It's A Twister!

I did something last week I almost never do.

I bought something I did not need. I bought something just for the fun of it. Just for the thrill of it. 

I made an impulse buy!

Let's back up by stating when it comes to shopping for myself - I don't. I am not sure the explanation for this because at one time I loved to shop. 

Back in my teen years, early twenties, I loved taking my babysitting/paper route money to Century III Mall, blowing it on a new vest from Deb, earrings from Claire's, a new cassette tape from National Record Mart and a hot fudge sundae from Dairy Queen. 

I even put a new winter coat on layaway one year at Kmart - the one that recently closed in North Versailles. It took me a few months to pay off that baby but I could not have been prouder to wear the turquoise/black coat with shoulder pads, matching scarf - topped off with my black Debbie Gibson hat. 

Although I made frequent purchases, I rarely bought anything that was not on sale. I inherited my mom's frugal nature and it pained me to pay full price. I was raised with flea market and thrift store shoppin' skills so I learned early on just how far a dollar should go. 

I think I got away from self shopping because I have others to shop for. Three kids and one large kid (husband) equals little time for personal buys. Every now and then I'll get a pair of jeans, like I did a few months ago through Amazon or the beach wardrobe I bought at the American Thrift Center in West Mifflin. Four pair of shorts, including Under Armour and Adidas, and two tank tops $11.00.

 Yes, sir! The price was right that day. It would have been cheaper if I had swallowed my pride and accepted the senior discount the cashier tried to give me. LOL!

Anyway...the other day I went to the local vacuum store to buy the special bags I need for my machine. As I was paying for them, I caught sight of a oval shaped appliance on the counter that was filled with water and made a swishing sound. 

As I looked at it closely, I noticed what looked like a mini tornado (plastic funnel) in the center. I said to the man ringing up my purchase, "What it that?" He said it was an air purifier called a Twister. It takes air in, cleans it and then sends it back out. You could add a fragrance too, if you'd like. 

I said, "Wow! I think I need one of these." Now keep in mind, I'm almost two months into summer vacation. Kids are everywhere. Mess is everywhere. Life is in total chaos. I haven't been alone in my house since May 29th. The calming sound of swishing water around a tornado? Heck, it's a metaphor for my life. The salesman went on to say, "Yeah, and they are actually on sale right now."

The price was reasonable in terms of my standards. Under $40? I'm worth it. Besides, my birthday is coming up. But then I found out there were only three left. THREE LEFT!!

I was in a hurry that day and had to go but the thoughts of my own personal air purifying tornado stuck with me throughout the day. Plus, with my weather fascination, this little machine had my name written all over it. But I had to wrap my head around this unnecessary purchase that for some reason seemed so necessary. 

The very next day, I dragged my husband to the vacuum store and what do you know? There were now only TWO LEFT!!! I quickly snatched a box from the shelf, put it on the counter and I said, "I'll take it!" You would have thought I was holding a box of gold the way I pranced out of the store singing 'Happy Birthday' to me. 

Later that day, my daughter offered to set it up for me by filling it with water and plugging it in. The LED light display gently illuminated our own personal twister in our dining room and the swooshing sound created a false sense of calm. The kids ooohed and awwed as they were hypnotized by the colors and moving water.

I've since moved it into my bedroom and have been able to sleep with it on at night. I don't know if the air is cleaner, I didn't buy it for that, but it is calming to watch and hear. I'm sure there will come a day when the allure of my little Twister will wear off but for right now there is no place like home!

Magic Yarn Project Warms Heads and Hearts

There is nothing more magical for a little kid than to dress up as their favorite Disney princess or superhero. But for some special little ones, an illness prevents them from really getting into character. This is where the Magic Yarn Project comes into play.

The non-profit organization is based out of Palmer, Alaska and was started by two pediatric nurses. What began as a handful of Rapunzel wigs delivered to a local children's hospital has blossomed into 18,000 wigs that have been distributed across North America and Europe in the past three years.

Jessica Ash is the Pennsylvania Chapter Leader and found out about the project through social media last October. She contacted the organization to see how she could get involved and had to submit some of her crochet work, and write an essay detailing her skills, experience with kids and why she would be a good leader.

"After our interview, I guess they saw my passion for it," explains Ash, who says there was a lot of competition for the chapter leader position, and was delighted to be chosen.

The project is special to Ash not only because it allows her to utilize her talents, but because of what she has seen first hand. After her cousin was diagnosed with lymphoblastic leukemia she spent a lot of time at Children's Hospital and saw these little kids going through tough treatments and needing some extra love.

"Unfortunately, there is a need. We wish there wasn't. But when they get these wigs they put them on and they just get this smile and they twirl and they are on top of the world and that is why we do it."

There are a variety of Disney character wigs that are made along with superhero beanies. Ash handles the complicated parts, making the actual headpieces and accessories out of yarn, perfect for sensitive scalps. Workshops are held twice a month at Lincoln Place Presbyterian Church to help assemble the wigs and for this part, you don't need to be skilled in the art of crocheting.

Family friend Kathy Schaming wanted to help Ash from the moment she found out about the project.

"When she showed it to me I started crying and I said, 'Ok, put me in there.'"

Schaming did not know how to crochet but has been able to learn how to attach the yarn, for the hair, and the bedazzled accessories thanks to Ash's patient teaching style. A group of 10 to 12 volunteers come together at each workshop to complete the wigs of the designated character of the day. At the June 8th workshop, Elsa, from the movie Frozen, was the princess of the day.

The wigs are made under the watchful eye of the Disney corporation, Ash explains. "Everything is made in their image as far as what Disney has trademarked. We get as close to the princess as possible."

Currently, the group is preparing a shipment of wigs to be distributed at PNC Park for the Pirates' Pediatric Cancer Night scheduled in September. They will be given to children who have been diagnosed with cancer, alopecia or have some type of head deformity.

More workshops are scheduled through the summer months and help is needed. The jobs go beyond making the wig. Volunteers can help assemble the accessories, package the wigs and even write personalized cards, letting the kids know who made the wig as well as offering words of encouragement.

The project is 100% volunteer and donation driven. Anyone who donates money or material, it all goes toward making wigs that are distributed locally and once that need is met,  other organizations across the country are contacted. Ash says if anyone knows of a local organization that offers support to patients and would be interested in tapping in to the project they can reach out to her through email: JessicaA@themagicyarnproject.com or check out their website: themagicyarnproject.com

Somewhere Under The Rainbow

I blame Tom Hanks for my romantic delusions.

I guess I should include Meg Ryan too, if I am going to point fingers. After watching 'You've Got Mail' and 'Sleepless In Seattle' countless times yes, I believe in "Magic."

But real, not movie, magic is probably what is needed to make my dream come true - my dream of finding my silver wedding band.

I have written about this before. The sad tale of a girl who, along with her husband,  boarded an ocean kayak only to be hit by a sudden wave. The wave knocked both occupants out of the vessel and, as I fell beneath the water, I felt my band slip off my finger. It was gone. Lost in the depths of the blue/green water.

Even though it was 18 years ago, I never really gave up hope that one day it might return to me. Yes, a bit unrealistic I admit. But if Tom Hanks could find the love of his life across the country, I could find my ring washed up on the beach.

My tale becomes a little more plausible when I tell you we often return to the same beach each year. We may not be at the same house, but we've stayed pretty close. Each vacation, I take walks up and down the beach - hoping some silvery glimmer will catch my eye and close this unfinished chapter in my life.

The wedding band was my mother's so to me it is irreplaceable, but she even admits my hope in finding it is a little far fetched. As a little girl I remember seeing that plain thick band on her finger or laying on the counter when she was making meatloaf and thinking there was not a finer ring in the land. I still feel that way although I've always wanted a replica of Princess Diana's sapphire engagement ring. But, I digress.

While we were away last week, again it was my mission to find my ring. I took walks each morning and even spoke with a nice gentleman with a metal detector. We were far from where I actually lost my ring, so I didn't have hopes that he would find it, but he did regale me with stories of the items he has found.

Oh, that my story would have a similar ending.

At the end of our conversation he actually said something quite profound to me. "My good day is someone's bad day." But that sentiment changes if he is able to reunite someone with their lost item, which he did recently with a set of car keys.

The second to last day of our trip, a pretty hefty storm blew through. It was dark and nasty. The waves were really crashing and it was terribly windy. But after the storm, there was a lovely rainbow. As I admired the colors and took photos, it seemed like the rainbow's end was just over the area where we had stayed 18 years ago. I thought maybe, just maybe, the storm liberated my ring from the depths of the ocean and washed it ashore. And, as if Nora Ephron was directing me herself, I was off on a journey.

The walk down the beach was pleasant at first - still following the rainbow's glow. But at some point I realized I had a long way to go and at that moment I was already committed, so there was no giving up. I began hallucinating at one point and thought I actually saw Tom Hanks who I imagined would speak to me softly and say the words I wanted to hear "Kristen, are you looking for this?"

My sweet husband, back at the beach house knew I was in over my head and brought the car down the road. Once he parked, we met up close to the exact spot of infamy and briefly looked together for my lost jewelry.

To be honest, I really didn't look that hard when we got there. Something happened to me during what turned out to be a 2 mile walk. (Besides losing feeling in my legs.) I realized, finally, that my ring was gone for good. I let it go just like Elsa from the movie Frozen sang. I let it go and was actually at peace. I wasn't going to look in the sand anymore. I wasn't going to hold out hope that one day the ring would reside on my finger. I LET IT GO and it felt good.

I've been married almost 20 years and at this point no hardware is needed. Don't get me wrong - if I find a 14K Artcarved white gold band on Ebay, reasonably priced, this girl is getting it, but the things I have accumulated during the past two decades are worth more than the ring I lost. I have lots of great beach memories, which outweigh the one dark day. And as I wrote before, with my ring sitting comfortably beneath the waves, part of me will always be at the beach and all I have to do is close my eyes to return to the place I love the most.

A Plague of Our Own

Where are the cicadas?

I mean yeah, I've seen video on the 6 o'clock news of people in Sewickley, Fawn Township and Murrysville dealing with the pesky creatures. But at my home, a little further south, not a wide eyed bug around.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not complaining! I didn't want to see them face to face. But after all the hype for weeks leading up to this? The cicadas are coming! The cicadas are coming! Team coverage at 6. I feel a little left out. I don't remember anyone saying there may be some here, there may be some there but you will not find them everywhere.  (Major Dr. Seuss vibe there.)

I even saw the video of a TV reporter "eating" one. You may have seen it too and I have my doubts. It happened so fast. The reporter, John Shumway from KDKA-TV, had one on his hand and popped it in his mouth. Yuck! Not on my hungriest day would I eat a bug. Not covered in cheese. Not covered in chocolate and not even with a side of Heinz, mind you, ketchup.

Funny thing is I never heard about cicadas until 2004. My oldest was two and we were driving from our home in Virginia to my brother's place in Maryland. Prior to this trip, I had seen a few around our neighborhood, due to the emergence of Brood X, but nothing major. While stuck in traffic, on I-95, things got biblical. I mean cicadas were bouncing off the windows buzzing around. There was a swarm enveloping the vehicle. It was scary. Here I was, a new mommy, and I was wondering if these flying nuisances would be able to get in the car through the vents and harm my baby.

Luckily, once traffic started moving, we left the swarm behind us, never to see a cicada again. Until now. And this time, only on TV.

It is funny that my son was born during a cicada year and, every 17 years, he will celebrate this weird little ritual of them emerging to find a mate. The next time this will happen he'll be 34 and I'll be, well, that's a little too much math for today.

I've always kind of admired people who got excited about bugs. I mean there are so many different kinds, with different features and purposes. It really is fascinating. But once they start moving or flying my fascination ends. Not so fast bug, this is my house and you and your creepy ways aren't welcome.

The other morning one of those ridiculous thousand leggers was spotted on my daughter's wall. Now, over the years, I have become more respectful of creepy crawlies, stink bugs and 'piders', as my former college roommate's baby cousin used to call them. I have begun capturing them and releasing them outdoors. "Carpe diem, Bug!"

This is a huge development for a girl who used to command her younger brother to "KILL IT!" when an invader crossed her path while riding her Hot Wheels bike.  But for those fast moving centipedes, there is no way to capture them first. They are too fast and I just envision one getting on me and then I'll die instantly.

My daughter was in a panic and I said, "Just close your door until dad gets home." But she was running late for school and needed to gather the rest of her things. It was do or die time. I took this as a teachable moment to show my daughter what "Girl power" is all about.

"I got this," I thought to myself, hesitantly. So I grabbed my husband's shoe and went it for the kill. I may have told her she owed me big time. I don't remember. Heck, I hadn't even had coffee yet. 

First, I stared it down. Then we exchanged a few words, probably something like, "You've messed with the wrong middle aged lady thousand legger" and then, as I uttered my best kiai - martial arts yell that contracts the diaphragm and chest and allows you to put tons of energy behind the strike, helping to focus on the moment of impact - and boom, it was smooshed to bits.

My daughter thanked me and was able to get out the door on time.

Now back to the cicadas. I guess the season is winding down and we will all be able to return to our regular lives. But until then, I am keeping my eyes peeled, just to be prepared to run for cover if I see one. I am happy I do not live in the epicenter for the current invasion. The car ride I took 17-years-ago, exposed me enough for a lifetime.

Prommin' Ain't Easy

 Things are adding up these days. Between the ticket, the tux, the flowers, even the haircut - my eyes are clouded by dollar signs.

But today, when my son tries on his tux before we leave the store, my heart will melt and the Benjamins will slip from my mind. Yes, my baby is going to the prom. And my pride will well up and and make me want to explode.

This is his first prom at his school. He went last year with a friend from a nearby high school and the emotions I described in the last paragraph are spot on. This year, he is going, as a junior, with a friend who is a senior. When I first heard the news, I squealed in delight. Then when I heard the theme - A Night In Paris - I squealed again. You would have thought I was going to the prom not him.

I am not sure why I got so excited but I suspect because it is different for boys than girls. I can only imagine what things will be like when my daughter starts 'promming'. I  foresee a potential Promzilla and tears. (My tears!)

For my oldest, he is easy. He has my husband's devil-may-care attitude which basically lends itself to me making the tux choice, flower choice and dabbing some product in his hair. The kid is just along for the ride.

Many moons ago, I had the almost perfect senior prom experience. It started with finding the perfect dress. It is funny now that my mom and I found it at the former Steel Valley Bridal on Eighth Avenue - a place I pass regularly traveling to and from work.

Seeing the worn sign on the side of the building triggers memories of standing in front of a large mirror in my emerald green gown, thinking there could never be a more perfect dress. My mom didn't want me to get the first dress that I tried on but after a few fruitless stops, we found our way back to Homestead.

Then I had the perfect accessory. A friend, whom I am still close with today and was part of my prom quartet, actually made our lovely cinch purses. She found material to match both the shade of my dress and hers and made elegant handbags. I have kept this purse over the years and love to take it out from time to time and replay the fun memories of our special day.

But the day did have its snag. A big snag you might say. My date and I, who were going just as friends, never really discussed the transportation issue. All we knew is that we were bucking the system and not getting a limo or fancy car like the majority of the participants would be doing.

Back then, everyone drove to the high school, showed off their fancy duds in a procession around the building and then drove off in a 'prom parade' of sorts to a dock in McKeesport to board the Gateway Clipper.

When my date came to pick me up, or so I thought, he was accompanied by his mother and sisters in their station wagon. I really didn't think much of it at the time since we were going to be taking lots of photos before going on our way. I just figured we would drop them off before heading to the school.

But after our family photo shoot, we started walking down the street to his car and he said, "Where are we going?" To which I replied, "To your car?"

He said his mother needed the car and I had to think quick. "No problem," I said calmly, but fearing the wrath of God as we turned around and I uttered, "Dad, I need the car."

The words we heard next were not really appropriate to be uttered in front of a preacher's son but hey, maybe my dad was moved to pray at that moment and was not was actually demonstrating how to properly break the third commandment.

To put things in perspective, I wasn't allowed to drive the big station wagon. (Too much car for a little lady.) And secondly, my dad is a man who goes the whole nine yards to make everything just right for special occasions.

As he was going inside the house to get the keys he went on about "I could have had the car washed and vacuumed." I believe he mentioned Turtle Wax and detailing, I don't exactly remember but I assured him it was ok, really, and everything was going to be fine.

(Also, keep in mind, my dad keeps his cars very clean. So even with three kids in the family, our rides were typically in good shape. There was nothing, in my opinion, that could have made the car look any better at that moment. I mean it had wheels and an engine, right?)

So my dad handed my date the keys and off we went. I am not sure we said much on the ride to pick up our friends, but once we arrived, as I predicted, everything was fine. Going to the prom was probably my best high school experience and I wouldn't change a thing.

Of courseg, as you would expect, a few weeks ago, after my son told me he was going to the prom and my squeals subsided, my first question was, "How are you getting there?" To this moment, I still don't have a definitive answer to this question.

Am I worried? Nope. I've been down this road before.

Not my prom photo but that is the emerald green dress.

My dried prom corsage and lovely cinch purse.

Hello, Its Me...NOT

It is a good thing my friends/family know me.

I mean even you, dear reader, probably would be scratching your head if my blog encouraged you to sign up for a $50,000 government loan that you never have to pay back.

"That doesn't sound like Kristen." You might say.

Don't get me wrong. I would love to get my hands on some free cash and I certainly would try to pass on the good fortune to people I know, but...we all know there are a lot of scams out there and if it sounds too good to be true it probably is!

Let's go back a few days. Last Saturday, I was out and about wearing my reporter hat, when the first text came in. "Did you send me a message on Facebook?" "Nope," I replied to one of the moms in my kids' Tamburitzan group. I didn't really think anything of her message until I got home.

When I logged onto Facebook there was a post from my aunt. Did you send me a message? I responded right away. "Nope, it wasn't me." Then minutes later there was a voice mail on my phone. "Kristen, can you call me when you have a chance."

All the evidence pointed to the fact I had been hacked. Me - a part of a sneaky scheme to snooker people out of their personal information and get their cash. Wow, that definitely does not sound like me.

So right away my husband and I started our investigation. We were able to log in and see where and what devices I had used to access my account. That is where we noticed someone in Philadelphia had my been on my page two hours prior.

Weird, I thought. I had only been as far as Churchill that day and yet my footprint extended all the way to the land of cheesesteaks, Rocky and the Eagles.

There was nothing out of the ordinary on my page or in my messages, which was strange. I have a whole thread of past messages I have sent and nothing new popped up regarding anything about loans. The one friend, who I spoke with over the phone, said she and I (the imposter) were messaging back and forth but there was nothing indicating any prior Facebook chats we had had. (Usually when you message someone and you have done so before, the previous thread appears before you start typing your message.)

So I changed my password and I posted a message on Facebook alerting my friends I had been hacked, but everything had been taken care of. Hacking into a Facebook account is nothing new. How many times have you gotten a new friend request from someone you already thought you had friended? That usually happens after someone has been hacked. It happens all the time but I didn't think it would ever happen to me. I really do not comment or post photos regularly and I basically use the social media site to keep track of all the happenings in the Valley Mirror coverage area.

My husband asked if I had done something irregular lately using my account. I did share a photo that a friend had shared, although I was not familiar with the person who was the original source of the photo. I have decided that I will no longer be sharing information from people I do not know. This makes me a little sad because Facebook is a great way to get information out about something that is lost, an event that is happening or just a good article to read. But this hacking incident has me thinking about the safety of my information.

I did receive an email message from the Facebook team. Apparently, someone reported a profile (Gina L.) they thought was impersonating me. "We’ve reviewed the profile that your friend reported and found that it isn't pretending to be you and doesn't go against our Community Standards. If you think we should take another look, please reply to this message and let us know."

Ah, yeah. I think maybe you should take another look. I have not completely read Facebook's Community Standards policy, but I would think impersonating someone and trying to get personal information from their friends is not a standard you would want in your community. So it wasn't this Gina L. person who you investigated. Can you keep looking until you find out who it is before someone else is a victim and actually gives out their personal information to a person they think is their friend?

Well, I guess Mark Zuckerburg is going to be very busy today trying to get to the bottom of this, but in the meantime, next time you share a funny cat video, make sure you trust the source because if not, you might find yourself, unknowingly, trying to get your friends to sign up for a free cruise around the world and all they have to do is enter their debit card pin number.

Roll With It

I almost hit the easy button.

You know that Staples commercial which features the big red easy button that customers are supposed to press to make their shopping experience as smooth as possible?

I joke with my husband that in life we always opt for the hard button - making daily experiences as complicated as possible.

This was the case a few weeks ago as we prepared for Easter. As usual we had planned on putting together our traditional Slovak basket of food to be blessed at church - the ham, kilbassa, Paska bread, nut, apricot and poppy seed rolls. My husband takes care of baking the bread and, in the past, had also taken care of the rolls.

We have not had good luck with our rolls. We have a family recipe that for some reason falls short each time. The dough on the top cracks or they don't raise enough or the filling oozes out of the sides. It is frustrating for sure, especially after you use almost a bag of flour and forget the price on walnuts these days!

This year my husband said, "I'm out. You want rolls - you can make them. Or make it easy on yourself and just buy them."

"Buy them?" I thought for a moment. Imagining the pure ease of just opening the package and placing them gently inside my basket. Now that is easy and I was starting to see the advantage to that kind of rogue living.

But then the little voice in my head starting making some chatter. "You come from a distinguished line of proud women bakers. Are you really going to throw in the towel? Are you going to shame the name of all that is Eastern European?"

So I was dealing with a mental tug-o-war. I figured I could buy them from a local church and at least justify my sixty dollar donation. But Holy Week is not the time to be looking for rolls from churches. By that time the ship has sailed. Now it was on to local bakeries. I found two options - one close by - one a bit of a drive. My husband made the decision seem so easy. "Please, just go to Patti's (Patti's Pasticceria in White Oak). It's close and you're done."

Oh if only I wasn't OCD. Friday morning I found myself driving around looking for cake yeast and poppy seed filling. I decided I wasn't going to use the family recipe. I was going off book. I picked a recipe from a cookbook my aunt bought me when I got my first apartment. It was a cookbook compiled by members of her church and each entry featured the parishioner's name and their special dish. It came down to Tom's Easy Nut Rolls or 2-Hour Rolls.

Nothing against Tom, but his yield was more than I needed. I didn't want to take the chance of having to cut the recipe in half and mess something up, again. So I went with Bev's 2-Hour Roll recipe and in two hours I was hoping to have some nice basket worthy specimen.

In honor of my Grandma Bishop, who always donned a bandana when she baked, I got my red headscarf and was almost ready to rock n' roll. But first.. I needed to pray. I needed a higher power to intercede on my behalf of my dough.

I asked my daughter to find the patron saint of baking and that is when we learned about Saint Honoratus of Port-le-Grand, France, who served as a bishop in the late sixth century. Apparently, after his death, praying to him helped stop floods and droughts ensuring a prosperous wheat crop. This made him a good friend to bakers.

There is even a cake named after the saint. The St. Honore cake was invented in Paris. It's a ring-shaped pastry filled with pastry cream and airy Italian meringue, topped with small cream puffs dipped in caramelized sugar, and draped with whipped cream. I don't know about you, but I'd wouldn't turn down a piece!

Anyway, my daughter and I prayed together and let the raising begin. I don't know if it was the recipe but, during the course of an hour,  the rolls tripled in size. I thought to myself even if they don't taste good, they sure will look good. When I cut them up, to put a few easy to snack on pieces in my basket, I did a taste test. To be honest, they could have used a little more filling but I was satisfied. Everyone who tasted them said they were good so I will used the recipe again - just add more of the good stuff.

So a special thank you to Bev for sharing her recipe and a special thank you to St. Honoratus. His feast is coming up on May 16. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Ring shaped pastry filled with Italian meringue?