Not That Kind Of Corona

I feel badly that one of the things I sometimes find myself saying lately is - the more I'm alive the less I like people. But you get it, right? After 43 years I've seen some things and maybe my tolerance isn't what it used to be. But this week I am happy to say my outlook is different. This week I am filled with love for my fellow man all because of the sun. (Cue George Harrison's guitar intro for "Here Comes The Sun".)

I spent Monday - Eclipse Day - at a couple of community gatherings held to celebrate and embrace the celestial event. I was happy to see so many people show up to participate in the festivities. I did not expect that; one because it fell during a work day and two I thought it was a "nerd" thing.

I can say that because I have always been one of those "nerds". During the partial eclipse of '94, as a college student with a summer office job, I made a paper plate camera I could use to safely view the sun. I tried to entice my adult co-workers to come outside on break with me and check things out, but no one was really into it like me. Plus, we were supposed to be working. There were phones and customers to deal with.

As a middle school student, I remember using my grandfather's old telescope to check out a few lunar eclipses. I would always end up outside in our backyard alone, alone in terms of people, but with plenty of company of the animal variety. After a few owl hoots or rustling in the grass sounds, I would end up going back into the safely of my home.

But this year it was different. I was not alone.  I was able to experience the eclipse with my kids, my sister and her family and people I had never met before. My sister and I stood side by side, decked out in our special glasses - staring at the sun. Folks,  it doesn't get better than that. So many people gathered at the community event we attended and when our kids got bored, they could hit the playground. It was surprisingly a delightful day that allowed many people to take pause and marvel at our world.

What I am most impressed with are the people who took time to plan fun community events. People took time away from their regular jobs dealing with budgets, agendas and bills to create an afternoon of enjoyment for their residents. And this wasn't unique to our area - it happened all over the country. It was especially nice to be among the sun gazers because everyone seemed - happy.

It was an exciting atmosphere where people could enjoy food, fellowship and a view of the eclipse that at one point was almost completely obscured by cloud cover. When it counted, the clouds parted, providing an incredible vantage point for those who were watching with anticipation. There was even a point where some rain drops fell and boy my heart was racing thinking their might be an eclipse and a rainbow.

I am glad that people were able to embrace this amazing event. People of all ages were gathered to be a part of the happening and for me it was, just incredible. I was in awe of the sight I witnessed once I put my NASA approved glasses on. It sure beat my paper plate set up from a few decades ago. Even still, many took time to construct a cereal box camera and one gentleman even allowed me to give it a go!

I hope kids who participated in Monday's eclipse learned a thing or two about our universe and how amazing it is that something so large - the sun - can be dimmed by something much smaller in size - the moon - with a distance of millions of miles separating the two. Maybe now words and phrases like corona, umbra and path of totality, make sense to these young minds who are getting a better dose of STEM (science, technology. engineering and math) in schools these days.

All I know is that I am already planning to flee to the 'Cleve (Cleveland, Ohio) in 2024 for the next solar eclipse. I am going to save the pair of glasses I got this week and instead of the 80% totality we had in Pittsburgh get a 100% dose of corona (not the beer), which is predicted for parts of Ohio and northwest PA. It is going to be a long wait but hey, on Monday smiles returned to faces and once again to invoke Mr. Harrison - it's alright.

                       Nolan and my nephew, Connor, during the Great American Eclipse

It Takes A Village...For Village

This is my favorite time of year and its only in small part because it is my birthday week. The third week of August means International Village in McKeesport. This three day festival, which is in its 58th year, is an ethnic festival featuring foods and entertainment from around the globe. More than a dozen booths line Stephen Barry Field in Renzie Park manned by volunteers selling yummy delights that make your mouth water.

I have been coming to this festival for as long as I can remember. My childhood home is about a five minute ride away. Memories from my youth include getting honey balls from the Greek booth, for my mom, waiting in a huge line at the Croatian booth for lamb, for my dad, and getting a gingerbread man at the English booth, for me.  One of my greatest memories from International Village is when I performed on stage with my church's Carpatho-Rusyn dance group. As a little girl, I loved the way my black patent leather shoes sounded on the wooden stage when we did our lively stomps.

The festival has been around since 1960 when it started as a 10 day event called Old Home Week. It began as a celebration of McKeesport history. And although that is no longer the focus, there is a lot to celebrate about McKeesport, despite what you hear on the news. There are many great people who were born and raised in the 'Port, as we natives lovingly call it, many of whom come back for this annual August event.

I am not sure how many new guests come to Renzie Park each year to try out this awesome event, but I do know how many people I run into while I am there that keeps the Old Home Week tradition alive. I have seen former teachers, friends from my old neighborhood, former childhood crushes - it is a walk back in time and it will always be something I treasure. It is nice to catch up, even if just for a few minutes, and then move on to get your favorite ethnic delight.

Many of the booths are run by churches, temples or social organizations in the area. These groups enlist a number of volunteers to sell food to benefit their organization. Because participating in International Village is a lot of work, and a lot of people are needed to make it a success, sometimes organizations drop out. Then, a small part of that consistency and familiarity, those of us who keep coming back expect,  is gone.

I am sad to report that a few years ago the English Booth went away - no more gingerbread men - and we also lost the German Booth - no more German Chocolate Cake- but there have been a number of new additions to fill the void. All I know is that my Greek booth is still going strong and I can count on my usual 'Super Gyro' and baklava plus, my mom still gets the honey balls.

So it seems it was written in the stars that I would eventually find myself more intimately involved in Village. My children's Tamburitzan group has run the Slovak booth for a number of years. The kids also perform on the first night of the event. It truly is a full circle moment to see my kids on the stage I was once on many moons ago. It makes me proud to share a part of my past with them and who knows, one day they might bring their families to McKeesport to experience the magic.

Being a volunteer is a labor of love for sure. Many come from work to put in a few hours. Some take time off from work in order to volunteer, and some even help make the food which is served. Many parents in our group spent the past weekend making dough for the ceregi we will fry up fresh each night. These little donuts taste amazing, but the couple minutes in an oil bath does not represent what happened prior to the dip. It is great to keep these traditions alive, from whatever ethnic group you represent,  in the hopes of making a nice profit to keep your organization in the black.

Unfortunately the weather plays a big part. Last year, storms sent people away and kept people away for the first two nights. It was disappointing, but out of our hands.  Hopefully as you are reading this, we will have had a few dry days in anticipation of our final night tonight, Thursday, August. 17.

It takes a village to keep International Village going each year. I am proud to be part of this festival. And each year on the final night as hundreds of volunteers, representing many nationalities, religions and clubs, tear down the dozen or so food booths and put a cap on three days of hard work - it is always nice to hear these sweet parting words - see you next year!

    Tammy Parents putting the Slovak booth together.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

There is nothing like a good dose of nature to put things in perspective. Right now my family and I are in the midst of a prolific journey watching an egg hatch into a caterpillar and then watching that caterpillar turn into a butterfly - a monarch's tale. This is something I learned to appreciate when I was a little kid and luckily I've been able to pass the tradition onto my kids who hopefully will do the same.

I was probably about 8 or 9 when I raised my first butterfly. Our babysitter at the time took my brother, sister and I for a walk and pointed out milkweed plants. They looked like ordinary weeds to me, but the underside of the plant's leaves possibly held a secret - a tiny little white bump that contained a teeny, tiny caterpillar. A tiny guy that would make a most amazing transformation from fat stripey wiggler to magnificent winged butterfly.

My babysitter's dad was a biology teacher. I never had the opportunity to have him in class, but I am guessing he played some part in me having this unique experience. And it truly is a unique experience. It makes me confident in my belief that there is something bigger out there who had a hand in creating this great world we live in. In the United States alone there are 750 species of butterflies - worldwide there are more than 17,000!

If I was creating a species I might make at least three but less than ten. I am not sure where you stand on this but I am confident that the number 17,000  (17,500 to be almost exact) would not be your target number either. But this number gets even more staggering when you try to wrap your head around the insect family, which butterflies are a part of. It is estimated that more than 900 thousand insect species exist in the world. And that number might be a conservative guess according to a Smithsonian Encyclopedia website. We could be talking 30 million.

So yeah, I've bored you with some figures but only to illustrate my point. All these beautiful butterflies cannot be random.  Plus, the process of changing from caterpillar to butterfly includes a period of time when the caterpillar is wrapped in a cocoon. I don't know what is happening in there (which is what is currently happening in our special container right now) but it is a little weird. The monarch caterpillar hangs upside down making a letter "J" and its white, black and yellow striped body (cue the Wiz Kalifa jam) turns into a green pod with gold trim. Random - I don't think so.

The cocoon will eventually turn black as the butterfly prepares to emerge. Once it does, it's orange and black wings are wet and need to dry. This is the part I did not like so much when I first raised a butterfly. I was supposed to put my hand in the jar so it would climb aboard my arm to finally take flight. I did not want a "bug" crawling on my arm so I laid the jar down sideways on the porch so it could find its way out. Yes, I was chicken and I regret that, but luckily my kids do not mind getting right in there. The moments I have caught on camera with a butterfly on their little arms are precious.

They fly away and although it is sad to see them go, the butterfly has work to do. Within a few weeks, our butterfly will lay eggs on milkweed plants somewhere in the south. Those eggs will hatch and eventually complete a four generation cycle (completed in one year) that will wind up flying to Mexico. Our butterfly will not live long but will have done its job to keep its species alive.

So now is where you thank me for the biology lesson. You're welcome. But seriously, nature is amazing when you stop to think about it. We take for granted these little beauties of nature. Unless someone would have taken the time to show me this wonder up close and personal - (decades ago), I never would have known the backstory. So thank you, Carol wherever you are. After all these years the fascination with monarch butterflies continues.

Beyond The Sea

Have you ever lost something that is irreplaceable? Like perhaps, a wedding band? Well, I have - sixteen years ago this month to be exact. It wasn't in a house, the yard or the garbage - a place you could really search. I lost the ring in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Sandbridge, Virginia.

My husband and I were living and working not far from there. We were two years into our marriage and did not have kids yet.  My family had rented a house so everyone could come down from PGH to celebrate my sister's 21st birthday at the beach.

Being adventurous and kinda still newlyweds we decided to take an ocean kayak for a spin. Before entering the water I realized I had forgotten to leave my wedding band back at the house. I thought about leaving it on the blanket, but I remembered a story my mom had told about her sister losing a ring at the beach. I decided wearing the ring into the ocean was the safer option.

Skipper and Gilligan (I mean my husband and I) took to the high seas armed with our paddles ready to bond with aquatica. Just as we met the first wave our kayak tipped over sending us into a blue green bath. While I was underwater I felt my ring slip off my finger. I tried to step on it thinking I could retrieve it, but my hand only captured pieces of shells.

I frantically called for help and many came to my aid. Family, strangers, beach goers of all races and creeds looked for a glimpse of silver while I caused a major scene on shore. I certainly would have given Halle Berry or Dame Judy Dench some stiff competition during the Oscar run of 2002.   The search for the ring stretched into the late afternoon. Even people with metal detectors tried to lend a hand, but even novenas to St. Anthony could not help locate what Nemo probably ate.

The worst part of this story is that the ring was originally my mother's. She and my dad had picked out gorgeous silver bands when they were united by a justice of the peace back in 1973. They upgraded to gold when they got married in the church in 1985. My parents held onto their silver set and allowed my husband and I the privilege of using them when we got married in 1999.

As you can see the ring cannot be replaced, but not for lack of trying. Internet searches, flea markets, antique and jewelry stores have not turned up anything even close. But 16 years later, I still have not given up hope that my ring will return to me. For the past couple of years, my family has rented a house around the corner from where we stayed back in 2001. I have continued my search - during low tide, while standing in shallow water or while taking walks on the beach. Now don't get me wrong, I am not wasting lots of vacation time looking for my ring. (I do have to get some tanning in to help obscure the spider vanes on my legs for a few months.)

This past week I was on the hunt again and even enlisted the help of a fellow beach-goer who had constructed a sifter box to help catch crabs. I explained my story and simply stated, "If you find a silver band - it's mine." As someone who also had the experience of losing a wedding ring, I truly believe he would have given it to me if he found it.

My family thinks I am a joker short of a deck, but there have been unbelievable stories on the news of people returning long lost items to people. But a part of me is at peace with the fact that my ring calls the ocean home. I have been going on beach vacations since I was a baby.  I truly love going to the beach - the sounds, the sights and the feel of sand on my feet. With my ring lost at sea - a part of me is always on vacation.

                                      Mom and Dad's silver wedding bands circa March 1973

Workin' For A Livin'

Sometimes ordinary mundane situations have extraordinary outcomes. That was the case this week when my almost 15-year-old son was cutting our grass.

Watching him mow the lawn is often a painful experience. He has one speed - slow - and his method of mowing is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Each time he cuts the grass it looks like he is going to pass out from exhaustion, and that is after only five minutes. He will often leave a section uncut and forget our instructions in his teenage attempt to just get the job done. But earlier this week, somehow his lawn prowess earned him a job. His first actual J-O-B.

He has been trying to get us to pay him for mowing the entire lawn. Our yard is a lot and a half, so while we are not talking about tons of acreage, the job is not an easy one. (I know because I've done it.)  We have been reluctant to pay him for something he should do as part of our family, but I also know he needs some spending cash. We have been encouraging him to look for jobs close to home but nothing has worked out which meets our criteria: minimal activity, not many hours, preferably within walking distance, and did I mention minimal exertion?

When he was cutting our grass this week one of our neighbors came out to talk to him. This neighbor is the kind that is curious when things are happening around him and likes to ask questions. I noticed the two speaking and wondered what was up. I could not hear the conversation because my son did not turn off the mower during the encounter, which gave my husband and I a chuckle. Much like the conversation between Jack Butler, armed with a running chain saw, and Ron Richardson in the 80's classic "Mr. Mom".

A short time afterward, my son entered the house and told us he was asked to cut the neighbor's grass and they would work out the details later. I cannot really describe the emotions that accompanied this news - excitement, pride, happiness, fear, anxiety, dread. Yes, that is a wide range, but as a parent of a motivationally challenged individual I have reason for concern.

I know this is a different time and comparing my son to myself at his age is like apples and kiwi, but seriously, by the time I was 14 I had three jobs. I wanted to have my own money and be independent. I babysat, had a paper route and worked at my church's bingo. I remember items that I bought myself that filled me with a sense of pride: my Debbie Gibson black hat, my first Walkman and a stylish turquoise winter coat with shoulder pads. I was employed and lookin' good. (A perm and braces capped off the look, of course.)

In my son's defense, only one of my previous jobs is currently available to him. Adults in cars drop off whatever papers are still being home delivered and most churches no longer have weekly bingo events. Babysitting may not be a good option either since boys don't have the same mother hen instinct as girls and my son once went half a day without getting himself something to drink.

This job opportunity is a chance to show us and the world that all hope is not lost. Can this member of Generation Z put down his tablet and phone and get the job done? I know his "employer" has set up very strict parameters for what he expects to be done. Have we instilled a work ethic in our son to rise to the occasion, make us proud and earn his pay? Seriously, I don't know. Personally, it doesn't look good. But every now and then my son surprises me.

I know it's only a grass cutting, but this has the potential to teach him some valuable lessons about having and keeping a job. And although the material goods of today don't spark as much motivation as the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack or Swatch Watch of the 80's, maybe something will light a fire inside him to want to do his best and experience the feeling of purchasing a coveted item with money he earned. Or maybe he will be satisfied with hearing the words "Good job kid" and the self-esteem boost that comes with being recognized for a job well done.

Stay tuned. This adventure starts soon.

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.