Reddin' Up For Redemption

Some of us may be bogged down and dragging at the mid-point of Lent. Twenty days down - twenty days to go. I did give up a few things that I am anxiously awaiting my reunion with, but this year I added a little twist to Lent - I've implemented a forty day organization challenge.

I have been trying to get organized for years. I have never really been an organized person and I truly admire those who are. Some days I wish I had OCD so I could have a cleaner home,  but it seems like I was blessed with ICD (ignoring clutter disorder) instead.

While getting our "physical" house organized is probably not what God  envisioned for our spiritual journey to Easter, it created a doable time frame for me to tackle some daily demons - cupboards that will not close, a junk drawer that actually eats things, and damaged items that have a home -  just because. Yes, that mug has a chip and I could cut myself if I drink out of it, but turn it to the other side and it looks as good as any other 15-year-old mug in a thrift store.

I had the idea of organizing one drawer/cupboard/closet a day for forty days. Could this tame the beast within my home? Now realistically I cannot tackle one area every day so I double up on some days to even things out. So far I have 21 areas that have been transformed. My kitchen had the most spaces that needed attention and it makes me happy to open the junk drawer and see that it is no longer, hungry. It is a site to behold and the secret was a simple phrase - everything has a place.

A few weeks before Lent started, I was watching online videos from Organizational Goddesses who do this sort of thing for a living. 'You too can be like me,' they say. 'Get organized in three easy steps. Now subscribe to my site for a video a day and watch your life transform.' First of all, I don't have that sort of time. I need a fix now! What works for Neatnick Nelly isn't going to work for Klutter Kristen, but I did take away the 'everything has a place' motto and tucked it in my mind of wonders.

I visited a friend recently and she showed off with pride, a recently transformed junk drawer. Over a glass of wine we oooed and awed at this marvel of organization. I asked, "How did you do this?" as my eyes studied the perfection of a variety of items sharing one drawer. She said, "I couldn't take it anymore and now everything has a place."

There it was again - my phrase. And now I knew what needed to happen. Every item in my house needed its own space. I was mentally at a place where I could 'get er done' and I would have a little under two months to do it.

I thought I would be overwhelmed by the amount of work there was to do, but once I got started I wanted to do more. I have a bunch of stuff that will be donated and a bunch of stuff has already been thrown away, but getting organized is like an addiction. The more you do - the more you want and I want it all!

I have bought caddies, little dividers and storage bins to help give items their place and it's amazing the things that are out there for this very purpose. I had been in denial for a long time thinking I couldn't do this myself - and that is true. But I had to be the catalyst to show my family what could be done and how we can make this our new way of life.

My biggest problem though, is finding time. Now with my smallest areas organized I have bigger areas looming. I guess I will have to take what is left and do it in segments to make it less daunting.

I have to keep this in perspective. So maybe this will spill over the 40 days of Lent - the important thing is I've made a start and if the worst thing that happens is only one room gets an overhaul, at least it is the kitchen. I could technically set up a cot in there and make that my organized oasis - one where I can easily find a snack when, as Winnie the Pooh would say, there's a rumbly in my tumbly.

              My new and improved junk drawer

Bad Boss, Big Pockets

I went to a 100th birthday party this past weekend. It wasn't a party for a person - it was for a library.

The Carnegie Free Library of Swissvale is celebrating 100 years, which is an amazing feat when you think of it, and it is not the only 100-year (or more) birthday party I've been to for a library. I also had the pleasure of attending the 125th celebration for the Braddock Carnegie Library three years ago. We in the Pittsburgh area continue to be recipients of Andrew Carnegie's generosity, but we are not alone.

There are only three U.S. states that do NOT have a Carnegie Library: Rhode Island, Delaware and Alaska. There are 2,509 libraries around the world that were built by Carnegie: the first in Dunfirmline, Scotland, his hometown, and the second in Braddock, the home of one of his major steel mills - the Edgar Thomson Works. I had no idea the scope of his philanthropy until doing some research. Being from Pittsburgh, I sometimes tend to not look beyond the three rivers but Carnegie's reach was huge.

I heard a story recently about Carnegie in his youth. According to this account he was not able to utilize libraries because his family was poor. I have not been able to confirm that story, but I have learned that as a teen who worked long hours in a cotton mill after coming to America, Andrew had little time for formal education. In his few hours of spare time, Carnegie read books lent to him by Colonel James Anderson, a citizen of Allegheny, who had his own private library and looked out for the local working boys.

Carnegie was self-taught thanks to his access to books. By the age of 24, he was the superintendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad.  He knew first hand how important books were to immigrants coming to America, being able to learn about a new culture and possibly read their way to a better future. A few years down the road in 1870, due to the success of his steel empire, he was able to start his philanthropic projects, which included more than just libraries.

I am embarrassed to say many of the facts I've stated above were news to me. I knew very little about Carnegie's life and being born and raised near Pittsburgh, I should be able to write his biography.

As a child I fostered my love of reading at the Carnegie Library of McKeesport. I loved going to the castle on the hill and perusing the shelves filled with books. I used the card catalogue to find many a book on presidents, for school reports, astronomy and weather, for my own curiosity and books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, to follow the story of life on the prairie. These were the days before DVDs, CDs and computers were part of the library scene, but I had yet to learn what I had been missing.

My current local library is not a Carnegie Library but has access to everything in the county library system. When my older kids were younger my husband and I were involved in the library helping with the summer reading program and various fundraisers throughout the year. We still utilize our library often, since we can walk to it, and I think the fines we have paid through the years have purchased at least one of their computers.

I don't mind paying those fines. I love the fact that my kids love to read. All three learned to read early and bedtime stories from our library were probably a contributing factor. But it all got started back in the 70's when a little girl made her first trip to a Carnegie Library and fell in love.

It is important for us to remember what the people who came before us did to help create the world we now live in. I have heard some stories that paint Carnegie as a bad boss who paid his employees very little for the long hours they endured in poor working conditions. He may be one of those people who have two sides that make them hard to truly understand.  Nevertheless, around the world there are many libraries, colleges, schools, and nonprofit organizations that were established thanks to this complex man.

Almost 100 years after his death, people around the world are still being affected by his generosity and ultimate desire to promote education as a means to success. Libraries these days are so much more than books and I think Carnegie himself would be impressed at the way these institutions have adapted to meet the needs of their communities in a digital age. He probably would have been touched by the way Braddock citizens came together to save their library from demolition after it was closed in the 1970's.

But most importantly, Carnegie would probably be happy to know that generations of families have ensured that libraries continue to be relevant - and it all started with that first page turn - and the rest is not just his-story but our story too.

Below is the magnificent Carnegie Library of McKeesport.

What's On Second

I am not a frequent flier and for that I recently paid a price. I was flying out of Pittsburgh International Airport for a quick trip to North Carolina. I had not been on a plane for two years so I felt I needed to review the up to date traveling procedures on the airport's website. I did not want any surprises going through security.

I measured out all of my liquids. I placed them in a clear Ziplock bag on top of my clothes. I measured my little suitcase to be sure I would not have to check it. I printed my itinerary and felt confident I was ready to fly.

I had a practical outfit picked out (jeans, t-shirt and a sweater) but I made a regrettable last minute costume switcheroo. I guess I was trying to live out my businesswoman fantasy and pretend I was headed to an executive meeting. "Hey guys, I'm catching the 7:05. I'll be there for our 10:15." I decided to wear a dress - a recently acquired dress that I wore only once but got rave reviews. It has silver bling attached to the neckline- bling that resulted in me getting felt up at the airport.

Even though I do not spend a lot of time at airports, I anticipated certain things. I knew that I would have to remove my shoes.  In anticipation I wore peds so I wouldn't stink up the place. Also, I did not try to take any food on the plane even though I knew I would get snacky, which would result in a costlier purchase during my layover in Charlotte.

As I approached the body scanning machine, I was feeling pretty confident that I was adequately prepared and would soon be reunited with my belongings - that was until I noticed my body x-ray. It was lit up like a Christmas tree. The bling on my dress had made me a person of interest. A person that would need further examination. A person in need of a pat down, but not the kind with the cute officer like in some people's (not mine of course) fantasies.

The TSA agent was very nice about it. She knew what the problem was but even though the evidence was on my dress - there had to be further investigation of what was under my dress - specifically the bra region. The lady asked if I would like to go to a private area, but after having three children what was the point? I had been poked, prodded and examined while at my most vulnerable.  Allowing the agent to get to second base in the crowded security area was rated G compared to what I've experienced in a delivery room.

The agent was quick but intrusive -feeling in between the girls to make sure I didn't have any explosives hidden. With a rack like mine, who needs explosives, am I right? I know she was just doing her job but if I were going to go postal it would not be in an airport, a place I rarely go. It would be in a Wal-Mart check out line or in the Wine and Spirits store when I miss the last sale day of my favorite vino.

Once I was cleared for take off, I felt like I needed a cigarette but instead settled for a Bloody Mary. I sat at the bar alone forgetting my pretend business meeting and letting the reality of the world we live in set in.

I know the security measures in place are necessary but I sure do miss the pre 9-11 days. The days when people could go to the airport and walk their loved ones to the boarding gate to see them off. The days when you didn't have to worry about your fellow passengers seeing the hole in the big toe of your sock. But most importantly, the days when a woman didn't have to get a breast exam in order to be deemed safe for flight.

Let Them Eat Poonchkey!

Even though it falls later than last year, Lent is still coming too quickly. The 40-day period before Easter starts on Monday - yes, we Byzantine Catholics start a few days early, and I am dreading it. The one good thing about the approach of Lent is the yummy goodness that is called pazcki - pronounced poonch-key. If you’re Polish and you know it say mmmmmm.

I am Slovak/Croatian so this delicious pre-Lenten treat has not always been a part of my life. I have made some thing called ceregi (fried dough) but nothing like a pazcki. In fact it has only been in my wheelhouse for 6 years. I remember first hearing about them - on the radio. I was hearing commercials for these pazcki that come in many different flavors. Most of them are fruit related but there are also crème and custard filled.

Around that same time I began noticing the weekly supermarket circulars had photos of these glorified donuts. My husband and I, even before trying them, just liked to say the word and in fact, our pronunciation of pazcki - putchie - became our youngest child's nickname. He was a newborn when we were introduced to these treats and for some reason the name just stuck. Six years later, he is still our little Putchie.

Back to the donuts...the history behind them is that peasants would be clearing out their pantries of forbidden ingredients before the start of Lent, also known in some religious circles as the Great Fast. In the Catholic faith it is a time of serious fasting which on some days calls for abstinence of meat and dairy products. These delights are filled with all things fattening - milk, sugar, butter, etc. and each delicious bite is worth every calorie.

It has become a family tradition to visit a local bakery to get our very own pazcki. Everyone looks forward to it and has a particular flavor picked out before we walk through the door. We usually get them to go because the place is so crowded and there is nowhere to sit. On the ride home the kids hold the pazcki boxes on their laps anxiously waiting the moment when they can sink their teeth into the sugary glazed dough.

 This year we ended up going on a weekday and it made all the difference. For the first time we got a table, sat down and savored one of the final sweets before Lent begins before leaving the bakery. It was a nice change to our normal routine and probably one we will try to recreate. The next step is possibly trying to make them ourselves, but why? We've got a good thing going and I am not willing to mess with that anytime soon.

There is the option to overdo the pazcki experience. It would be nice to get one of every flavor, savor them, rate them, and maybe find a new favorite. But since this is supposed to be part of our Lenten preparation I don't want to be piggish about it. But as I sit here typing I am wishing I had just one more waiting for me to pair with my morning coffee. Ahhh.... but since some dietitians say one pazcki is between 400 to 700 calories and contains 25 grams of fat or more, I'm gonna need 40 days to work off just the one I had this week.

It's Nice To Be Nice To The Nice

Being a parent gives you skills you never knew you had. It all starts at the beginning. There are quite a few things that I didn’t think I could do that I have done. 

First of all, I was worried that I couldn’t go through the delivery of my children without drugs. When I first saw the epidural needle during my prenatal classes, I knew that was a relationship I would not be able to entertain. Seriously, those needles are huge! 

But as things go nowadays women have to keep their options open when they prepare a birthing plan. “If I cannot have the magical birth, where the baby comes out with one little painless push, then I’ll take the painful one with no drugs – spread out over a 15-hr time period.”

I am sure that for my first child I wrote everything out nicely and that an epidural could be administered if the pain got to a frowny face with tears on the faces pain scale. Luckily, I had three births that pretty much stuck to my ideal plan. 

Secondly, I never thought I could love people as much as I love my kids. Yes, they drive me crazy and yes, some days I would just like to drop them off at someone else’s house, but overall I love them enough to share my dark chocolate and cash in a good night’s sleep to cuddle with them at times when the wind is too loud, or the fever won’t go down. 

This month, my heart broke when I found out my daughter was not treated nicely by a few kids at school. My daughter who recently put little notes that said ‘You’re Awesome’ in random textbooks a few weeks ago to anonymously brighten her fellow students' day. (She came up with this idea herself.)

She was supposed to participate in an activity that she had helped plan but missed the memo on what time and where on the day it was happening. By the time she met up with some of the kids who were also involved she was told she was not needed, and that she should leave. 

My daughter did not really let on that she was upset by what had happened and probably would not have made a big deal about it unless I kept fishing for information. I wanted to know all about this event - the one she was so excited about and was excluded from.

The more I kept thinking about it the more mad I became. Why didn’t she stick up for herself? She was supposed to be part of this activity, even though the bulk of the work was over by the time she arrived, why did these girls (who she has known most of her young life) send her away? Why didn’t they include her? Why wouldn't they want her there? So many whys....

I was a timid little girl growing up. Ok wait, I am not sure there is a word in the English language strong enough to describe my level of timidity. Basically my communication was on caveman level if someone spoke to me because I was so shy. In my high school years I started to put sentences together, but it wasn't until college and beyond that I started to express myself - stick up for myself when the situation warranted.

Even now there are times when I let things go when a more outspoken person would not, but I pick and choose my battles. By nature, I'm a peacemaker, but that shouldn't mean doormat. I don't want my kids to wait as long as I did to make their voices count. I want them to be heard now. Although my six year old seems to have a pretty good handle on this skill already, his honesty and straight shooting often make this momma cringe. 

I know kids are cruel and sometimes they don't even realize they have hurt someone's feelings. I know from my own school experience, at times I was bullied and at others I was the bully. I have much regret for the times, which I can recall vividly, when I did not stick up for someone or did not include them. Also, I don't remember anyone sticking up for me when my speech impediment was the inspiration for many an impression. 

All I can do is pass my wisdom on to my children and hope they don't make the same mistakes I did. These days bullying is talked about freely and openly. It has a definition and schools have programs students are exposed to in an effort to curb this awful phenomenon. 

I am not naive enough to think my kids will be treated fairly every day or that they themselves have not bullied someone else.  But I hope they are able to take moments like what recently happened to my daughter and learn from them and become stronger. But what I truly hope is that they remember how they felt and will never purposely be the cause of someone else's sadness. 

All You Need Is...

After 17 years of marriage and three kids, Valentine's Day has become more of a family event. We have a special family dinner with some type of heart-shaped, chocolate dessert and we express our love for each other. This evolved from what I experienced when I was growing up. My parents always did something special for us kids. My dad would have a little gift for both my sister and I, and my mom would have something special for my brother.

I remember one very special Valentine's Day a few years before I had my first boyfriend. My dad took me out on a Valentine's Day date. He told me before hand that we would be going to the movies to see Give My Regards To Broad Street - a film starring Paul McCartney. I had cheerleading practice earlier that day, but once I was done we were going to go. I was so excited. I really wanted to see that movie and getting to go out with my dad, just the two of us, was something that didn't happen often.

Before going to the movie he gave me my special present, the soundtrack album. This is a record I would listen to over and over and the fact that it still plays is remarkable. The movie itself was not that memorable, although at the time I didn't know it was panned by the critics. It wouldn't have mattered to me anyway. I had a day spent with my two favorite guys and life was good.

The first Valentine's Day I had a boyfriend was hard for my dad, although we've never talked about it. My first boyfriend did not take the holiday lightly and there was an abundance of gifts throughout the day. Flowers, chocolates and even a gold necklace- yes, it was more than I ever expected.

 The huge box of chocolates I received was filled with caramels only. Each piece was my favorite, no taking a bite and putting it back. I didn't even know anything other than samplers existed!

The funny part about that day was all I had to give in return was a poem that I wrote. I was 15, I didn't have a lot of money and I did not expect the shower of gifts I received that day. I was a little embarrassed by the whole ordeal and in fact my dad's sullen attitude around the house did not make it any less uncomfortable.  

It probably would have been a little easier for my dad if the day had involved just one little gift from my significant other. I am sure my dad also got me a gift that year (as he has never missed a Valentine's Day) but I am sad to say, I don't remember what it was. It was overshadowed by everything else.

Of course what played out 27 years ago was supposed to happen. The window of time that my dad would get to be my exclusive special valentine was limited. Now my husband's window is closing and one day in the near future, our daughter will have a special someone to share the holiday with. My husband doesn't want to talk about that, but he is planning to make this holiday weekend a special one for our only daughter. There happens to be a movie out that she wants to see (Beauty and the Beast), which has special significance for the two of them, and I foresee it playing out much like my date a few decades ago.

Although there will be other valentines in her life, I know that my husband will always be her special 'beast'. And I can see her movie date with dad holding more weight than any tangible gifts she will ever receive. Nothing in the world can top the feeling of being "Daddy's Girl" even if only for a short time.

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.