It's a Kind of Magic

I don't think I am the only one who has experienced a little bit of Christmas magic in their lifetime.

I know that having had children in my life for the past 16 years, the holiday has been a source of great stress but also great joy. But even with kids of my own, my thoughts this time of year are of the best Christmases I ever had. The ones when I was a little girl waiting for Santa and hoping my little heart out that I had been good enough to get a few presents under the tree.

Of course I have memories of the great gifts I received over the years, as well as the great gift (a Cabbage Patch Kid) I didn't receive, but my favorite memory has nothing to do with a gift. It has to do with the year my brother and I hung out with Santa in our bedroom.

I was probably 5 or 6 at the time and my brother and I were just bursting with excitement. It was Christmas Eve and my mom was trying her best to get us to go to sleep. My brother and I had bedrooms in the attic and, if memory serves me correctly, we were sharing my room for the night. I remember finally being in bed too awake to even think about sleeping and I am sure my brother and I were whisper talking when we were interrupted by these sounds coming from the roof.

Thunk, thunk, thunk

We stopped talking to see if we could hear it again. Our minds were racing as we wondered if it could have been reindeer landing on the roof. What we heard next was a different sound. A much louder and recognizable sound.

"Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!" Followed by the ring of sleigh bells.

Now we knew Santa had arrived and we raced out of our room to greet him. We were about to bound down the stairs for a first hand view of the man in red but were cut to the chase. He was actually coming up the stairs and each step was loud as his boot met the wood. By the time he got to the top of the staircase, my brother and I were jumping up and down.

I think my brother, with the more outgoing personality, was ready for a sit down with Santa but it was tight quarters upstairs. As we were getting the pleasantries out of the way I remember my brother saying, "Santa, let me put the light on."

Santa replied with a chuckle, "No, Ronnie that's ok." But before he could finish his sentence my brother had flipped the switch. What happened next I can visualize as if it happened yesterday. The light bulb in the fixture came on for a second and then flickered out. The bulb was dead.

Now don't think we were all fumbling in the dark, squinting to see Santa. There was a faint light on in the hallway, but my ever so curious brother wanted to see ol' Saint Nick clearly and fully illuminated. (Keep in mind, a brightly lit room could have revealed familiar traits that may have blown our guest's cover.)

The lack of light did not dim our conversation though. I really don't remember if I mustered up any courage to say one word during our special visit, but my brother had the chance to ask the burning question on his mind, "By the way, Santa, how's your wife?"

I remember the laughter and joy surrounding our intimate visit with Santa. It was brief but powerful. I don't even remember what special toy Santa left me that year, but the gift I received that night has outlived anything received as a child. (Although,  had I received a real Cabbage Patch Kid for Christmas in '83 I bet I would still have her.)

The memory of the light bulb burning out in the lamp carried me through my years of Santa doubt. I know there might be a truly practical, scientific reason why at that moment the bulb gave its last glow, but I prefer the more magical explanation. Wherever you stand on the Santa story, you cannot deny the magic surrounding this time of year.

During the past couple weeks I have noticed people are a little more friendly, more generous, more loving. I had a conversation in Walmart with a stranger about elf slippers as if we were best friends. I received an unexpected gift from a friend that was absolutely perfect. I had a picnic dinner with my husband in an uncrowded PPG Wintergarden surrounded by gingerbread houses and Santas from around the world. Magic!

I hope whatever magic you find this Christmas season makes your heart happy and warms your soul.

Merry Christmas!

KB and Santa at the Governor's Mansion

Up On The Roof Top

Sometimes it takes 14 years to make a dream come true.

This weekend after a very long day, I returned home to see a beautiful lit Christmas wreath adorning my house. The wreath was complimented by our festive Christmas lights, wise men, Mary and Joseph.

My husband, like many other smart minded people, took advantage of temps in the 60's this past weekend to get the outdoor decorating done. I know some of you overachievers had your lights up after Thanksgiving, but after getting the inside of our house decorated, our gas tank was on E.

This wreath I speak of has been a dream of mine since we moved into our home 14 years ago. Our roof comes to a point above our front door and the triangle shape, in my opinion, made the perfect spot for a wreath. Of course slapping a wreath up there would not be easy. There would be drilling involved, borrowing a ladder, heights to be climbed. No, this was not for the faint of heart.

In my loving, wifely way, each year I would say, out loud, this year I am going to put my wreath up there - like it would be so easy with a wave of my wand "Poof!" there it is. Truthfully, I was a waiting for my husband to risk life and limb to make this happen. Believe me when I tell you, with kids and work, some years it was a feat just to get the tree up. (I am sure many of you can relate.)

I was never truly disappointed when a Christmas would come and go without the touch of green that could make our house snap with holiday sizzle. But, I would whisper to myself, like a sinister Elf on the bad side of the North Pole, "Next year, will be my year and I will be envy of everyone in Christmas town."

This past weekend paved the way for my husband to 'get er done' since I would be out of the house for most of Sunday. He bought the wreath, bought a special drill bit to drill through mortar and then borrowed a ladder from our next door neighbor. I wish I could have watched the scene unfold as the magic started to happen. I am sure, while on the ladder, the words coming out of my husband's mouth were not very magical, but he would never admit that.

One of our other neighbors assured my husband that he didn't need to drill through the roof to make way for Santa. "That is what the chimney is for," he joked. Yes, my husband was able to spread holiday cheer and humor throughout our neighborhood, trying to make my Christmas dream come true. When he explained his story and what he was actually trying to do after 14 years the same neighbor responded sympathetically , "Sometimes it takes that long."

My husband told me to inform him when I would be driving up our street so we could do light up night. This was a tradition from my childhood when after a day of detangling lights, hanging up strands of bulbs, and replacing burned out bulbs my mother would take us kids across the street so my dad could flip the switch for the first time to reveal our holiday house.

Some years it would be red lights. Some years it was multi-color, although my dad's signature shade was blue. I remember our exaggerated 'oohhhs'  and 'ahhhs' to make my dad feel good about a job well done.

The one year my dad was having some trouble getting the lights to come on after numerous attempts to flip the switch. He came outside to investigate the problem  and that is when our neighbor's adult son classically asked, "Hey Ron, you need a match?" My siblings and I wanted to laugh, but we did not dare. We feared our dad would not be able to keep his frustration in check and may take a swing at the guy. But luckily, my dad offered only a slightly sarcastic reply and minutes later was able to set the house aglow with the cool flicker of soft blue illumination.

Light up night this past weekend offered the usual glow of red, green and white lights on our home along with the nativity scene, but it was only after pulling in the driveway did I notice the wreath near the roof. I was so surprised and excited. Because the windows of our van were down, in an attempt to give my older children a better view, I am sure my neighbors could hear my big mouth yelling, "My wreath, my wreath, I finally got my wreath!"

I am not sure why this became the year of the wreath. Was it the weather? Was it that the stars were aligned? Was it my nagging? We probably will never know the true answer to this one but really, who cares? The wreath is up and I can take in it's glow every night when I pull into our garage after a long day. I am kind of thankful that it took more than a decade for this dream to come true because I am sure after the first year, fifth year or even tenth year that I mentioned it, it would not have been appreciated nearly as much as it is now.

Snoopy creator Charles Schulz is quoted as saying, "Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone.” It sure is nice to be that someone!

Santa, please....

You may have spotted a jolly man in a red suit if you did any shopping Black Friday weekend. My daughter and I were coming back from running errands on Saturday when we spotted Santa and it appeared he needed some chicken fries from a fast food restaurant.

We were so excited for our first sighting of the season. We were hooting and hollering in our van screaming, "It's Santa! It's Santa!"

My daughter did not know I decided to see where Santa was actually headed. Instead of going straight through the intersection, I turned right. I wanted to know where Santa was going and what was he up to. When away from the North Pole, did he super size his fries? Was he a beef or chicken guy? Coke or Pepsi? I wanted to know.

This seems absurd that a 44 year old woman would be this interested in getting to the bottom of Santa's food preferences, but what can I say? Inquiring minds want to know.

As I pulled into the parking lot, our eyes were peeled to see if Santa was in the food line or already seated. But in the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of red. As I pulled focus I noticed red items balled up in the back of a pick up truck. As I took in the entire scene, I saw a man with red pants around his ankles standing near the side of a truck. Santa was taking his pants off in the parking lot.

"Cover your eyes!" I warned my daughter as I drove away as fast as I could. Don't get me wrong. Santa wasn't exposing anything. He did have layers on, but my fantasy world was extinguished pretty quickly.

I kept replaying the scene and shaking my head. It was not right to have a Santa disrobing in a parking lot. Don't these guys so to Santa school? Isn't there an etiquette code these "Helpers" have to follow?

The next day I went to a nearby store and once again a Santa sighting. I was with all three of my kids and yet again the response was the same "There's Santa!" Now my little guy is 7 so I would imagine his excitement is more heightened than someone in their fourth decade. But before you could say ho ho ho, he was yelling at a motorist driving though the parking lot to hurry up so he could cross.

"Come on, come on," he uttered gruffly as my kids and I took a step back. This Santa was grumpy and we didn't want any part of that.

Now it isn't even December and these guys are already disgruntled. What is going on?

I have to admit that I am not too keen on seeing another Santa anytime soon. I don't know what I am going to get. My Christmas spirit was at an all time high until I saw the remake of Bad Santa come to life.

Not for one minute do I believe that being a retail or restaurant Santa is easy. I know what some kids are like and if you aren't used to being around little ones it can be taxing. But if you are in costume, whether you are grabbing a quick bite or going to the loo, these guys should keep in mind someone could be watching. Actions speak louder than words and I am sure Santa did not change in front of the elves or yell at reindeer who got in his way.

So please, dear people who this time of year make a few bucks taking on the role of Santa, remember this is more than just a job. It is a passing of the torch if you will. A spark of magic that can last a lifetime. Please don't yell at people while in costume and please keep your drawers on until you are out of sight!

  

Ho Ho No

I did something last week I have never done. Ok. I don't know if never is the right word but for the first time in at least 16 years I started listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving.

Two of my kids came home from school to observe candles lit on the dining room table, muffins on a Christmas tree tray and 'Is Zat You Santa Claus' blaring from the living room.

"Mom, what is going on?" my daughter shouted. "Please turn it off."

Yes, I admit even for me it was weird. Deep down, I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. I was like Superman and my kryptonite had arrived - about an inch of snow on November 16. It made everything look a lot like Christmas and I wanted to bask in it. The snow wore down my defenses and I was not up for a fight.

Funny thing is I didn't wake up that way. In fact, an hour before the holiday spirit took over my body I was buying up what was left of 70% off Halloween decorations at the local dollar store. I had a basket full of spiders, window cling skeletons and webbing I planed to pack away to surprise myself when I unpack the tote next October. But the Thanksgiving stuff was bookended around the Halloween stuff. Then the Christmas stuff was just across the aisle. I was...defenseless.

Although I managed to get out of there without any tinsel, the seed was planted. When I got home, I baked muffins and made a pot of potato soup. The view from my kitchen window was hard to ignore - the shed, trees and bushes lined with snow. (Blades of green grass could still be detected as the snow wasn't deep enough to make it a true Norman Rockwell scene.)  The wind was howling adding a chill to the air and, for me, the only blanket big enough and warm enough to drive away the winter blues was to embrace the only thing I like about winter, Christmas.

I have been a staunch believer that Christmas music is for after Thanksgiving. There were even years I made my family wait until December 1 to start listening to anything ho, ho, ho and fa, la, la. Before you report me to the Grinch Patrol, I have since seen the error in my ways. Now, after I have consumed my second plate of stuffing and sampled every pumpkin dessert,  it is time for Bing, Dean and The Beach Boys. To be fair, I just wanted to be sure as a family, we could devote time to be thankful for our blessings before diving headfirst into the consumerism that Christmas often brings.

There are mixed opinions out there about Christmas music being played before Thanksgiving. Last Friday, for Light Up Night in the city, some local radio stations started their 24/7 holiday music through December 25. You may not know this, but being the first station in the city to go all carols is kind of a big deal. I was lucky a few years back to be working in radio and experience the weird excitement surrounding "flipping the switch". High fives, hugs, cheers, the only thing missing was Buddy the Elf telling everyone "You did it. Great job everybody!"

Now I am stuck. I started something I don't think I can finish but luckily there are only a few hours left before I can, without guilt, immerse myself in the songs of the season. Maybe we need musicians to start recording Thanksgiving hits for people to enjoy, in lieu of carols, until Black Friday? I already have a few titles picked out, The Little Drumstick Joy, I'll Be Home For Leftovers, Carol of The Belch. Now, I've gone too far.

Bring on the carols 2016

A Tour To Remember

 My father asked my brother and I this question at lunch on Monday.

"Did you think your 'ol dad would make it to 72?"

My response: "Yes!" Without a doubt. Yes.

Kids, er I mean, adults who are kids at heart, do not want to entertain the notion that our parents are mortal. Even when my dad was in the thick of it this year with his cancer surgery, then chemo treatments, it was Bish strong all the way.

Don't get me wrong. There were days that were scary and days when my siblings and I reassured each other it was going to be ok, but not making it to his birthday did not cross my mind. So after all that he had been through this year, dad's birthday celebration had to be very special.

On a crisp November morning, seven people packed in my van and off we went. Destination - PNC Park. We were scheduled for a tour at 12:00 p.m. on the dot.

For my dad, being a life-long baseball fan, one who even tried out for the Pirates, this was the perfect way to spend an afternoon. Our tour guide, Jim, took us on a journey that seemed to last only minutes and started just beyond the turnstiles. We looked at memorabilia collected through the years from old bats, to jerseys to photos. We toured the underground city where players and staff work hard to create the magic that is a game day experience at PNC Park.

An appreciation for baseball is something I've inherited although not lovingly nurtured. I do not actively follow the Pirates or any Major League team. I do not go to many games, other than my son's coach pitch match-ups, and I don't talk ball with friends. But I did truly enjoy the afternoon at the ball park.

I don't want to take away from Jim's tour presentation but I learned a lot from the almost two hours we spent there. I learned I should take my allergy meds before attending a game, the field is straight up Kentucky Bluegrass, my nostrils' nemesis, and I also learned that Forbes Field was the model for PNC Park in many ways.

Although many of us know this fact from simply sitting in stands, it was confirmed on a grand scale while sitting in the press box (part of our tour). Our baseball park has a breathtaking view -one that an Impressionist painter could not recreate even on his best day. I hope to one day be able to sit there and watch a game and be expected to only write about the sensory experience that a Sunday afternoon at PNC Park can be.

I have fond childhood memories of Pirates games with my family at Three Rivers Stadium. I remember parking at Station Square and taking the boat. I remember trying to keep stats in the program book and being entertained by the always hilarious Pirate Parrot. I also remember my dad taking me to the concourse to cool off and get some shade when the afternoon sun got to be too much. Don't get me started on the best hot dogs I've ever eaten in my life.

I also have the memory of watching Three Rivers implode. Seventeen years ago, my family huddled on the banks of the Allegheny River on a cold February morning with a thermos of hot cocoa to see this iconic structure come tumbling down. Nothing could be better than Three Rivers I thought. Boy, was I wrong.

For a family of five, the PNC Park experience is a little more expensive than an afternoon at Three Rivers 30 years ago. I am not sure what my kids will remember about the few times we've gone to game when they look back on their childhood. But I do hope they remember their grandfather's 72nd birthday tour, posing for photos in the dugout, their uncle telling stories of the night fans flooded the streets during a playoff run, and being enveloped by the best view on the planet.

Remember Me

I did something this week I never would have done if it wasn't for a cartoon.

A little backstory on me. I have a strong affinity for animated entertainment. I saw Aladdin four times in a movie theater back in the 90's. I watched Blues Clues before I had kids. I have a Beaker plush doll on my dresser. I am not sure what my problem is, or even if it is a problem but...that's me.

Having kids has given me a pass to see all the latest animated flicks. During the summer, my family saw the Incredibles sequel, Hotel Transylvania 3 and the Winnie the Pooh movie. These were high priority viewings. My husband and I used to stay up to date on the movies in the running for an Oscar so we could vote among ourselves. Now the only category we recognize any movies in is Best Animated Feature.

This past year, I somehow missed the Coco train. This Disney Pixar movie came out in October of 2017 and the storyline dealt with the Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. (I think all the animated skeletons in the previews may have put me off. As many of you may remember, I don't like scary things.) My interest was piqued though after a tune from the movie won Best Original Song during the 90th Academy Awards telecast in March. The movie itself was deemed Best Animated Feature Film.

When it appeared on Netflix in the spring, my youngest and I decided to watch it. I did not know what I was in for. It was the best animated movie I've seen in a while and I hold it to a high standard. Finding Nemo is probably my favorite movie of all time. Coco is right up there, really.

I didn't know much about the Mexican Day of the Dead celebration. I had seen news stories and photos and again it just seemed like a lot of skeletons and hanging out at cemeteries and because it was foreign to me, I thought it was a little strange. The movie does a lot to explain the whys of the celebration and how the Mexican people honor and remember their deceased loved ones at the end of October beginning of November each year.

The movie was also emotional for me. Yes, I seem to always cry during Disney movies. (You know it's bad when your kids watch you during sad parts of movies to see the tears start to flow almost on cue. At least my youngest will bring me a tissue.) I won't bore you with the details or spoil the movie for you, but there is a scene that was similar to something that happened to me with my grandfather when I was a little girl. Once the movie was over and I cleaned myself up I decided - we're doing it. This year we would have our own Day of the Dead.

Now I know I'm not Mexican and at first I think my family was like, "What?" But, I simply wanted to honor our family members who had passed on and teach my kids about those who came before them. I thought this tradition was a wonderful way to accomplish my desire. In the hectic day to day, we don't always have the time to share stories about grandparents or great grandparents who, in some cases, the kids never got to meet or were too little to remember, but our Day of the Dead would be a time to rectify that.

For us, we made a traditional 'ofrenda' or altar in our living room decorated with photos, flowers and special memorabilia of things our loved ones enjoyed in life. We had a bag of my mother-in-law's favorite snack, a small motorcycle in honor of my cousin, Jason, a record to celebrate my Pap Pap Bishop's love of music and a small Steelers jersey for my cousin Joe.

My husband and I took turns telling personal stories about each of our loved ones and our kids were able to ask questions. For dinner, we enjoyed Day of the Dead cinnamon bread and chicken soft tacos. We also listened to the Day of the Dead internet music station which made the dinner lively hearing upbeat Mexican mariachi music.

During the past couple weeks, it was nice to connect with out of town family members who helped me obtain the photos for our ofrenda. It was also nice to talk about our deceased loved ones in a happy setting, not dwelling on the loss, but focusing on their footprint on our lives. Because of the positive experience, my family has decided to make this an annual celebration. (I'm sure the tacos had something to do with this.)

My 'ofrenda'

Reeling From A Distance

It is hard not to be sad right now.

It is hard to not want to pack up all of my family's belongings and move away, somewhere safe.

But where? Nowhere is safe apparently.

This prospect might not be as scary if I didn't have children. Yes, of course I worry for myself and for my husband, but I really worry for them. The young, the innocent, the ones who have yet to drive, vote, to see the world. Yes, I am scared for them.

In this age of shootings at just about any place imaginable, I don't like my role as a parent. I don't like that I have to say things to them that I am not confident of - that no, a shooting won't happen at your school. No, a shooting would never happen at the mall. And the one that hits home now, no, a shooting would never happen where you go to pray in a neighborhood we drive through just about every weekend.

Yes, I hate the lies that I find myself telling anymore.

The sad thing is, I think my lies comfort them. I don't want them to worry everyday. I do that enough for all five of us.  The safeguards in place are not fail proof. If someone wants to hurt people, they will hurt people.

I heard commentary this morning about Saturday's synagogue shooting and how an armed guard might have impacted the situation. One of the speakers said having one wouldn't have made much difference and probably would have added to the fatalities. How about a side of reality with your coffee?

If they haven't left yet, we probably only have a day remaining of the national news crews hunkering down in the 'Burgh. Let's face it, Pittsburgh will become like Aurora, Las Vegas and Sandy Hook once the next big story breaks and it will. But those of us who live here are left to pick up the pieces. I am only one degree away from people who knew someone who was killed or wounded Saturday. I have friends who have been touched personally by this tragedy.  I am only reeling from a distance.

A musical performance my son was supposed to participate in near Squirrel Hill was cancelled this weekend out of respect for the victims' families. He received an email about the cancellation and since we were not together at the time of him receiving it he texted me right away.

"Did you hear about the shooting?"

We exchanged a few quick texts and he wrote, "It makes me sad." I have to realize having a sixteen year old, I can no longer shield him from tragedy and sadness. Now I have to be in help mode - teaching him how to process and move on.

I told him not to dwell on it. Great advice, right? But days later it seems my thoughts find their way back to the eleven killed and the others who were injured. How can we change this cycle of hate? How can we prevent this from happening again? My heart is heavy. My head hurts.

But I have seen images of acts of kindness happening in the wake of Saturday's tragedy. People leaving flowers on cars, kids making cookies for police officers, schools sending messages of hope to those who are grieving. My oldest asked me, "What can we do right now?" He seemed interested in donating money to help.

But my answer was simple.

Spread kindness throughout your day and just be nice to others.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

Elijah Matthews, a student at Rankin Promise School, with a sign he made this week.