The Sun

Why is it that waking up and seeing the sun shine makes you feel better and makes your world better?

Today, I woke up to sun, a higher temperature, seeing most of the snow melted, and grass reappearing, regardless of its dormancy. The sun shining made my day. The sun gave me quite a kick start. I added more things to my ’To Do” list, and actually accomplished some of those tasks.

Don’t get me wrong, I like where I live but I wish that the sun would shine a bit more than it does. I’ve lived in Ohio, so I am used to this limited sunshine. But, I swear, when the sun finally appears here in the winter in Pittsburgh, it seems to show up just as the dark begins to take over. I usually feel cheated.

Even in summer the days seem to be overcast, hiding that gorgeous warm sun. No wonder I have had to add a Vitamin D supplement. And it is not because I don’t go outdoors. Even when I worked in a greenhouse during the summer, I had to take a Vitamin D tablet because I was deficient in it.

At this moment and day, I am going to soak up this elusive Pittsburgh sun. I’m going to savor every moment of it because it might be hiding, again, tomorrow.The Sun

Why is it that waking up and seeing the sun shine makes you feel better and makes your world better?

Today, I woke up to sun, a higher temperature, seeing most of the snow melted, and grass reappearing, regardless of its dormancy. The sun shining made my day. The sun gave me quite a kick start. I added more things to my ’To Do” list, and actually accomplished some of those tasks.

Don’t get me wrong, I like where I live but I wish that the sun would shine a bit more than it does. I’ve lived in Ohio, so I am used to this limited sunshine. But, I swear, when the sun finally appears here in the winter in Pittsburgh, it seems to show up just as the dark begins to take over. I usually feel cheated.

Even in summer the days seem to be overcast, hiding that gorgeous warm sun. No wonder I have had to add a Vitamin D supplement. And it is not because I don’t go outdoors. Even when I worked in a greenhouse during the summer, I had to take a Vitamin D tablet because I was deficient in it.

At this moment and day, I am going to soak up this elusive Pittsburgh sun. I’m going to savor every moment of it because it might be hiding, again, tomorrow.

Watching my Grandchildren hit Adolescence

Right now, I am watching two of my grandchildren move from being a kid to awkwardly moving into the adolescent stage. It’s an odd feeling. One minute I will be talking to my oldest grandson, who is 12-years-old, and he will be saying something to me about his Blog in his kid’s voice and the next moment his voice will crack and change into a deeper adolescent voice.

My eyes will widen and I will look at him wondering, what the heck just happened? Whose voice is that? I know it’s my grandson speaking. There is no doubt in my mind that the next time I call his house, and he answers the phone, I won’t have to ask if this is my daughter-in-law speaking.

Not only is his voice changing but I can see some wisps of hair growing above his upper lip, below his nose. I see it but don’t want to believe it. I hate the thought of seeing this carefree, innocent kid, turn into a neurotic adolescent with all the guilt ridden problems that goes along with the territory. That free little kid will be gone and something else will occupy his body, like some other demon.

With this change, I fear that my grandson won’t let me near him, or hug him, or talk to him about sports and writing, or won’t want to even be seen with me in public. Being a new adolescent being does funny things to little people, you know? No more, “Grandma, can you come up into my room? I want to show you something.”

Then there is my granddaughter who is also 12-years-old. She and her cousin will turn 13 in May. I remember fondly dubbing her the ‘the little nerd.’ She has always been a cute kid with long blond hair and pretty blue eyes. She dresses in her own style – long pants, a cool t-shirt with a vest, or in running shorts with a matching top and stylish athletic shoes.  And she always wears a hat. She loves Fedoras; any kind, any style, any color will do. She loves to read and the thicker the book, the better. The more unusual the book, which is even better. My granddaughter loves playing soccer, wears glasses, and plays the violin. She is her own person.

Now she is sporting some mild and random zits on her fair skin. She has the other symptoms that come with being an adolescent girl. Along with being at an awkward stage; she is in that stage that hovers between being a carefree, happy go lucky little girl to a pre-teen with all those hormones creating havoc inside and out.

My grandson and granddaughter used to be buddies and I wonder if this new stage will change that relationship? Will it change the silly banter that they used to share with one another and with me? I hope not but then, I will make sure that it doesn’t just by staying closely connected to them.

All in all – that adolescent stage is here to stay and I in my bittersweet stage will watch my grandchildren enter it and try to navigate that strange state of growing up. Nothing is as simple and life isn’t always that easy.

Corporal Punishment and Nuns

I was listening to the news today, when the commentator mentioned how a Kansas law maker wanted to allow harder spanking in schools. The spanking should be good enough to leave a mark. The question the commentator asked their listening audience if they agreed or disagreed with this form of punishment.

My thought was visceral. I believe in punishment or discipline but not physical punishment. If anyone in a school ever spanked one of my grandchildren, I would go in, tear out their heart, chew it, and spit it in their face. So, I guess you pretty much figured out that I am against spanking. Leave this to the parents and how dare any legislator think that this would be a good idea. Maybe there should be a law where any time a legislator squanders the tax payers’ on unnecessary items, they should have a ruler slapped across their knuckles where it leaves a red mark or bruise.

Thinking about corporal punishment in schools takes me back to when I was in grade school and was taught by those wonderful religious nuns. You know those religious sisters; the ones who could not get married to a man but really were married to Jesus. The ones where you never saw a slip or their black nuns shoes scuffed up or any piece of hair, escaping from their head piece. I remember how big they were, tall, and mighty scary in their long black dresses with flowing head gear. I especially remember the large black leather belt that cinched their clothes tightly about them along with the yards of rosary beads that hung on their belt. The only thing missing was a gun, plastic gloves, and a Taser.

I also remember that they could get physical, beat the living daylights out of you. And when you went home…your parents finished off where the nuns left off. But I also remember some of the mean ones….the ones who actually used that leather belt to administer their punishment to a student’s legs. I pitied the girls who made that fatal error of wearing a skirt instead of slacks. I also remember the welts that the belt left behind.

I had a 7^th grade nun who was a bit off balanced and loved using her leather belt. She also broke her pointer in half over someone. But that didn’t stop her…Sr. Mary-Whatever-Your-Name…tied the pointer to her yardstick and used it to stab kids in the back if they annoyed her or they needed to be reprimanded.

Then there was the sweet little Irish nun who weighed about 80 pounds. She slammed one of the boys into the blackboard and broke it. Or the time she ripped off a girl’s blouse. Hey…there are so many stories that I could throw out there. But I bet you have at least one if you ever went to a Catholic school in the 50s and 60s.

Now there are not too many women who are nuns. Maybe that is a good thing but then again if they are still around, Thank God for Med Express.

Within The Fairy Castle

A few years ago, I visited Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry with my son, Michael and my granddaughter, Mika. The one exhibit that really drew our attention and time was the Fairy Castle.

The castle was built by the silent movie star, Colleen Moore. Moore owned a number of dollhouses that her father had built. The one that she loaned and gave to the Chicago museum is a 9 foot dollhouse, constructed by her father in 1928. It was furnished by Moore with many beautiful and amazing artifacts. The Fairy Castle has been a featured exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry since 1941, and now a permanent fixture and is owned by the museum.

When we visited the Fairy Castle, I would have to say all three of us became enchanted with the castle, the furnishings, the detail and the beauty. I’m sure we were at the exhibit for at least an hour. We had to drag ourselves away from it to see the rest of the museum. My granddaughter was into fairies at the time and was totally in love with the castle.

Before we left, we stopped off at the gift shop and I let my granddaughter choose a souvenir of our visit. When we came across the Fairy Castle book, Mika chose it. I am embarrassed to say, it was a bit pricey and her father and I made her pick out something else. From the moment we left the museum, and years later, I often regretted not buying that Fairy Castle book.

Last week, I looked online at the Museum of Science and Industry, saw the book and purchased Within the Fairy Castle. Now years later, I am sitting in the library slowly going through the pages of this beautiful book. The book is amazing to say the least. But not as amazing as visiting the museum and seeing the Fairy Castle exhibit in person and with my granddaughter.

After I leave the library, I am going home and when school is over, I am calling Mika about the book. Right now – I hope she still remembers our trip to Chicago and actually seeing the Fairy Castle. I plan to write a little note and give this book to Mika. At 12, I think she will appreciate the book more than if I had bought it three years ago.

Times and incidents come and go. But memories last, and that is what’s important.within the within th

The Boys In The Boat

I am in the process of finishing a book called The Boys In The Boat by Daniel James Brown. I have had this book on my Kindle for quite a while, along with a number of other books to read. The other night, I finally opened this book and haven’t been able to put it down. I am reading it late at night and every moment of my spare time. Once in a while I will find a book that I haven’t touched and have had for a while and when I finally settle down to read it, it blows my mind! It was like going through a jewelry box and discovering an overlooked piece of jewelry.

That is what happened when I finally started to read this book. I kept thinking how well it is written and what an interesting story. The book was about nine American rowers (eight oarsmen and one coxswain) from the University of Washington. Their quest was to be the best rowers, and be chosen for the 1936 Berlin Olympics, and win a Gold Medal.

The book centers on the main character Joe Rantz, who we meet as a young boy and followed his story to the University and how he became a rower. But it was his struggles before that made a reader admire him more. He was a little boy when his mother died. When Rantz’s father remarried, the second wife doesn’t want him around, so they abandon him. At first, he lived with his older brother and then with others and then by himself. Rantz struggled to take care of himself, and  his survival tactics were amazing. But more interesting was that he harbored no ill will toward his father or his step-mother. It was a salute to him and how he managed his life that made me proud for him and proud to be an American.

We learn about the other rowers in the nine men crew too, along with their coaches. Crew is an interesting sport and that was also a big part of the book along with the making of the rowing shells and more. It was also the eerie tale of the 1936 Berlin Olympics that plays a shadowy part of this book.

While the crew and the other sports amateur figures were at the Olympics, there was something sinister going on behind the scenes in Berlin. While the Olympics are going on, Hitler and his generals present a different picture of Berlin, removing any signs of the Jewish people. All one sees are the Third Reich flags prominently flying, and soldiers with their high stepping cadence. There were no signs of the Jewish population because the Germans were in the process of getting rid of them, and removing their identifying symbols from the town. While the games are going on, the Germans are silently and craftily orchestrating the removal of the Jews and others from the cities, streets and towns. The Germans are also building their concentration camp, setting up the awful history of the Holocaust.

This was a fascinating tale of nine men and the others who help them become great. It is also an ugly tale of what was to come.

Ford Escape - High Impact Blue

I never bought my own car. I never picked one out all by myself. When I was married, my spouse would pick out the car, color, interior and whatever else he wanted in the car. But this time, after I drove my Ford Explorer on its final journey and the mileage read over 114,000 miles – the car finally gave out and I finally decided it was time to replace it.

I looked at car ads and then went on the computer and finally decided on a Ford Escape. I have driven a Ford and they never caused me problems. I still have my 1999 Ford Mustang, a car which I love. But now, I needed a car that could handle the Pennsylvanian winters. I needed and wanted a sturdy SUV but not a big one, and I wanted 4-Wheel Drive, with heated seats!

That night I went to the Ford Dealer with one of my sons. We sat there and looked at two of the Ford Escapes in the brochure. We both liked what we saw, and decided that the Escape Titanium was the model to go with.

Three days later, I went back up to the Ford Dealership with another son to work out the financial deal, on a 2014 Ford Escape Titanium model. When we parked our car, right outside the showroom door was the brand new Ford Escape, waiting for me. The Impact Blue color that I had chosen was washed and shiny, under the warm January sun.

We made our sales pitch and all agreed on a price, I signed all the necessary papers, paid for the car, and I drove it home. This was the first car that I bought for myself! I felt like a grown up for the first time in my life. This is a car that I will value more than any other, well with the exception of my green Mustang, Longstreet! And no…I have no name for my Ford Escape.

A Lament for Trees

I love trees. But I owe every tree that was cut down and made into paper, an apology. I will be honest. I am a writer and use a lot of paper…lined paper and unlined paper, notebooks, both large and small. When I finished using every bit of paper, and every page in my notebook, then threw them away, unless I save them and use the information for other writing projects.

I have used paper for my blogs and magazine articles. I have used a lot of paper to write and rewrite my master thesis. Then I used paper to write my books...all four of them. I wrote, rewrote and edited and did it all over and over so many times that I can’t even calculate it. I scored poorly in math in school.

Now, when no one seems to be reading my work…I just lament the fact that I have been an accessory to the death of trees. Yet, I love trees. They are what I need for shade and comfort and beauty. I would never cut a tree down myself. God knows I should because the three trees in front of my house are growing huge roots above the ground and make it hard to mow the lawn. But I can’t bring myself to have them cut down.

If only I could justify that people are reading my blog entries and my books, maybe I wouldn’t feel quite so guilty that I write.  Now I lament and apologize to those beautiful majestic trees.

P. S…I am also guilty of burning wood in my fire place.

So here goes my apologetic poem:

                  Trees                                 

I love you dearly

Forgive me for aiding and abetting your death

Forgive me for being an accessory to your demise

Trees, your leaves are dear to me because they shelter me

You are home to my hammock

You truly give me pleasure -  except

In fall when your leaves grace my lawn

Heinz History Center

The Heinz History Center is located in the Strip District. It is in a beautiful renovated building that was once the old Chautauqua Lake Ice Company building. The Center, which is named after the late Senator John Heinz, is the largest history museum in Pennsylvania.

The building itself is impressive…six floors, archways and arch windows and throughout the building. I consider it one of those historical beautiful renovated building. The Center is affiliated with the Smithsonian Institution. It is the perfect place to chronicle the history of the H.J. Heinz Company, a showcase to special collections of 3,000 artifacts, illustrating the rich ethnic history of the Pittsburgh region, including a sports museum to a number of famous Pennsylvania players and coaches of all sports. It also celebrated the achievement of the famous Pittsburghers and Pennsylvanians. But mostly, it is a tribute to the career of Senator John Heinz, a well-loved politician, who was killed in a plane crash, and philanthropist.

The Heinz Center is a wonderful place to visit for any history or sports bull, along with impressing out of town visitors. There are five floors of exhibits, and the sixth floor is a library and archive.

I went to see the exhibit this past week with my daughter. I love the old trolley that is on the first floor with other modes of transportation throughout the centuries. The other floors housed a special exhibit on slavery, and the history of the Heinz Company. Another floor was the excellent and permanent collection of multitude of sports memorabilia and a salute to the Pennsylvanian athletes. There was a special exhibit of Burton Morris art.

Some of the collections change from time to time and others are permanent. But this is one place to visit with your family or take out ones out of town visitors. Plus there is The Strip that also offers a wonderful setting for the Museum.

The Golden Girls

There are so many television series, that even with extended cable there is so many more to choose from. A lot of the series are alike; they seem to be clones of one another. There are a myriad of comedies, police shows, firefighter shows, and the God awful millions of reality shows.

 

Lately, I have been watching some of the old classic reruns. One in particular is the old series, The Golden Girls. The show ran from 1985-1992. The series was about four older women sharing a home in Miami, Florida.

 

The actresses were Bea Arthur, as Dorothy Zbornak, a divorcee and retired school teacher. Betty White, as Rose Nylund, widow from the small farming town of St. Olaf, Minnesota. Rue McClanahan, as Blanche Devereaux, a Southern Bell, and owner of the house. Last but not least, Estelle Getty, as Sophie Petrillo, the 80-year-old mother of Dorothy.

 

The program when it first began in the 80s was a hit and earned a number of Emmy nominations and awards. Even now, it is still hilarious. The situations are pertinent today as they were in the 80s. Funny how time doesn’t change problems, everyone seems to face the same ones, regardless of the years.

 

Each women, regardless of their age was well coiffed, and stylish with their hair, make-up, clothes and jewelry. They were absolutely funny in their own right and delivered their lines with pleasure and with a zing.

 

In each episode, whatever happened to the women, they triumphed with one another’s help and remained friends. But mostly they make the viewer feel admiration for the older women and their friendship. And it doesn’t hurt that they soothed themselves or talked over their problems with a big bowl of ice cream or a slice of cheesecake.

 

I still laugh at their situations more today in 2014, than I did in the 80s and 90s. Maybe it is because I am their age now and I really get it!