Nun Run

I have had a long friendship with three sisters who are not just biological sisters but religious sisters.  Thy sisters live together in their family home, called St. James Convent in Greentree, Pennsylvania. They are sisters of the St. Joseph Order and their mother house is in Baden, Pennsylvania.

My friends are Sisters Eileen, Jeanne and Rosie. I first met Sr. Jeanne over 20 years ago, when we were both at one of the local catholic high schools. Sister Jeanne was on the faculty and I was one of the parents who volunteered at the school.

Sr. Jeanne and I became close friends. Sister Jeanne was one of the coolest person’s that I have ever met, dressed in the latest styles, right down to her funky three inch stylish heels. Anyone who ever met her, loved her. She has the most infectious loud laugh. Her love for the students was profound and deep. No one passed by Sr. Jeanne without her stopping to talk to them, praise them or compliment them. I had seen teenage boys and girls worship her. I had watched the boys talk to her and cry in front of her. She had that effect on them as well as on the female students.

I helped Sister with Campus Ministry, and interviewing all types of students that she would tell me about. I would write about them for the parents’ newsletter that I was in charge of. Sr. Jeanne and I became a formidable duo. Then one Sunday, Sister invited me to her house that she shared with Sisters Eileen and Rosie, and their younger brother Jimmy. Jimmy was bedridden and was the center of their attention and love. They adored him.

Anyone and everyone who visited the sisters made a beeline into Jimmy’s bedroom to say hello to him and to talk to him or just gently touch his arm and face. I will always remember coming into their house and being a part of their family. Even after Jimmy died, he left a void in not only the sisters’ lives but in the lives of the people who used to visit him. I still sit in the living room and look down the hall expecting to see Jimmy in his bed.

Whenever I drove to the Sisters house, and (that was a lot of the time), I dubbed it the Nun Run. Just sitting, eating, talking and laughing were enough to shore up my sagging spirit, or just energize me. There was nothing better to just sit with them, and just be with them.

A few weeks ago, Sr. Jeanne told me that they would be moving back into the community housing in Baden. All I could think of was how happy I was for them but how much I would miss visiting them in their own home. Then I thought - where did the time go? How could this be? I can only imagine being and feeling so vital, living in one’s own place and waking up one day and knowing that it was time to move on. But, it still baffles my mind.

I will miss visiting the sisters in their new place. Baden isn’t that far and all I have to do is jump on Interstate 79, exit to I-65 and drive a few miles down that road to Baden. It’ll be different for them and for me and for all the other people whose lives they have touched. But we can still talk, share food, and our stories. But mostly, we will still be able to laugh and anyone coming down the hallway will hear it!

Meat and Potatoes

Meat and Potatoes is quite an upscale restaurant located in the cultural district of Pittsburgh. It reminded me of a restaurant that should be in New York City with its tall, opened ceiling, long black eclectic chandeliers. The tables were a mixture of hammered metal tops and others with wooden tops. The tables had black legs, as did the tall black bar stools. The dining chairs were a chic style in a brown.

Reservations are a must and since we didn’t have one, my friend and I sat at the bar. I was seated next to a young couple. The young man struck up a conversation asking me if I had ever been there before. No was my reply and since he had, I asked him for his food recommendations. Then we started to talk and since he and the girl that was with him were ‘foodies’ we started to swap restaurants to try out. The earlier crowd is a younger one and as the evening wore on, an older crowd began to fill up the bar stools and tables.

My friend ordered the salmon special, with Brussels sprout Kim Chi, pineapple chile and Korean barbeque sauce while I ordered the smoked pork chop with baked beans and spicy apple slaw. Neither one of us was disappointed. I watch my young friend share a soft crab taco and a marrow with grilled bread, gremolata, onion relish and sea salt. The meat and dish looked delicious and the couple ate everything and proved that it was good. The next time I go there, I think those will be the dishes that I will try.

Sitting at the bar had its perks. The diners are really friendly and willing to share a food idea or even give you a sample from their plate. My friend sampled for the first time a fried pickle from the gentleman next to her.

Meat and Potatoes is a little pricey but worth every dollar and cent that it cost. The wait staff and bar tenders were friendly and knowledgeable. This was a perfect first course to the rest of my evening with the next course being a Noel Coward play at the Public Theater. 

Train and a Ticket

Recently on my last trip to Lake Chautauqua to visit my son and his family, I found myself traveling on Interstate 86 in New York State. The scenery was beautiful and the road, well maintained and smooth.

I found myself itching to get to my destination. I popped in my CD, by the musical group Train and started to listen to it. When the song Drive By started to play, I cranked up the volume and sang at the top of my lungs. I played the song over and over, singing louder and louder, and driving faster and faster.

Suddenly, I noticed a black police cruiser with the lights flashing right behind me. I slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. I turned off the music and muttered…Nice going, you did it again. Well maybe those weren’t my exact words but you get the meaning. I opened the window and the policeman asked, “Do you know how fast you were going?”

With a nervous voice, I answered, “Actually – I have no idea.”

“You were traveling 82 mph in a 65 zone.”

“Really? Wow, that was pretty fast. I’m sorry about that.”

We ran through the preliminaries of car registration and driver’s license. He took both back to his air conditioned vehicle, as I sat with the window opened, sweating in the heat.

What a surprise my son the cop would have. Even though I mentioned he was a policeman, I found out that they don’t always reciprocate favors. The policeman only said, “Your son is going to know that his mother has the lead foot.” I thought to myself…what a surprise, he already knows that. But I managed to keep my mouth shut. (The result would be a $200 ticket, which included an $80 surge charge!)

I drove carefully away from the scene of my crime, well under the speed limit. I managed to maintain the correct speed to my destination, and on my return trip home. Let’s be honest, it is really hard to keep a heavy foot on the light side.

You would think that I should have known better. It could have been a whole lot worst, I could have been driving my Mustang and playing Train. I shudder to think about that and maybe I should consider myself lucky not to have gone faster and maybe even have gotten arrested.