparation that goes into these shows. There is so much the audience doesn't see - the fundraisers, the rehearsals, the set/costume design - all for one weekend. There is so much local talent tucked away in our schools and who knows, maybe some of them will make it to the Great White Way. But even for those that don't, the lessons learned about dedication, team work and perseverance will come in handy on that journey we call life that when set to music, becomes a little bit sweeter.

                   Snow White and Goldilocks
                   Into The Woods UPJ 1996

Y'All Come Back Now

You never really know what you are getting when you move into a neighborhood. I remember when my husband and I bought our first house in Chesapeake, Virginia fifteen years ago. Before deciding to sign all the necessary paperwork, we knocked on doors and talked to people who lived next to or across from our potential dwelling. I wanted to see what the neighbors were like and if they would help make our vision of home ownership come true.

This activity was a bit weird because, well, really, what was I going to find out? But I was six months pregnant with my first child, and I wanted to make sure I wouldn't be bringing my baby home to a neighborhood of serial killers. (I blame the hormones.)

Those who did answer their doors were nice enough but revealed little about their neighborly qualities. Nothing prepared us for the little boy next door who would walk into our home without warning or the wife who seemed like she was in a cult and hardly spoke when her husband was around.

For being in the south, typically an area known for extreme friendliness, our first house experience did not uncover the lasting kinships you would expect. Don't get me wrong, we still keep in touch with friends we made through church and work, but none of our neighbors.

When we moved back to Pittsburgh, I found people more friendly than when I left. (I don't know if it was because I was so happy to be back home after six years that everyone seemed like my best friend.)

On the street where we found our current home, I did not interview our potential neighbors. We needed our own place fast. My family of four, and dog, were living with my parents and my personal three month deadline for this situation was running out. But nothing could prepare us for the amazing people we would be surrounding ourselves with.

It all started with the 90-year-old watch-lady across the street who loved to see and hear my little ones playing in the yard. She would call us if there was a car parked on the street she did not recognize - making sure there was no riffraff out and about. Sweet Mabel has since passed away, but the family who bought her house has been a wonderful addition to our neck of the woods.

We have handy neighbors who help us repair things and caring neighbors who are always looking out for my children. Recently, our neighbor two doors down brought us his famous multi-layer Jello dessert to cheer us up after our dog and car died in a span of four weeks. I could not bring myself to return his dish empty because I was so touched by his kindness.  (Unfortunately, it took me a month to whip something up so I could finally get his Pyrex back.)

Now that the weather is getting warmer, we will start to mingle outside again. People will wave while sitting on their porches, conversations will be had while doing yard work and hopefully I'll share some wine with the gals on a summer night.

I'm kind of sorry I didn't knock on any doors twelve years ago. It delayed the process of getting to know the people who would provide the southern hospitality we had missed when we actually lived down south.