Is Your Band Ready?

I am a McKeesport High School Tiger Band alumni. I have mentioned this before. I am very proud of my affiliation with that organization. The three years I spent in the band, playing my trusty clarinet, were the best of times and the worst of times. They were tough years, they were fun years, they were informative years, and at the time I didn't even know it.

I was a late comer to the band show. I came into 9th grade from Catholic school and had only picked up the clarinet in my 8th grade year. I had piano experience so the clarinet, with only one clef, was a breeze to pick up, but my instructor thought it best to take JV Band initially and make the transition to varsity in my sophomore year.

I was in the JV group with a few other students under the direction of band director Karen Donaldson. We had to walk between North Hall and South Hall, outside between the two buildings, to take this class. Miss D, as she was called, told me that I should have been in the varsity band but, nevertheless, she would work with us on the music we would have to play for an audition.  From the beginning, I could tell she was tough. She did not mess around and expected 110% from everyone, even us JV kids.

I loved when the upperclassmen came in to visit. Sometimes they would hang out in her office and chat and I longed to be cool enough to be in her circle. Miss D had a great sense of humor underneath her tough exterior and to make her laugh was an accomplishment.

I remember seeing the Tiger Band perform the year before I was officially a member. I remember the sounds, I remember the sights, I remember the excitement I felt when I heard them play "How Do You Keep The Music Playing." At the climax of the song the entire band was standing in a straight line slowly marching down the field. I met my destiny and it would be a long nine months before I would walk on the field as a member of this amazing group.

What I didn't expect was the time, the effort and the dedication that would go into this endeavor. The hours of practice, the memorization, the discipline it would take to live up to the standards set by Miss D. She did not want a mediocre band, she wanted an awesome band. But as long as we each performed at our personal best, it didn't matter if we got a first place trophy or a third, she wanted us to live up to our potential.

Yes, sometimes that meant having our name called out over a megaphone when we made a mistake during practice. Yes, that meant running through a song again on a 90+ degree day even when the sweat was pouring off of our foreheads and we wanted to quit. Yes, that meant being held accountable when we did not meet her standard of excellence.

Those lessons prepared me well for life in the post high school world. It takes a special kind of person to instill those precepts in kids that are just figuring out who they are and have no idea where life will take them. I believe she genuinely cared about each one of us and wanted us to succeed. I kind of flew under the radar in our 100 member band. I was quiet and shy and was not among the popular crowd, but I worked hard. I participated in a couple award winning years and I remember being just points away from being in the top ten once when we performed in the regional championships in Morgantown, W.V.

We had winning years and not so winning years but "We Are The Champions" by Queen, was always our anthem. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, but if we did our best we knew we could still hold our heads high. To this day when I hear that song I think of her and I know that yes, I will keep fighting to the end.

Miss D passed away last week. I am grateful that I had the chance to thank her for her positive influence in my life. I can only hope as my daughter begins her journey as a member of her high school band, she will have a wonderful leader who will motivate, guide and inspire her to be the very best she can be on and off the field.

Us Girls Can Still Rock

Five months ago I wrote about the concert tickets that my high school friend and I bought for a show in June at Heinz Field.  Twenty weeks zipped by in the blink of an eye and our night to relive our teenage years was last Wednesday. In August of 1992, we enjoyed the music of Irish rock group U2 at Three Rivers Stadium. Twenty-five years later, the Steelers current home turf set the stage for a show to end all shows.

The first time around, my friend's brother drove us to the show. He was willing to be our ride in the hopes of getting a concert t-shirt. We did not deliver though, as we were poor, soon to be, college students.  This time around I drove us Downtown and public transportation (the T) got us to the North Shore.

Each time we crossed a hurdle, I breathed a sigh of relief. Getting into the city without a lot of Parkway traffic - exhale. Find a place to park - exhale. Get on the right T car - exhale. Everything was coming up aces for us fortysomethings. Until we had to make a stop at the resolution tent.

Extra security measures were in place for the show. I'm not sure this had anything to do with the recent terrorist attack after a concert in England. The credit card you bought the tickets with had to be presented for entry. Plus, your entire party had to be together in order to get in. Neither of these were an issue for us, but we went in a gate that was meant for people who were standing on the floor not sitting in one of the upper levels.

Two very nice gentlemen helped us resolve the issue quickly. I was worried that after recent events the heightened security would create a tense atmosphere but that was not the case. Although there were a lot of people working to keep anything from going awry, their mission did not compromise our enjoyment.

We had left for the concert early and boy did it pay off. We were in the venue a half hour before the opening band and had plenty of time to eat, get t-shirts and walk three levels searching for the only wine kiosk in the joint.

Of course all of that walking caused us to work up an appetite. We settled on nachos - one of our ol' teenage staples. When we were in high school, she and I once spent an entire Pirates game eating nachos and talking. We left the game not knowing who the Buccos had played and who ultimately won, but we didn't care. Fun was had just by simply being together - the rest was all just white noise.

Just before U2 took to the stage, a rainbow appeared to the left of the Heinz Ketchup bottle, which proved to be a great photo op for many fans - some wondering if lead singer Bono himself worked out a deal with God to give the night His blessing.

Once the music started, we did not sit. Everyone stood for three hours, and to tell you the truth, there was no other way to enjoy to the show. It was neat to observe the other concert goers who probably had been looking forward to the night just as much as my friend and I were. Everyone had their own story - the family of four in front of us with their teenage children, the young family on the floor equipped with earplugs and bottles in backpacks to keep their little ones hydrated . No matter the story - for those two hours we were all one - all connected through the power of music.

Getting home proved a little tricky. Walking among a throng of people to the T station we yielded to the advice of the traffic cop screaming to "stay on the sidewalk".  My friend and I held hands and linked arms to prevent being separated. Fast-forward about 30 years - we joked about being old ladies relying on each other to get safely across the street. All in all it was an organized, peaceful exit but with watchful eye I looked for anything suspicious - as we do live in crazy times.

We boarded a packed T car and ended up missing our stop, but found a helpful couple who explained how we could get to where we needed to be. I was disappointed in my one misstep, but was pleased it was an easy fix. We also found another lady who made our same mistake.

The night ended shortly after 1 a.m. Twenty-five years ago I might have been too excited to sleep but not now. My friend and I earned a good night's rest.  But I am pretty sure I wore the same thing to bed as I did after my first U2 show in '92. My concert t-shirt was the only suitable option for a rocker like me.

Please, Call Me Diana Prince

The new movie "Wonder Woman" recently had a big opening weekend. It brought in an estimated $100.5 million which makes it the biggest opening ever for a female director. It is also the first major superhero film to be led by a woman. To tell you the truth, while those facts are impressive, I really don't care about that. What I care about is what Wonder Woman is now wearing. Her outfit is quite different from what I remember as a child of the 70's.

I loved Wonder Woman. I was obsessed with her. In fact, I made visitors that came to our home call me Diana Prince, her civilian alias. No joke. Linda Carter, who played the role of Wonder Woman on the television show which ran from 1975-1979, was in my mind the perfect woman role model (besides my mom). She was strong, intelligent, beautiful, and she had lots of cool gadgets - golden lasso, bullet proof wrist cuffs, tiara and awesome red boots. She was a princess crime fighter and at age 5 - that is what I wanted to be. I even had the Underoos to prove it.

Now at age 5, I did not realize how impractical her "costume" was. It must have been hard to round up bad guys while half naked. Look at Batman - fully clothed plus cape, Spiderman- fully clothed plus face mask. Heck, even Hulk had pants on. But Wonder Woman's MO was high healed boots and a tube top. I have only had one strapless dress in my life and when I wore it I spent the entire evening hiking it back up. Not once after Wonder Woman wrangled bad guys did I notice her make a breast adjustment. I guess superheroes do not have the problems of us mere mortals.

Of course at 5 I didn't notice the "sexiness" of Wonder Woman. Only when I got older did it occur to me the impracticality of her outfit and the fact that sex played a role in her ability to fight crime. I guess there is some element of sexuality to all superheroes men and women. None of them are unattractive. (Hey, some people like bulky green people.) But again, one is less clothed than the others.  I have yet to see the new Wonder Woman movie to accurately compare it with recent blockbusters with leading males.

With all that being said, I still was a little upset that the Wonder Woman of my youth got a make over. The starry blue hot pant bottoms are gone, traded in for a slightly longer skirt. Her bosom area is now protected by a more concealing earth tone armor type corset. I don't remember the old Wonder Woman having a shield but I guess these days superheroes need all the help they can get. She still has some sassy boots and shows a bit of skin, but I read the costume designer tried to make the outfit more practical and in my opinion she somewhat succeeded.

Let's face it, to make a Wonder Woman movie successful she could not be covered head to toe. There had to be a sexy element in order to compete with the blockbuster male characters and rake in the cash at the box office, but wouldn't it be nice if all superheroes were on an equal playing field? Why couldn't we put Batman in a Speedo with a utility belt next time Joker comes to town? And Hulk - let's hike up the length on those ripped jeans to maybe a few inches below the thigh. Hey Thor, I think a kilt might be just the right touch to free you up a little on the battlefield.

Wonder Woman has come a long way. And even before the 1970's version, one of people given credit for her creation, William Moulton Marston, wanted to create a character with the attributes of Superman combined with the beauty and goodness of a woman. Hopefully this latest movie will pave the way for other women superheroes at the box office because lets face it, I just want to see what they wear to get the job done. Sometimes I solve a lot problems before I even get out of my pajamas.

My actual Wonder Woman mirror circa 1979ish.

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!