The Feelin's Here

It wasn't long after the lights flickered out in the rain soaked jack o' lanterns that the winds of change quickly turned one holiday to the next.

The very day after Halloween it was a surreal experience as I watched Christmas come to town. It started with the morning trip to Dunkin' Donuts. I was driving my husband to work, instead of having him take the bus, so we decided to stop for coffee. Our morning pick me up was served in a holiday style cup. At first I thought it was just a winter theme, but then I noticed the reindeer head and wreath. Yes, folks less than 24 hours after I had a porch full of ghouls, we were ushering in the Yule.

After the downtown drop off, I headed to Squirrel Hill for an appointment. I was a little early so I decided to do some window shopping. There was still evidence of fall - with your friendly pumpkin displays and Halloween decorations but there were other things too. Holiday lights were going up on the light poles and some storefronts were already getting their festive window displays in order.

I was feeling, as my cousin, Kelly, would say, all sorts of ways about what was going on. I do not like to rush things and here I was knee deep in Christmas. The holiday, for me,  has morphed into something that is almost unmanageable with the gifts and the parties and the baking on top of the regular day to day. You think it would get easier as kids get older but that is not the case. The presents get more pricey and the teens harder to buy for.  As the primary holiday shopper, I have longer lists than a Walmart receipt for all the things to get done before Christmas Eve.

Part of the problem for me is that I have turkey brain right now and all I want is a plate of my mom's stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes - yeah, you hear me. Don't even get me started on desserts. I turn into Bubba from Forest Gump but instead of talking shrimp, I'm talking pumpkin pie, pumpkin cake, pumpkin roll...etc. We need to let the oven bag breathe and whipped cream run out before Santa steals the show.

But something hit me as I watched two creative ladies put together their window display, last Friday,  with a zebra laden with packages near two Christmas trees. The scene was beautiful and it made me happy. By the time I made a second lap, after my appointment was over, the window was almost done. I stood there and took a photo with my phone not noticing one of the ladies still adjusting things on the floor. My photo captures her waving at me.

Since I was busted I felt like I needed to go inside and at least say hi. I told them how much I loved the finished product and how it made me happy to look at it. They said my comments made their day and, after a few minutes of friendly banter, I moved along. It seemed like I was already filled with the holiday spirit and all it took was beauty - appreciating the beauty of the season.

My husband, who always has a wise and simple way of summing up my emotional dilemmas, could not understand why I wasn't ready to give in to the holiday cheer. "It's a beautiful time of year. Just go with it."

Yes, just go with it. But I am not one of those people who have been looking forward to putting trees up since summer. The Hallmark Countdown to Christmas isn't on my radar and I am not one of those people who need their carols 24/7 stat. I am thinking of my to do list, getting it all done while making joy happen - you know,  the stress of it all. That's when the snowflakes start to melt and my inner Grinch with the noise, noise, noise starts to manifest.

But maybe this year, I AM going to go with it. Maybe I'll let Christmas wash over me with wild abandon and channel my inner Kristen Kringle and do it up right. Happy Holi-YAY will be my new mantra. So what if I am listening to Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas as I eat my Thanksgiving dinner - is it going to taste any less yummy? What if we put our tree up in November instead of December 1? Will the Pilgrim police stop by? Ho-Ho-NO!

And maybe, by embracing the season instead of individual holidays, I will maximize my time to accomplish must do tasks - like baking and shopping. (This tactic could come in handy with Thanksgiving falling late this year.) So you heard it here first. I am turning over a new holly leaf and who knows, maybe this change of attitude is just what I need to simply have a wonderful Christmastime.

It Ain't Over Till It's Over

I started doing something last week I haven't done since 1988.

I started watching the World Series.

As a child of the one television decade, with no remote, and parents who controlled the viewing choices, I think I was just along for the ride. I was rooting for the L.A. Dodgers that year and their All Star pitcher Orel Hershiser.

When you don't have a local team in the hunt for a championship it is hard to be fully vested in the outcome. I vaguely remember the hype from the 1979 World Series, being that I was all of 5-years-old. The guys from that team - I felt like they were part of my family.

Teke Tekulve, Willie Stargell, Omar Moreno, Ed Ott. Yes, Ed Ott, I remember him because of my brother's baseball card collection. I used to help him organize his cards from teams all over Major League Baseball. I knew more about baseball in the early 80's than I do now.

It is a shame it has been 40 years since Pittsburgh had the best baseball team in the land. It is a shame that a sprinkling of postseason appearances, since then, is all Pirates fans have had to sustain themselves. But there have been many familiar faces making contributions, this 2019 postseason, with their new teams hoping to make it to the big show:  Mark Melancon with the Atlanta Braves, Russell Martin with the L.A. Dodgers and Charlie Morton with the Tampa Bay Rays. Memories.... like the corner of my mind. Misty water-colored memories of the players we had.

But the greatest storyline of all is the journey of Geritt Cole. Our guy who was traded back in January of 2018 and now look at him. He pitched seven innings Sunday night - striking out nine and allowing just three hits to help lead his Houston Astros to a 7-1 victory against the Washington Nationals. His success is something a Pirates fan can get behind. But it also begs the question - why couldn't that be us?

This World Series, for me, was something I was drawn to because it was comprised of some relatively new faces. The two teams who played have four World Series appearances combined since 1903 versus the 40 for the New York Yankees or the 20 for the San Francisco Giants.

Even though the Houston Astros won the world championship just two years ago, this series marks only their 3rd appearance. And for the Washington Nationals , this is their first appearance as a rebranded team established in 2005 - the former Montreal Expos who were founded in 1969. (I noticed some fans in the stands wearing Expos jerseys which was a nice nostalgic touch.)

It is nice to root for teams who don't go to the dance every couple years. I like to root for the underdog - teams that could be on par with my home team if things were - let's just say - a little more focused on making a better team instead of making another dollar. But that is a discussion for people more qualified than myself.

I was rooting for the Astros for a couple of reasons. 1. Going back to those days of yore and my brother's baseball cards, I remember loving Nolan Ryan wearing the awesome Astros jersey with the Lone Star and orange stripes on the front.  2. I have been to Houston. I visited friends, for a total of 36 hours, a few years back and I liked what I saw and wished I could have stayed longer. Heck, I even had a beer with a cowboy at the airport. (But that's a story for another day.)

One of my Houston friends has been quite vocal about supporting his Astros and, since I was rooting for the same team, we enjoyed texting back and forth throughout the series. After the first two Astros losses, I provided encouragement saying "I'm not worried." By Sunday night he was texting me about plane tickets so I could attend the victory parade. I told him that was a bit premature, but he said he was only looking at the economics of waiting to buy a ticket.

Either team deserved the win in my opinion. They were that good.  I love that I have learned the names of some new players - Jose Altuve, Alex Bregman and Anthony Rendon. These guys take a distant second to Dave Parker, Lee Lacy and John Candelaria, but I really liked watching them on the field.  I admire their talent and their reactions when they make a great play. I like that Altuve reminded me of my youngest, the way he bounces around the bases.

Looks like I don't need a ticket to Houston now that my Astros have lost and I do have a friendly Dunkin Donut wager with my 8-year-old to honor. But it's been a fun ride and a great display of what baseball can be. As the winds of change swirl around our Buccos, may they usher in a rebirth that helps our boys of summer become a family that has reason to celebrate once again.

Swing Batter Batter...Or Not

Baseball isn't what it's cracked up to be. Especially after you get hit in the head with a pitch.

So what do you do when your kid is afraid? Legitimately afraid and refuses to participate in the team sport he signed up for?

A few weeks ago my youngest, who plays kid-pitch baseball, got hit in the head while he was up to bat. Luckily, I wasn't there for that event and even my husband, who was there, looked away at that particular second and when he looked back at the batter's box he saw our son lying on the ground.

The little guy had a helmet on and that cushioned the blow. So I think him laying on the ground may have been the result of a little overdramatization on his part. Of course everyone rushed to his aid, and of course there was crying involved but once it was determined he was ok, off to first base he went.

The rest of the game went fine and when he returned home he had quite the story to tell - as he finished his Dairy Queen Blizzard. It was funny to hear him recount the event like a soldier who had returned home from battle. "It was a bad scene...."

This season of fall ball has been a transition for us. Prior to now, it was the coaches who were on the mound throwing to the kids. My son is one of the youngest on his team and some of the kids have been pitching for a couple years now.

Despite their youth, some of these kids get some speed on their throws. The first kid pitch game I attended I felt like I was at PNC Park. I was aghast. I exclaimed to my husband, "Just how old are these kids? These pitches are like 70 miles an hour!"

As a mother, I have been reluctant to send my kiddo into these circumstances. It has been a long time since I've been part of this level of baseball.

Our oldest retired after his first season of T-Ball and pretty much for the same reason. He often played catcher and he didn't like speeding objects coming at his head. So prior to now, my most recent experience with kid pitch goes back to when my brother was little and since I really didn't care about baseball I didn't really pay attention. I know he probably got hit with a ball quite a few times in his career, and I am sure he had to get back in there or deal with a major pep talk from our dad.

Fast forward a week or two from the head hitting incident, my son got rammed in the foot with a hard hit ground ball to second. This one I was there for and I not only saw it - I heard it. I was convinced his foot was broken and as he lay on the ground, for a second time, I watched from the bleachers until I could not wait any longer and ran over to the field.

We inspected his foot back in the dugout and amazingly it looked fine and within a few minutes he was walking on it. He put some ice on the little bump and just relaxed. His coach asked if we were going to Children's Hospital but, with a $300 co-pay just to walk in the door, we told him we would see how it goes. By the end of the game, my son was back in the outfield.

So now he has been hit twice, he cries before each game and his batting record is down the tubes. (He has struck out pretty much every time he has been up to bat since the head hit.) He has been talking about retirement - at the age of 8.

I have tried being stern. "Your team needs you. You can't quit now there are only a few games left."

I have tried being sympathetic. "You have been through a trauma. I get it. You are scared but you have to get back in there and work through this."

My most recent attempt - probably not the best- "Just swing at every pitch and get it over with."

As you can see I've been worn down but nothing prepared my husband and I for the cry fest on Monday and complete refusal to participate in the game. He sat with me in the bleachers. He sat with my husband in the dugout. Coaches tried to coerce him to get in the game. Our son was not having it.

I felt like I brought this on myself because of another stellar pep talk we had in the car when the tantrum started after we got to the game. My son said he was embarrassed he cried both times when he got hit. He said you never see professional players cry and they are always cool.  I said, "You are a kid. They are grown men. I love that you are not afraid to show your emotions. That's cool too." I would have tweaked my talk a little had I known he was going to show his emotions for two and a half hours.

So here we are with one game left. I don't know what is going to happen but I don't want him to end the season on a bad note. I would like the storybook ending where he makes a great catch in right field for the out and gets a grand slam while up to bat to help boost his confidence because the kid does have talent and loves sports. He just needs to get out of his head but I am not sure how to accomplish this. And maybe time is all he needs.

I set up a practice session with his uncle, who has been coaching for decades and can really break down the nuts and bolts of the game. When my little guy came home afterwards he said, "I feel a little more confident now." Let's hope that confidence spills over into Saturday. Having the World Series to watch right now is also a good motivator.

This type of stuff I have never been quite prepared for as a parent but, somehow, I hope we make it to the other side. If down the road he makes his major league debut, I will say it was all worth it. But for now...this Pinterest quote from Jaja Q pretty much sums it up: "Life is like a baseball game. When you think a fastball is coming you gotta be ready to hit the curve." With kids - the curves are pretty much a given.

And The Cherry On Top

Saying goodbye to summer means saying goodbye to businesses that are seasonal. 

Sandcastle has been done. Kennywood is now done with regular weekdays/weekends of operation. It is nice though that we get to enjoy the park now in the off season, with their effort to take advantage of Halloween and Christmas. 

Last year, my family spent an evening at the park during one of the Holiday Lights events, to see the tree lighting, but, for me, it was too cold to pop on any of the rides. 

There are quite a few ice cream places that are serving up their last cool treats during the next couple of weeks - including our local hang out. 

Growing up, as far as I remember, my family did not have a regular place we went to. We would hit Dairy Queen, Baskin Robbins or the area mom and pop cone establishment. I remember when we first discovered Handel's in West Mifflin. It was a big deal to drive from McKeesport to Century III Mall to get a scoop of fudge ripple or coffee ice cream.

I remember hitting the Baskin Robbins in Midtown Plaza, with my grandmother, and being mesmerized by the thought of 31 flavors. I wanted to be able to say I had tried all of them but too many had something fruity associated with its name (which I do not like) so unfortunately, that was an accomplishment for someone else.

I have had ice cream experiences that have been life changing. I remember my first Ben and Jerry's (Coffee Buzz Buzz Buzz) , my first Penn State Creamery ice cream (WPSU Coffee Break), (are you noticing a trend?) and even my first Schwan's Vanilla Bean.

My first Rita's gelati experience was in New Jersey with my godparents and their children. My godfather loves desserts and whenever we would drive out for a mini vacation- there was always dessert. I had the best cookies and cream ice cream I ever tasted when he took us to Goodnoe's near the PA/New Jersey border. I had at least three scoops on this cone and I ate every last bite. 

Due to my love of ice cream you would think working as a cone artist would be the perfect job for teenage me. Nope. I hated every minute of working at Vangie's, which use to be near Renzie Park in McKeesport.

I hated when those little leaguers would show up after a game and the line would never end. I hated how sticky I got after making a milkshake and I hated reaching in the jar and putting the cherry on top of a sundae then watching it roll down the mound of whipped cream that had already started to melt due to the time it took me to create my masterpiece. 

Almost 10 years ago, an ice cream place opened near my house and summers have never been the same. We started going to Arctic Avenue in an effort to support a local small business and we've never looked back.

For us, Arctic Avenue is like the TV show Cheers. The proprietor, Mr. Wayne, knows our names and knows what we like. He has celebrated many a special occasion with us including last days of school, first days of school and more than one of our many summer birthdays. 

When my daughter was about seven-years-old, she made him a card when he was getting married. The card featured two ice cream cones tying the knot. (Can you believe he still has that card hanging up in his store?)

This week marks the end of Arctic Avenue's 2019 summer season. It will be sad when we drive by and the open light isn't glowing and the ice cream cone sign has been packed away. But we always look forward to the spring and hints that our buddy is getting things ready, behind the scenes, to open once again. 

But for now, there is one last ice cream run to make. I think I am going to get a hot fudge sundae. I know from experience what it takes to make one to perfection. One thing I did right during my ice cream career, I never skimped on the hot fudge. Luckily, neither does Mr. Wayne.

My Girl

Fifteen years ago yesterday, I received the biggest surprise recorded in my lifetime. I was handed a baby, by the midwife on call, who proudly announced, "It's a girl!"

I was shocked to say the least. I was convinced I was having another boy as this second pregnancy had pretty much been identical to my first. My weight gain, cravings, even my first contractions were a week early from the baby's due date, just like the first time. Yep, I was convinced it was another boy.

Despite that fact, we were a bit unprepared when, on a Saturday morning, I calmly told my husband today is the day. Heck, we hadn't even settled on a boy's name. (Which caused me to do a quick recall of boy names used in Beatles songs. Yes, I tried to push for Jude.) 

During the night prior, the baby was extremely active which made it hard to get any housework done. I had been looking forward to catching up on the week's mess as I was working part-time, had a two-year-old boy and a three-year-old beagle.  

We had been told that as the baby got bigger it would likely run out of room and move around less. Not this kid. It was almost as if she was trying to get out any way she could. The kicks and punches were frequent and there was no indication this little one was slowing down. I was comfortable in the knowledge her due date was still a week away. 

Oh the difference a day makes. We were at the hospital by 1 p.m. I had chosen to have my delivery at the Midwifery Center at DePaul. We were living in Virginia and this was an option that was available to us. The center was attached to a hospital so I had peace of mind in case emergency medical assistance was needed. The delivery room was a huge bedroom with a real King-sized bed, rocking chair, and a hot tub. 

Yes, the hot tub was the huge draw for me, which is ironic, but we will get to that in a minute. After having my first child, I wanted something different from the cold, antiseptic feel of my first delivery. I wanted to be comfortable and away from what a hospital has to offer. The midwifery was like home and it seemed perfect. 

Not long after our arrival, we were set up in our room. I was offered the opportunity to get in the hot tub and I was going for it. I was assisted into the water and slowly sunk beneath the warm bath. I found myself situated near a powerful jet which felt great along my aching back. A nurse brought me a cup of ice chips and I sat there amazed by how smoothly this labor was playing out. I mean it was more like a vacation at a Sandals resort. All that was missing was some reggae music and a cabana. 

Someone offered my husband the chance to join me in the hot tub to which I quickly shot an emphatic "NO". This was my vacation and I wasn't sharing. "You have to sit outside," I said. 

But just as quickly as my vacation began it abruptly ended. 

"Get me out!" I said. I knew that the baby was coming and I didn't want a water delivery. This little baby was the quickest of my three to make an appearance - in just a little over three hours from the time we arrived at the center. Baby number 2 was also my biggest weighing in at 8 lbs. 10 oz.

I remember the sheer joy I felt when she was handed to me. 'My little girl', I thought. I guess I didn't let myself admit how much I wanted to have a girl. But from the moment I looked at her I knew she was something special and after her first miserable, colicky months, I knew she was also a force to be reckoned with.

Now here we are 15-years-later. I hardly see that little one anymore when I look at her. I see a young lady who is like me and not like me all at the same time. She has my determination but times 10. She has my lack of patience but times 10. She has an abundance of confidence, like I've never had, and if somewhere in the cosmic universe she could have spoken with 15-year-old me maybe I wouldn't have been such a late bloomer. 

This child will always be "My Girl" no matter how old she gets. Even on days when she is more overcast than sunny I am thankful for this gift that, in the not so distant future, will find her wings and make an indelible mark on the world.

Is Accident Forgiveness Really A Thing?

Sometimes in life you are moving along minding your own business when CRASH suddenly things become very still.

That happened to me last week when I was involved in a car accident. And here is the kicker, the accident was my fault. I was driving alone and about to merge onto Route 30 in North Versailles. The car in front of me had started moving and I looked back to see if it was clear for me to go. I started to accelerate and then....BOOM! The moment of impact.

It was startling to say the least. I didn't know what had happened at first but I did know one thing - I was responsible. I got out of the car, totally oblivious to my surroundings, and any vehicles behind me, and attempted to ask the other driver if she was ok. She seemed just as shocked as I was. As I remember, she was stopped and then started to inch forward. I had just begun to tap lightly on my break when my bumper made contact with her bumper.

Luckily, she was fine. Both cars seemed fine and I was able to give her my contact information before driving away.

As I drove off I asked myself, "How did this happen?"

 I kept replaying the moment of impact in my head wondering how I was so oblivious to actually crash into another vehicle. I remember the moments prior listening to a news story about why hurricanes are stronger now than decades ago. Yeah, I am into weather but I am not sure that distracted me enough to cause an accident.

"I need to slow down," I thought. Literally.

I was embarrassed and upset but honestly I felt like nothing would come of this minor accident. Heck, I didn't even bother to tell my husband that is how minor it was. I mean there was no visible damage to either car.

But less than 24 hours later, guess what happened? I got a text on my phone from an insurance company - with a claim number. At first I thought it was a spam text and then the light bulb went off. "Oh," I shook my head in disbelief. Now I kind of regretted not telling my better half. But now I also knew I would have to.

I wasn't worried about how he would react. He is a pretty easy going guy and in the event there is some damage, it's not going to be significant. I just didn't want to admit I made a mistake. It is hard to admit when we are at fault even if it is to someone who knows better than anyone how imperfect we are.

My husband handled the news well and I assured him, using the words my insurance guy told me, this is pretty routine stuff. People file a claim and get the ball rolling so if there is damage the repairs can be done right away.

But now I not only regret the accident, I regret how I handled it. I should have taken photos of the non damage. I should have called the police or at least filed a report. Even though I have shared my side of the story with the claims adjuster it is going to be my word against the other driver's and it appears I could be on the hook for any anomaly that is detected on her bumper.

So now I wait.

But I also overthink.

It has been a bumpy ride for my family lately. Just the day prior to my accident, my son and his friend were involved in a crash. My son and his friend were crawling along in traffic on the Parkway East (he was the passenger) when the motorist in front of them stopped suddenly. My son's friend had no choice but to hit the person. Luckily, no one was hurt and there was only minor damage but the text I received was a little unnerving, "Hey, can you come and get me?"

My son was with me when I received a call from the insurance agent, the first time, so I had to come clean. He acted like it was a badge of unity. He high-fived me and said 'accident buddies'. I chuckled a little then I tried to explain this was the first time I was involved in an accident that was my fault.

 I have been pretty fortunate over the years and I attribute my driving skills to the great instruction I received from my parents. (I had to say it.) But also due to my years working as a photographer/reporter at a television station. Being the driver while heading to news/breaking events, I learned what to do and what not to do.

The car trips after my recent accident have been calculated journeys. I make thoughtful turns. I back out of my driveway slower than I did before. I try to stay in the moment with each tap of the gas and each press of the break and not let my mind carry me to all the places I can go. My accident may have been a result of me being in a rush so now it is time to slow down. The alternative is just not worth it.

Just The Fries, Please

I am out of shape.

Seriously, it has been too long since I last road a roller coaster. Forget about me getting on the Steel Curtain. I can't even do the Thunderbolt.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, but you can't take a decade break from riding coasters and then just jump right back in. Don't get me wrong. There have been a couple Racer runs and maybe one Jack Rabbit adventure since 2009 but not enough to keep me in shape.

The problem is my teens do not like roller coasters and my youngest isn't tall enough. My older kids fall into that category of people who could live, dare I say it,  without Kennywood. Sounds crazy, right? (Although, they would probably go there to get the Potato Patch Fries.)

I've tried for years to get them to go on coasters and at least I got them on the Racer and Jack Rabbit once. But that's where the fun ends. During the summers, when my family has been at Kennywood, there have not been opportunities when my husband and I were able to ditch the kids and just take off for the Thunderbolt or Phantom's Revenge (previously known as the Steel Phantom.)

These are rides he and I enjoyed at one time. Heck, we even spent the day at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg BC (Before Children) and road EVERY coaster, even the ones that go upside down,  multiple times!

Well, that was then. This is n-OW. He and I had the chance to do something we haven't done probably since the late 90s. Go to Kennywood alone. It was a much needed kid free afternoon and I thought, "What better way to loosen the knots in my neck and shoulders than by strapping myself to the Thunderbolt?"

Yes, the Thunderbolt was my first choice because it is the ride I've missed the most. But due to long lines and wait times on a beautiful Sunday, late in the season, it became our only ride. And boy, was that 1 minute and 48 second trip, up hills and down dales, an eye opener.

I screamed almost the whole time, partially because I forgot what it was like and secondly because I seriously thought something was going to get dislodged - my neck bone, backbone or pelvis. I didn't remember that many hills and I certainly didn't remember the part - like the Jack Rabbit - when you hit a double dip and almost fly out of the car.

Of course these are the things that make it fun but when we pulled back to the station it took me a few seconds to get out of the ride. My husband and I kept shaking our heads in disbelieve that we even presumed we were primed to take on the Thunderbolt after such a long absence. As we disembarked, he wanted to know if I wanted to go get our fries and I said, "I'm gonna need to walk for a bit."

When we finally did sit down to eat, we were plotting out our next move. I really wanted to hop on my all time favorite ride the Bayern Kurve but we knew we needed to ease back into riding - especially after just eating. I suggested the Merry-Go-Round or the new Thomas Train.

His reaction made me laugh out loud. "Ohhh, the train! Let's do the train." This coming from a guy who tackled Busch Garden's Alpengeist - which climbs to 195 feet and hurtles riders through six staggering inversions at speeds up to 67 miles per hour. Of course, I have no room to talk. I was right with him.

So we made our way over to the train and upon seeing at least four rides worth of people already in line - we decided to pass. Although, we did watch a train load of people pull out of the station and we waved to them as they went on their way. Does that count?

As luck would have it, by the time we got to the Bayern Kurve it was closed for maintenance. My husband looked at me and said, "Are you ready to go?" To which I replied, "Almost. We still have to go to our place."

Almost 22 years ago, back when the ski lifts were still running, I had my best Kennywood date ever. My boyfriend, at the time, and I drove from Johnstown to West Mifflin and spent the entire day at the park. We rode just about everything but my favorite memories include: riding the lift, eating ice cream sundaes by the lagoon, and sitting by the fountain (tucked away near the Bumper Cars) and tossing wish pennies.

That boyfriend, now husband, may have only rode one ride with me last Sunday, but we still made penny wishes at the fountain. I don't remember what I wished for 22 years ago and if my wish ever came true but one thing is for certain - I still have the best date.