A Letter To My Daughter For When She's Old Enough To Date

I am writing this in protest because you will never be allowed to date.  But I know you will, so I better at least acknowledge it.

When I was younger and thought about the eventuality of having kids, I always wanted a son.  I know that's a really bad outlook.  It's just that I didn't understand girls.  I still don't.  I just figured it would be easier, ya know.

And even while you were still unborn and camera shy at the sonograms, I thought, "Maybe it will be a boy.  You never know."  I'd drive around in the car and have these philosophical discussions, with an empty backseat where you'd one day be, dispensing all my worldly knowledge about whatever it is I'm supposed to know at my age.  Guess what?  It isn't much.  When I say "I don't know" to you, I really don't know the answers.

But, when you were actually born and I held you, knowing full well you were a girl, I died that day.  I died and in the ashes was a rebirth of a man.  And this man was a father of a beautiful baby girl and he was never more in love with any creature on this Earth than you.  My heart hurt so much with love that I couldn't breathe.  And I was scared, too.  What the hell was I going to do with a girl, turn her over and say, "Yep, she's yours... figure out, other woman"?  Was I going to lock you up from the world and hope that a boy wouldn't dare take one step onto our lawn?

No, I couldn't do any of that because I wasn't always going to be able to.   My biggest problem in life is that I've tried to just solve the issues in our lives and not actually let someone figure them out themselves.   Instead of giving a general idea of what needs to be done, it was just easier for me to say, "Just give it here."  I can't be the answer for everything, so you need to know how to take care of yourself.  That's why I am so damn hard on you all the time.  That's why I constantly say take a hands off approach and try to let you figure certain things out.  Turns out, it works to a fault.  You're smarter than me and can do more than I ever could at your age and it gets you into trouble when you shouldn't attempt certain things.

So, in about a decade, you're going to attempt something else that I can't control or figure out.  Dating.

It's something I never could do right, then, and I still can't, now.  It's probably why I didn't do it that often, when I was a teen, and pretty much gave up on trying to figure it out when I got out of college.

In that way, I can't give you advice on how to date or how to find love.  That's something else you'll have to figure out on your own, and with any luck, you'll be better at than I was.  I pretty much know you will be, so no worries.

But, what I will say to you is something someone once told me about this kind of thing.

Be in something extraordinary.  Don't settle.  If they're not the best person for you, then you shouldn't be with them.  But remember this, too.  Guys don't know anything more than you do.  So, you have to be careful, but you also have to be better.

Now, I've made it as a personal mission to make sure you don't grow up just being a girl.  If you choose the tea parties and princesses route, I won't love you any less.  But, I know you, and you're rough and tumble just as much as you are tiaras and tutus.  I've hated how gender biased toys are in this world and you can be a scientist or a beauty queen with equal chance for success.  But what you need to realize is that with boys, we are pretty much stupid.  We need things spelled out for us but don't think we don't like you because we don't say it.  Sometimes we're just afraid you'll laugh at us.  So, give us a chance to show you before you break our hearts.

Also, don't let a boy hold the door for you, if he wouldn't do it for anyone else who isn't a girl.  Don't let him pick up the check if it means that much to pay your own way.  But talk about it.  Let him know why you would rather him not, if you so choose.  Then, let him pay anyway, just so he knows it's not an invitation for anything else.  You're not obligated to do anything.  You are far too independent to be coddled and even though chivalry is a nice concept, you are certainly no one's damsel in distress.

Definitely don't let a guy treat you badly and don't ever accept that you deserve it.  Just as you should never treat a guy that way.  As I have tried to raise you to be just as equal in strength and character as a boy, they are just as sensitive and vulnerable as girls.  But there are some men AND WOMEN out there that feel that people should be treated a certain way for whatever reason and it's not right.  You will never happiness at the receiving end of a harsh word or fist.  Also realize that it works both ways, too.

Be clear with a boy, because chances are more of them are going to fall madly in love with you than you will with them.  If you're not into them, let them know up front.  Be decent enough to explain that you don't feel that way.  Believe me, it will be a lot easier on the both of you let him down easy and early.   If not, he might shower you with praise and affection until you want to crawl out of your skin and he won't understand why it's not working.  Worse yet, he might overstep boundaries because he felt you were a tease.  I just don't have the money to bail you out of jail when you kick his ass for stepping over the line.

If you like a boy, and there's a chance he likes you, tell him.  Don't play games.  Don't make him pass tests and try to figure out his intentions.  The worst thing that ever happened by telling someone how you feel was for them to not return the sentiment.  No harm. No foul.  It's embarrassing and will probably hurt for a bit, but being honest is better and you might find it works a lot more.

Oh, boy... when it comes to um... being intimate....OK, man, pull it together, respect yourself.  I cannot stop you from having physical needs and I just hope you are safe and healthy about it.  Don't ever, EVER, think that you will make someone love you more because you give into them physically.  If you are not ready, then you are not ready.  And, don't pressure them because you think that they need to show you how they feel by being intimate.   And this will probably get me in trouble because, well, I'm a guy and it's still different, but you can say no at any time and it's not wrong to do so.  Any man worth your time will immediately understand and comply.

However, understand that even though you have every right to say no, that word may fall on deaf ears.  It's not you, it's them.  You should never be ashamed for being who you are, but sometimes, people are assholes and usually, it's someone you trust.  Don't ever forget that no matter how strong you are, there is always someone stronger.  I will never blame you for something happening, but you cannot expect everyone to be the best possible person in every scenario.  That being said, I will go Liam Nesson on their ass.  Just understand that you have a power that isn't fully quite understandable by you or others who are interested in you.

And eventually, you will probably find yourself with someone you love enough to want to marry.  For all that is decent and holy, let's not have a huge wedding.  I mean if you really want one I will do whatever I can to give it to you but realize that your wedding day is never for you.  It's always for other people.  It's for a DJ or band to be heard.  It's for a photographer to add to their portfolio.  It's for a caterer to drum up business.  It's for family and friends to share in your day or get free food and drink at the cost of a crock pot.   If you want a day for you, do whatever it is that makes you happy.  And that means finding someone who makes you happy, too.

Find someone who you will never get tired of in life.  Find someone who surprises you every day with something new and unexpected.  Find someone who will fight with you as much as for you.  Find someone who isn't afraid to cry because you hurt them or astound them.  Find someone who makes your heart break just like you broke mine on that very first day.  Find someone who pushes you to be better and will be better because of you.  Find someone you can talk to about anything.  Find someone that doesn't just like everything you like but likes their own things and appreciates that you like yours.  And be the same way.  You don't have to adopt every little thing they love, just love them for loving it.

And for all the love in the world, find someone you love as they are, not as you want them to be.  Don't try and change someone.  Don't try and save someone.   Find the man you want, not the man you need.  Because, quite frankly, you don't need a man.  You need a partner.  You need a teammate.  You need an anchor.  You want a love.  You want a family.  You want someone to complete you.   You want to find someone that even when they are at their worst, they are still better than everyone else.  You want someone that even when the world falls apart, they will be right there with you and you'll both save each other.  You want someone extraordinary.  You want someone better than me.  You need that, too.  But, no matter who you pick, they are the lucky one.  Because you picked me once and I am the luckiest man on Earth and I will always love you no matter who you love: man, woman, or whatever.

Just do it all after I'm dead.  OK?  Because the day you come home and tell me you're in love, it will probably kill me. 

I love you sweetie.

 

Legend of the Ham Room

As I slide into the end of my 30s and head towards middle age, I begin to appreciate the stories that make up my family’s ridiculous history.  As a kid, you really don’t comprehend the great tales that make their way around the dinner table at Thanksgiving or over beers and dogs at a BBQ on the Fourth of July.    If you’re lucky though, the stories get told enough times while you age.  

This latest and greatest comes from the master yarn spinner himself, my father.  Growing up in Layton, PA…

Trust me, you won't know where that is unless you are from the area. 

Seriously…

OK, do you remember Silence of the Lambs?  

That house at the end?   Layton.

The tunnel that Clarice Starling and Jack Crawford go through on their way to the funeral home to inspect the body of the first girl killed?   Layton.

Can I continue?

OK, so, growing up on the farm in Layton, PA, my father’s bedroom was basically an icebox.   Before he came along, it was used to hang meat, usually pig, from the closet.  It had exterior walls on three sides of the room, so it kept quite cold in winter.    On January mornings, he would wake up, put on winter clothes and a coat and play in his room.   His room was a modern day nerd’s wet dream; a room that smelt of bacon.

My uncle, around 10 years my father’s junior, moved into my father’s room and it became his.  In 1980, when HE married, they renovated they the house to accommodate the styling of the latter quarter of the 20^th century.  This included redoing what had become known as The Ham Room.   My uncle’s belongings from his youth still resided in the room.  Odd ends and bits adorned the tops of dressers; a marble here, an interesting rock there, all frozen in time. 

It was summer and the room’s lack of insulation made it as cold blooded as a reptile.     Shirtless while he worked, combating the heat, he and my uncle increased the depth of the shelving in the closet, where pig carcasses once hung.  My father, not as svelte as he was in his youth, had the makings of a belly that passed onto his youngest, me.  After finishing, he spied a black marble, which he originally mistook for a cow’s eye due to its size.     The wheels began to turn in his mischievous mind.  He instructed his younger brother, now in his 30s, to go fetch my mother.    He often sent his brother on errands, as older brothers do, usually with devilish intentions.

He came down to the kitchen, where my mother was working on cleaning up from lunch or dinner, not sure which, and made up some reason to bring her upstairs to the ham room.  She obliged and climbed the rickety old steps up to the second floor.  She opened the door to the empty room where various tools and remains of carpentry sat.   My uncle said she needed to look in the closet, for whatever reason he invented.

My mother walked to the closet, and slowly opened the door.

There, in the top of the closet, was a large, stark white mass of something, with an eye fixated on her.  If filled the entire space in the doorway and actually crept out an inch after being freed from captivity of the closed door.   A scant of hair adorned the top and bottom right sides.  By definition, it could be a large scale, actual, hairy eyeball.  The blobulous eye-thing stared at her and for a moment, there was thought to be a blood curdling scream forthcoming.   Instead there was simply a sigh and “Oh, George!” that escaped her lips.   She turned and went back to her work, shaking her head in disgust.

This fleshy beast was simply my father, propped up on the shelf in the closet, shirtless, with his stomach hanging out.  His arms and his feet hidden on in either side of the door frame.  That onyx marble he found was positioned square in his navel like some kind of side show belly dancer from East Germany. 

How my father managed to wedge himself, shirtless, in the closet is a mystery.  How he managed to not succumb to the intense heat of a Cool Hand Luke style imprisonment is an amazing testament to his fortitude.   How the shelving managed to not crack and disintegrate from his weight is simply a nod to his carpentry skills.  Go dad!

And so it was the legend of the ham room was born.

Two In The Clip and One In The Chamber

OK, so Friday night my father in law was headed over to go out with us to dinner. He then called and said that wasn’t happening. He was having chest pains and shortness of breath. He needed to go to the ER.

We flipped a coin and headed to Forbes Regional. You may remember, my wife had a bad experience at Westmoreland Regional when she was dealing with pneumonia. Then again, I had a bad experience with West Penn Allegheny Health System when they neglected to honor a wellness visit for my wife and instead charged us for a service which led to a huge debacle over charges, collections, and general failure of the healthcare billing system. However, seeing as how Excela basically wasted precious time when my mother in law was dying from a brain hemorrhage, I was more comfortable going to Forbes.

Now, for four months the man has been complaining of his leg hurting. He has an artificial hip and is 73 years old. However, no one could figure out what the hell was going on. He has arthritis in his back which was causing issues with his leg. He wears a foot brace because of a drop foot and that was broken for the last four years. As soon as he replaced it and got new shoes, it all went to shit for him. So, he sat and sat. He wasn’t playing golf or doing anything else. In the end, the diagnosis was that he had three blood clots. One in his leg and one in each lung. As I called it, “Two in the chamber and one in the clip.”

After he finally got a room, we noticed two things. One, his roommate sounded like he needed a coughalator and two, the bed had blood on it. So, needless to say, we got him moved. He was fine down at the other end of the hall, but the lady in the room next to him has the same issue as the other guy. So, it’s never quiet. He’s been laid up now, going on day five. He’s ready to come home. Hopefully, he’ll be home today.

However, last night as we were leaving, we got the most unusual request. An elderly lady was sitting at the entrance to the hospital. She was sitting in a wheelchair and asked if we could take her home.

I was flabbergasted.

I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t have a chance. My kid got in the automatic revolving door and I had to follow her.

Apparently, she had been discharged and didn’t have a ride. She had been waiting for a cab but it hadn’t come after two hours. We were just about to say, “Yes”, when her ride showed up. A friend was coming to pick her up but fell asleep in the car out in the parking lot.

She was a trusting soul. We could have been psychos. Though, I could imagine her getting in the car and saying, “Thanks for giving me a ride.  Do you mind if I stop at the bank and get some money to give you for your trouble?” Then she pulls out a gun and ski mask.

“Granny’s packing! She’s got one in the chamber and two in the clip.”

Help My Bro Get His Christmas Wish

We interrupt the annual d-bag list to swing the pendulum 180 degrees. This is for a good cause.
My family.

OK, I don’t talk much about them, for their own sake. Why bring them down to my level, right? But, in all seriousness, it’s about time that nice guys finish first.

My brother is a Jeep man. With a name like ours, the odds that we have fully functional vehicles at all times is a myth. From the time we learned to drive, we had hand me down vehicles. My brother drove a Ford Grenada that had seen better days and had a paint job that was the equivalent of an Ugly Camouflage Christmas Sweater. He drove a Plymouth Horizon that was bequeathed from our Aunt. He drove a Buick Regal that had gone the same route.

When he graduated college, the first thing he did when he got a good job was buy a brand new Eagle Talon. Eventually, it got old and needed replaced. Soon, he was back to driving second hand vehicles but made sure his wife had a new one. Soon, he was able to buy a Wrangler Unlimited but at stock configuration. He’s never really been able to customize it the way he really wanted to, so that he could enjoy it to its fullest.

Well, his wife has nominated him for the Rough Country Suspensions Christmas Giveaway and if you could go and comment or like their video share it around, whatever, and help him get his Christmas wish it would be awesome.

Find Denise Puskar’s video and LIKE IT SO HARD!!!!

You Can Never Have Too Many Cooks In The Kitchen

There’s an old saying about too many cooks spoiling the broth. It can also be worded as having too many Chiefs and not enough Indians. Of course, I have no idea how you can connect Cleveland Major League Baseball to Kansas City professional football and relate that to cooking.

That was a joke…. Never mind.

Bad jokes aside, the idea that you need to have a small amount of management and an ample amount of direct reports is the idea behind those sayings. In other words, too many people in charge leads to discourse among how to best serve the project. But this isn’t about business, this is about actual food. This is about literally having too many cooks in the kitchen and I say, so be it. The more the merrier.

As my waistline will attest, I do have a small love of food, but will leave its preparation up to the experts. I am otherwise pretty useless in the kitchen. I am constantly reminded how I screwed up beans and weenies in a can. What did I know? I was trying to make it better. I was a bartender. We experiment, sometimes. [crickets] For the smallest part, I think my wife would just be happy if I remember to put stuff back in the fridge. Small steps, right?

But theOver the years, I have gotten better at it and on occasion I will even do some of the cooking. I’ll make French Toast, chili, grill dead animals and can make a pretty decent scrambled egg. However, in my life I have known many great cooks and I stand by the mantra that having too many cooks can never be a bad thing.

More than one cook can split up the workload. Just last night, my wife and father-in-law tackled kitchen prep inside while I manned the grill, outside. We had some leftovers from a birthday party cookout that consisted of a three beans and bacon dish, sausage stuffed banana peppers, hot dogs and hamburgers, which were reheated and pasta salad and fried green tomatoes, which were fresh. Now, as a grill warrior I am constantly working to improve how I can grill hot dogs, hamburgers, and steak and I have found that nothing bothers me more than having dried out burgers from putting them back on the grill. So, here’s a little tip for anyone who has left over hamburgers and wants to cook them up the next day.

There is an awesome spice made by McCormick called Grill Mates. I already love their Montreal Steak Seasoning one for…um steak. Whenever I get some steak for grilling, I use a combination of the Montreal Steak Seasoning and Meat Tenderizer before it gets on the grill and the add some black pepper once it’s close to being done. They also make a hamburger spice which is ‘effing awesome. But it also works if you are reheating burgers as well. Depending on the number of burgers you are using, grab a brownie or cake pan and add some beef broth, I use Swanson, and the Grill Mates Burger Spice. Put your burgers in and cover it with foil. Put it on the grill and just let it simmer. The burgers stay juicy and moist and the added flavor from the spice is kick ass. The beef broth idea came from my mom, another great cook.

So, while I’m standing outside watching meat cook, my father-in-law is inside slicing up green tomatoes, coating them with salt, pepper, and flour and frying them up. While he’s doing that, my wife is mixing up pasta salad and heating up the peppers and beans. Teamwork y’all. Yet, this was mostly food that was already made ahead of time. What about the food that needs to actually be cooked?

While I am primarily biased towards my own family’s cooking there were few things I would actually eat and didn’t leave my comfort zone all that much. For instance, before I met my wife I had hardly ever considered putting brown sugar into spaghetti sauce. I also did not eat chili before my father-in-law made me an addict. Now, I make it using his recipe and it is one of my favorites. Salad consisting of apples, raisins, walnuts and mayonnaise? No thank you… until I met my wife. Now, I could eat a whole bowl of Waldorf Salad, by myself.

Sadly, we are down one awesome cook this year. Dinner is bittersweet as my wife is beginning to learn how to cook all the dishes, her mother was so good at, in a trial by fire method. I will say that she’s nailed broccoli cheese soup. That was always something she had trouble getting her mother to make the way she liked it. Our gold standard was Ruby Tuesday’s but we don’t have one around here anymore. Holiday cooking will be equal doses of sweet and sour as that was always a favorite time of year for my mother-in-law’s cooking. Sure I had some of the best sweet potato casserole and stuffing at my family’s house for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve belonged to my wife’s family. Without the matriarch at the helm we will all have to figure out how to pull off some of the more excellent fare we’ve been used to.

To be fair to my wife, she had been taking on the duties of cooking for Halloween and New Year’s Eve ever since we moved into our home in 2004. But she always had an extra cook in the kitchen to help out and I know there will be times that she’ll unknowingly reach for the phone to call her mom. For her it was life and family. For me it was work. Her mom and I worked together and, up until last year, we’d email each other throughout the day about stuff. She had retired almost a year before she died and every day I’d relate some new tale of the office to her because she understood the culture. Like my wife reaching for the phone to ask for advice on how to make something in the kitchen I still have times where I wish I could email her or call her to tell he about the latest event. But we will move on, eventually, I guess.

Even though I am not one of the many cooks that should be in the kitchen, I still think we need to recognize that these holiday meals, that we loved so much, need to continue in her honor. I’d even be willing to learn how to cook some of them in order to keep up the tradition. I don’t think it’s an attempt to move on and forget someone who made a huge impact on our lives… and my gut. I think it’s a chance to honor that person’s memory by continuing what they did so well, if only as much as our expertise will allow. There will, of course, be some recipes and styles that will be lost because we didn’t take the time to get all the information before she passed. We had no idea it was going to happen. But we’ll experiment and test and try new things and along the way we may discover new ideas to pass on to our child and her eventual family. Well, I hope so. There’s just so many ways you can serve a slice of cheese and ketchup, which seems to be her favorite meal. Honestly, she doesn’t know what she’s missing, except the weight I’ve put on since I met her mother. What can I say? I love cooking and the cooks who cook so well.

Finley's Fighters - Four Year Old With Degenerative Retinal Disease

I'm putting aside the humor and ranting for this post. 

This Saturday, in my hometown, a fundraiser is being held to raise money for the Foundation Fighting Blindness.   Little Finley Pletcher, who is four years old, has Leber's Congenital Amaurosis — LCA — a very rare degenerative retinal disease that causes vision loss.  She's already been declared legally blind despite being diagnosed only a year ago and will eventually go blind. 

I went to high school with both her parents and as a friend, a father, and someone who relies on and cherishes sight every day this just kills me.  So, I'm asking those of you who can find it in your hearts to make a small donation, any donation to the cause in Finley's name.  I'll be doing so as well.  If you follow the link, below, to the local news story you can see more of the details.   Those who cannot attend the barbecue but want to donate, may make checks to the "Foundation Fighting Blindness" and send it to the Kovalls, Finley's grandparents, at 1231 Sycamore St., Connellsville, PA, 15425, beginning at noon Saturday.

4-year-old, family keep hope in the face of blindness

Mixed Nuts, Finley's mom's blog.

Foundation Fighting Blindess page for Finley

What Do You Want On Your Tombstone?

No, this isn’t a pizza commercial. It’s the first REAL post about my Mother-In-Law since she died. I still don’t have it in me to detail exactly what happened. Those close to me already know but actually writing it down makes it still all too final and I really don’t want to go there yet.

But there has been a whirlwind of things going on since her death. We had Mother’s Day, which was rough, my F-I-L’s birthday, vacation and Father’s Day since then and we’ve been real busy with just life like getting the pool situation fixed, planning a third birthday, and gardening and some minor landscaping. Loads of fun. However, one thing was still hanging out there undone. We needed to get a final marker for her grave.

My F-I-L got a set of plots when she died and decided to get a marker for both of them at the same time. Before my wife left for the appointment she asked if I had any suggestions on what they should put on the marker. I said, “Me?” After all, I’m just the in-law. I’m not blood. Besides, how can you expect anyone to spend two minutes and come up with something that encapsulates their life and will be a permanent testament to how they lived? But, that’s not to say I had an opinion. In fact I had something pop into my head immediately after my wife asked me the question.

There’s something you have to understand about this woman. She never backed down from a fight. She spent the last twelve years beating the pants off of cancer. In the end, she had beaten it but a stupid hemorrhage in her brain, exacerbated by the fact that she was on a blood thinner for pulmonary emboli, is what nailed her. In fact, most people’s markers at the memorial park where she is buried only have years, maybe months and years listed for their birth and death dates. My wife wanted to make sure the entire birth date and death date were listed because she fought for every single one of those days since 1996. But that’s who she was.

And it’s because of that spirit that she didn’t pull any punches. You knew exactly where you stood with her and if you had an inkling that maybe she didn’t like you, there was probably a reason for it. Some may call that being a bitch but if so, that was a badge of honor. She learned to live life without fear of regret or retribution after staring down death’s door and she let even the highest level of management in her company know exactly how she felt. It wasn’t always rainbows and unicorns and she told them like it was. I think they respected her even if they didn’t like what she had to say. And for every difference of opinion or opposite position she took, when she finished her piece she’d say, “How am I doing?” She’d even say it with a smile. So, when my wife asked me that question, the first thing that popped into my head, albeit morbidly ironic, yet fitting was, “How am I doing?”

Yeah, it was morbid. “How am I doing?” Well, you’re dead but other than that just fine. As bad as it sounds saying it out loud, in the back of my head I can hear this cackle of laughter because she would have laughed out loud in a raucous way at the mere suggestion of that being her final words. She would have got the joke. Even my wife smirked at the thought but I didn’t expect her to take it seriously. After that, I said there were not enough words to sum up her life. She was an exceptional human being, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a daughter, a sister, a fighter, a hero, and a million other appropriate words that would not fit on a piece of bronze that measures roughly two to three feet in length. I had one other suggestion that I thought was appropriate and would still get a laugh in my head from my Mother-in-Law. It was silly and a throw away suggestion.

“Sassy, brassy, and oh so classy”

My wife chuckled and went out the door. She came back a few hours later and handed me the picture of what the marker would look like. On one side there was the information for my Father-in-Law, which included a deer and the words, “Just cleaning my guns” and on the other side was my Mother-in-Law’s information with a cross and the words.

“SASSY, BRASSY, AND CLASSY.”

I laughed and then wept a little. I never expected them to use my goofy comment and I didn’t try to even suggest that they should. Again, I only married their daughter. I don’t claim ownership of anything decision related in the family. I merely offered a suggestion after I was asked. Of course, it made me honored, even though I was bummed that they didn’t use the whole quote. Apparently, it’s $20 a word. I would have given them the $40 or suggested that they used supercalifragilisticexpialidocious just to be a prick. My wife said I could have that one on my marker.

I think I’d like a different quote. “How am I doing?” seems to be one of my favorites at the moment. At least I don’t have to pay royalties to the originator. But I’d gladly cut her a check if she’d pick it up in person, right now.

Woman Attacked In Monroeville PA Book Store

No happy childhood stories, no witty remarks about growing up in the 80s. This is as serious and to the point as it gets.

Recently, a couple were at Barnes and Noble in Monroeville, PA. The husband and wife went in separate directions and while alone, the wife was surrounded by a group of girls and hit on the back of the head with a lead pipe. The girls proceeded to beat her while she was on the ground. The husband, going to find her, saw his wife being attacked and tried to stop it. More of the girls restrained him and tell him not to interfere, that this was a gang initiation.
No police to stop it. No security to rescue them. It just simply took place in a book store.

Now, the wife of this guy is in the hospital. The worst part is, for whatever reason, local police and media are not talking about it or warning the general public. This is a very large and busy mall in the outskirts of Pittsburgh. Some of you not familiar with the area may know Monroeville Mall from the George Romero movie Dawn of the Dead in 1978. But this is not a movie. This is a real situation.

HAD IT BEEN my wife, I would have done everything in my power to help her. I cannot fathom standing witness to this act and feeling as helpless as the husband in this situation. I sure as hell would have been pulling hair, throwing books, chairs, screaming FIRE, or anything to draw attention to this. Of course, my wife would tell you that there would have been a bunch of gang members in the ER and not her but when you get caught from behind with a lead pipe and are dropped to the ground, beaten by multiple attackers, it's hard to get the drop on them.

So, Pittsburgh area visitors and residents be aware and stick close to a group in case this happens again. Let's hope that the media and police start releasing information to warn the public. Let's hope some fellow citizens take action and start helping. I say, you attack me or my family, all bets are off. That's it. One way or another you're getting taken down for such a heinous crime. I'm just that much of a prick to make it a personal mission to get justice.

I'm Dreaming of a Dark Christmas

In my 34 years on this Earth, there have been more forgotten Christmases than ones I can remember. The first three are a bit hazy, for sure. Sure, there was the year I got the Millennium Falcon and immediately broke off the radar dish. Something that foreshadowed the events of Return of the Jedi. Then, there was the year we got an Atari, although to be totally accurate it was the Sears Tele-Games version that came with the darker word grain finish and Target Fun instead of Combat. But for the most part, Christmas seems to come and go without a memorable event that makes it stand out against the mosaic of all Christmases combined. That was, until this year. Perhaps the two most remembered quotes of the holiday will be “Remember Caillou” and “Fire! Fire! I need a grown up!”

To start I should back up to Christmas Eve. Our two year old and a half year old is starting to get the idea of Christmas and we wanted to record the act of putting out cookies and milk for Santa. Of course, my daughter is all about quality assurance and immediately checked the cookies for suitable eating after she put them down on the stool in front of the tree. We also put some carrots out on the front porch in case the reindeer get tired of waiting on the roof. After lights out, we made sure Santa had enough space to put out all the presents. In fact, Santa became quite the vandal as he left messages on our back door, front door and refrigerator in red washable ink. It was something of a cross between Danny Torrance’s “REDRUM” and John McClane’s message about having a machine gun, "Ho, Ho, Ho." From the scrawling penmanship, I felt Santa was a sadistic bastard who didn't realize how hard it would be to clean up the mess after all was said and done.

The next morning, my in laws came over to watch the joy and awe like effect Christmas morning has on a child. The night before she was able to open one present and her excitement for that told us that a room full of presents should be a big deal. I stood in the living room, camera at the ready, and she waltzed down the hallway. She walked into the living room, right past the tree and over to an end table where her gift from the night before was sitting. She proceeded to stand there and show it to her grandmother, reveling in its coolness. Meanwhile, the blazing tree and multitude of gifts, that stood not two feet from her, went unnoticed. She didn’t even bat an eye at the cookie crumbs or gnawed carrot bits on the front porch. Looks like Christmas memories for her will be few and far between as well these first few years.

After we coaxed her into opening at least three of her gifts, we managed to clean up the discarded boxes and torn paper and prepared for a trip to my parents. It’s always hard to travel with children. They get so worked up because of the holiday and then you have to do all this travelling which just exhausts everyone. Not to mention, all kids want to do is play with their toys after they open them and to rip them from that playtime and trot them off to another person's house is not pleasing, even if that person also has presents for them. Since, my child was oblivious to presents at this point I figured it shouldn't be a problem. Although, it’s nice if we can work in a nap for her before we leave. She was already excited, not because she would be opening more presents but because she would be able to play with her cousin.

Now, we haven’t really seen a white Christmas around here for years. They are usually rainy and cold, but not white. This year was no exception, adding wind to the mix. It was hard at times to keep the new minivan on the road. Center of gravity was the one thing I hadn’t considered when replacing my low to the ground coupe. The car shimmied all over the road as the wind whipped over the hills and onto the turnpike. As we pulled into my parents’ driveway we could see the pine trees, that lined the driveway, bend and sway in the breeze. We took a few minutes to sit in the new sun room, which they had just added, and watched the closest pine almost kiss the glass more than once on the large windows.

About ten minutes before we were ready to eat, the power went out. My wife and I were standing in the living room with our daughter when it happened. I immediately called out to her to stand still as I walked over to try and find her in the darkness. Even if the outage had been confined to our house, alone, there would have been no outside lights to even give off the faintest glow through the windows. My parents live on the outskirts of town in a semi rural area, surrounded by farms and small housing plans. The only lights you get out there are from other houses and the occasional street light. We were pretty much in total darkness. Once I had gotten a hold of my kid, I picked her up while others worked on getting flashlights and candles. Once we had some light to go around, I grabbed a flashlight and aimed it straight at the ceiling. The white ceiling acted as a reflector bouncing the light around the room creating enough light to see but not enough to blind you from pointing a light in your face.

Luckily, my mother had finished cooking and was just getting ready to serve dinner when this happened or we may have been reduced to eating a Christmas dinner that was smiling at us. "Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra..." Now, I half expected my daughter to be in hysterics at this point. After all, she has issues with the dark in our house. But instead, she kept repeating the same thing over and over in the darkness. “Remember Caillou?” and then she would trail off into toddler incoherency. For those of you without small children, Caillou is a Canadian kids' cartoon on Sprout, based off of books. It’s about a little bald headed boy named Caillou. One of the episodes centered around a storm that caused the power to go out. She made it a point to tell everyone in “This one time at Band Camp” fashion “Remember Caillou, when the lights went out?” This went on for a least 30 minutes.

Dinner was excellent as always and afterwards we retired to the sun room to open presents. Usually, we would all just open simultaneously but due to conditions we took turns. One person would hold a flashlight while the other would open and vice versa. My father who claims that he doesn’t need or want anything for Christmas was actually jazzed for one present he opened this year. It was an LED lighted head band. It was practical and easily applicable in our current situation. We had candles around the room and a few oil lamps but this thing threw off a lot of light. He even hung it on the ceiling fan shining enough light for everyone. Even in perfect conditions we would have had trouble navigating from one side of the room to the other with all the presents. Because of the outage it was twice as tricky and this little bugger helped out a lot. At times, we couldn’t tell what exactly we had opened or who it was from, but we all enjoyed ourselves.

After presents, traditionally came pumpkin pie, but for some of us Tylenol would have been welcome. A couple of us began complaining of slight headaches and a bit of dizziness. We didn’t realize that maybe three oil lanterns would be a hazard. We decided to forgo the lamps during pie and coffee and I opted to wear the new most excellent Christmas present since Ralphie got his Red Ryder B.B. gun. The light was great if you needed to shine directly in front of you but in this case you could blind someone. So, I flipped it upside down and allowed the light to point upwards. I walked out into the living room where my daughter was playing and heard my nephew calling from the kitchen. He had taken up residence at the kitchen table with his new Nintendo DS while waiting for desert.

On the table, a gel based candle had finally reached its flash point and the gel caught fire, creating a larger flame. “Fire. Fire” He called out, calmly, while still playing the game system. My wife and sister in law stood in the kitchen and assessed the fire. It didn’t look that bad but it soon became bigger. “Fire. Fire” he called again, “I need a grown up!” They rushed over and I made my way around the living room and into the kitchen. Both my wife and sister in law had begun blowing on the table which was now engulfing the entire candle and with every blow threatened to spread. They both seemed sort of stunned and a bit alarmed at the growing threat. I calmly walked over and grabbed one of the pie plates. In what looked like my ignorance of the situation, in order to save the pie from disaster, was actually methodical. I merely placed the plate on top of the candle, snuffing out the oxygen supply. Both women looked at me like I had just grew antlers.

With the fire out, we proceeded with desert which deteriorated into fits of giggling and uncontrollable laughter brought on by what I can only figure was exposure to the oil lamps. My brother asked what my father used for fuel to which my father said, "Some can in the garage." I followed up asking if the can had a dirty old rag for a cap. All the while, I wore the head band lamp upside down on my head shining upward at the ceiling. My head nodded as I laughed at the littlest of things causing the light to create a strobe effect. My wife, who had really felt the downturn of the holidays this year declared that this would be the most memorable Christmases ever. With that, my daughter looked up with a whip cream goatee and said, “Remember Caillou?” Once again, we broke up into hysterics.

But my wife was right. I admit, this season was a bit of a downer. After all, 2009 was pretty unfavorable in that we had more valleys to navigate than peaks in terms of moods. Her mom battled cancer most of the year, beginning with surgery to remove a brain tumor, moved onto pulmonary emboli and a diagnosis of ovarian cancer, that ended with her having additional surgery and chemotherapy. She lost her job due to redundancy from a merger/acquisition in her company and her home was flooded during heavy rains in June. Her usual spunky attitude towards Christmas was dour with thoughts of having to wear a wig or shell out money for repairs and Christmas presents from her savings instead of regular pay. In the end, she came out on the winning side but had taken a lot of lumps to get there and it showed. We should be thankful that we get another Christmas with a woman that should have been dead 13 years ago. That’s 13 Christmases that were unremarkable just because no one was missing. Had it gone the other way, my wife would have probably done everything she could have to forget the holiday.

Still, she was right, this was the best Christmas ever. Thankfully we weren’t all too hopped up on diesel fumes and could remember it….and Caillou.

You Gotta Keep'em Decorated

Houses are a pain in the ass. I love being a homeowner, though. Sometimes I feel like I rushed into the whole deal. However, looking back at how the economy took a nose dive and mortgage owners became almost like third class passengers and steerage on the Titanic I’m sort of glad I did jump on the bandwagon. After all, when Wall Street collapsed under the weight of its own nefarious practices, I was still sitting in my home with a monthly payment I could afford and my lender wasn’t sweating bullets.

But that is the process of buying and paying for a home. What I really find frustrating is keeping the darn thing from collapsing around me. My yard makes Jack and Jill exhibit Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I have four trees that rise up like turrets, surrounding a keep, in the corners of my yard. Unfortunately, these turrets do little to protect the house except from rain. I can pretty much walk to my car in a downpour and get only a smattering of rain upon my brow. Otherwise they constantly threaten the safety of my home from falling branches, well placed acorns atop my head and the prospect of having gutter grown trees in the Spring and clogged up pathways in the Fall.

On the inside we have another story. Every January, I must make the arduous process of tearing down all the decorations from Christmas and stow them in the attic. Now, the attic is not exactly friendly to persons over four foot tall. The top of the staircase leads to an area where the hunchback of Notre Dame may feel slightly comfortable but that’s about as far as he can go. While there is ample square footage in which to store items, the ability to get them to and from their destination is a tricky process.

Being that Christmas commands more area, the space immediately to the left of the steps is designated as all Christmas as well as the space immediately in front of the steps, where I keep the Christmas trees. To the right of the steps is Halloween and the temporary spot for everyday items. In the ten and two positions, on either side of the steps, belongs the Easter decorations and the Stuff-we-don’t-use-but-weren’t-smart-enough-to-throw-out-before-it-got-blocked-in-by-huge-seasonal-boxes items which include old luggage from a relative and a disassembled futon.

If I am lucky, and I mean lucky in the sense that I am not boarding stray cats, hoping that they get adopted, or having a family picnic, I may be able to use my back porch for storage. It’s enclosed and, while not fully weatherproofed, stays dry, yet cold. This year we are using the porch for the empty bins that once contained newspaper wrapped contents which are now distributed around the house in an organized fashion.

I say organized because I made the decision to not have the repeated conversation of “Where did I put this last year?” with my wife. I took pictures of all the decorations once they were up and kept them handy. Still, sometimes her tastes change and the location of such items as wood carved scarecrows or wall hangings in the shape of sleds will shift to other parts of the house. This is why I usually maintain a laissez-faire attitude with her decorations and focus mainly on the things that are always a constant. Those things are the mantle decorations, the Christmas trees, and the little Victorian Village houses on top of the entertainment center. These areas are my domain and I rule them with an iron fist.

Now, every September we experience a bit of a crisis. We have to get decorated for Halloween. The problem is that Halloween is such a constricting holiday. I mean that in the sense of you can decorate in September but then you kind of usher in the end of Summer. You also have one day to truly celebrate your interior decorating achievement. It used to be that once Halloween was done, we would remove all of the Halloween type items such as ghosts, witches, Jack O’ Lanterns and other spooky stuff and leave up the harvest items like pumpkins, gourds and Indian corn. That ended after we found it difficult to keep the upstairs and downstairs items separated as well as having half empty bins with Halloween items and overstuffed bins with harvest and Fall items. Also, I got tired of lugging bins up and down the attic steps every other week. So, we opted to just leave Halloween up until we were ready to decorate for Christmas. Christmas is a holiday that stretches over the end of the year into January because we just want to enjoy the lights a little longer.

But Halloween has its frustrations as well. After all, it seems like we just decorated and now it’s time to tear it all down and put up another set. I will say that this year we are somewhat on top of our game. While Halloween was down probably a week before the holiday, Christmas will be done by the end of the first week of December…hopefully. I say that because we always find some reason to put off the finishing touches. Thankfully, Halloween is all down and packed away and my wife, who I love dearly, but sometimes can’t reconcile her cleaning methods, always does her Spring cleaning in November.

It actually makes sense, in a way. Her reasoning is that this is the time of year that everyone comes to visit and why not have the walls and floors really scrubbed well for that onslaught of visitors. I think it needs to happen in September with the usual dusting and floor mopping to keep it up until the end of the year. But once again, I am just the hired hand, the serf who just gets roped into late night cleanings or all day carpet steaming sessions. I will say that, for the money, renting a Nautavac from the local grocery store was an awesome idea and it did wonders for the carpets we do have.

Now, for those of you who ask, “How bad could it possibly be to decorate your house?” I realize it, too. I only live in a three bedroom ranch with a finished basement. Really, how much stuff could I have to decorate the house with for the holidays? It’s not about quantity it’s about insanity. We literally have seven Rubbermaid totes dedicated just to Halloween. That’s probably a half or a third of what’s in the attic for Christmas, not to mention two Christmas trees and the outside lights, wreaths on all the windows, the ten individually boxed houses that go on the entertainment center along with all the towels, pillows, dishes, and floor coverings that are Christmas themed. Believe me, it is a lot. That’s nothing of the three or four bags or boxes of stuff we haven’t used in a couple of years but haven’t thrown out.

So, yes, home ownership is a blessing and a curse. It has its joys and moments of desperation. In all, I like having the house looking nice, but I wish it was someone else’s job to make it that way. After all, you’re talking to the guy who got stranded on his roof while trying to clean the gutters last month.

Bride and Prejudice

I wrote this out in my head on a synaptic cocktail napkin while attending my cousin’s wedding in York, PA. I had planned a whole series on weddings involving tips and other anecdotes for couples looking to get married but decided against it in favor of a little advice and wisdom to my two year old who is dancing with her cousin to a God awful Dance House remix version of Journey's “Don’t Stop Believing.”

I know. It’s blasphemous. I expected more from a DJ chosen by a couple who first met at a hardcore punk concert called, “Kill Your Idols” and now culminated their courtship by entering into the reception hall to Joey Ramone’s cover of “What a Wonderful World.” While the bride and her attendants were more traditional, the guys donned red Chucks to match their red ties.

Song and shoe selections, aside, I have only a few pieces of Fatherly wisdom for my little one as I dread the years to come that will be filled with boys and men and headaches and heartaches. If only I could lock her away until she’s 30. Undoubtedly, being my child, she’ll be able to figure a way out using a bobby pin and a duct tape.

First off, little one, as I refer to her in the blogosphere, elope. We’ll give you the money from the wedding to start off on your new life together or at least put a sizable down payment on a house.
Weddings have been done to death. You spend a lot of money and time trying to find all the pieces to this ornate puzzle and it all gets ruined by some weird thing. Not to mention you don’t even get to enjoy the day because you are being pulled in so many different directions that when all is said and done, you don’t even remember those pictures of you being taken. Go, get married on a beach or in a small ceremony and enjoy a nice time alone. These days, weddings are more a show for family and friends than they are about commemorating an event. If you are dead set on a ceremony then fine, but if there is a hint of doubt, I’ll try my best to save you and that boy the anguish of all that planning gone to waste.

If you do plan on going through with a ceremony, do it in the early to mid Fall. Everyone and their sister gets married in the summer. It’s hard enough trying to schedule everything as it is, having to deal with the peak wedding season is ridiculous. Also, it’s freaking hot, although the Summer of 2009 panned out to be unseasonably cool and wet. If you wait until Fall you get cooler temperatures and better colors with the foliage. That is if you plan on getting married around here. The wedding we were just at was at a place called Lauxmont Farms in Wrightsville, PA. It was a beautiful reception in their Rotunda but at three hours away, we were ready to make you walk home after being a little cranky for two straight days.

Don’t get hung up on the details. Before you know it the deal is done and you don’t remember any of it, anyway. Hell, I remember going through the whole ceremony only to suddenly forget my left from my right when it came time to put the rings on. I handed your mother the wrong hand and she didn’t even think twice about it. It wasn’t until we went down to hand the flowers to both sets of parents that my Father laughingly whispered into my ear, “ You’ve got the ring on the wrong hand, genius.” I covered but if he noticed, I’m sure someone else did.

Let’s just realize that bridesmaid’s dresses are perhaps the ugliest thing in the world no matter how you slice it. Again, I bring you back to point one as it is a stupid dress that no one will ever wear after the wedding day. You can’t take them back and you can’t resell them because who in their right mind would want such an ugly dress. So, just remember, you are the star and you don’t need to make everyone else around you look worse by dressing them in loud colors with unflattering angles.

Go on your honeymoon and don’t skimp. Your Mother and I opted to try and be a little frugal by going to Niagara Falls for four days since we were a month from Christmas. She spent most of the time sick as a dog in bed and the weather was cold in Canada in November….go figure. It’s been five years and since you came along, the odds of us being able to go on that official honeymoon I promised her are about as good as your Grandmother actually having that yard sales she keeps saying she’ll have. Honestly, my mother has loads of boxes in the garage labeled “Yard Sale” They’ve lived in that house 25 years and those boxes were from 20 years ago.

Lastly, do me a favor and marry someone you can feel comfortable with before you get married. Realize that while 50% of marriages may end in divorce, a good percentage of the ones that do survive do so out of fear of being a statistic. Settling for someone is never an answer and anything that you find intolerable as a couple before you get married won’t change afterwards. Men and women go through life letting their parents’ set the tone for how they perceive a partner. “You have to train a man.” “Remember, he’s dumb and doesn’t get it.” “You’re the one who is really in charge.” “Women are too concerned with the little things.” “Women shop and aren’t very smart about things.” These are stereotypes that are a product of all us growing up in the shadow of our parents. While your Mother and I are not exactly carbon cutouts of our parents, I believe we got the best parts and will try to at least pass that onto you. Just remember, it’s easy to get married, it’s hard to stay that way.

So, as I sit here watching you twirl around on your toes to this horrible version of a beloved classic I am saddened that someday you will grow up and you will get married. Although, I’ll be happy that you’ve found someone to love and that loves you, the sting of being replaced as the man in your life will hurt all the same, if not more. I can only hope that we can teach you well in this world and that you find that one person that gets you and can make you happy. My parting advice is this. Treat each other with respect, be friends first then lovers, and for the sake of all involved, don’t subject us to the Electric Slide.

There and Back Again, A Mongo's Tale

Part Three: Nights in South Rodanthe

Well, if you haven’t already realized, these posts from the beach are all retroactive in nature. Meaning, I went, took notes, I came home, and I’ve been posting from them over the course of the last week. It will become really apparent in this last bit from the trip home as I talk about a particular game being played in the Stanley Cup finals and we already know how it turned out. Yeah! I have to say that coming home I wasn’t so sure. It was a rough Game Five and it could have been a detriment to the spirit of that team and their little “Flower” of a goalie. Instead, it was just enough fuel to carry them and the cup home. Enough about that… let’s take it home.

Day 7 Saturday June 5
Morning came quick after only getting a few hours of sleep. While we packed most of the car last night, there is still more to be stowed before we leave. I want to let the little one sleep as long as possible before having to wake her. We aren’t going to get a great breakfast because we had to wash everything and pack up all the kitchen items we brought. Still, I know what will happen. She’ll get up. She’ll come upstairs and she’ll grab that high chair and bring it towards the center of the room.

I made several passes around the house, making sure I got everything. Checked all the drawers, looked through every couch and under every bed for toys and other assorted items. I made sure everything was the we left it or better. I took some final pictures and helped load the van. Afterwards, I went back into this house that sheltered us and comforted us this last week and said in my mind, “Thank you for a great trip.” Leaving, I took one last look around and headed back to the van.

We stopped into the rental office to turn in the keys and I gave the lady at the desk the rundown of what had happened. She went and got the manager and he pulled me aside. Smart thing for him to do. The last thing you want to do is have a disgruntled customer standing among other potential customers, spouting about his bad luck. We went back to his office and we spoke about the pool situation. I laid it all out, the missing breaker, our discovery, the pool guy, and I did not expect anything in return. After all, it was our word against his (pool guy). We shook hands and I left.

I was ready to go. I wanted to get moving as quickly as possible. As much as I had a good time this vacation, there’s something to be said for going home. I also knew if I wanted to catch Game Five I had better make it to the other side of the Allegheny Mountains before too late. That was the outer marker for picking up Pittsburgh radio stations.

It was a little bittersweet driving up Rte 12. We again passed by Bodie Light, Jockey’s Ridge, and the Wright Brothers memorial. We stopped again for breakfast at the Western Sizzlin. I must admit I was satisfied with the food there. It was good for a good price. If you ever go to Kill Devil Hills, check it out. Then go a little ways south on Rte 12 to a place called Kill Devil’s Frozen Custard. They have Excellent fries and frozen custard.

Moyock, NC Rte 168
Back on the road, it was just after 1:00 PM. We stopped back at the rest stop on the other side of the sound and made a break for it. From here on out, I wanted to make some good time back to PA. We had to stop one more time at a place called The Border Station in Moyock, NC. It’s a huge gas station / store that sells fireworks. They aren’t like the places along the side of the highway, sometimes going by the name of Woody’s with a picture of a hissing black cat on the sign. This was a bigger outfit and they didn’t sell any of the good stuff. Usually, I like getting some “stuff” before I come home but this was all legal and puny.

Back through the tunnel under the bridge and onto I-95
We seemed to be making good time. I also began to really hate that purple dinosaur. We had the DVD going on a loop behind me for the little one thinking maybe she would fall asleep. No such luck. She was chugging along with the rest of us. We hit the beltway and were heading into Northern VA before sunset. We stopped at a Bob Evans after a few failed attempts at finding another place to eat. From here it wouldn’t be long until we were in PA.

Breezewood, PA Rte 70/76
This is the last leg. Out last fill up was in Moyock, NC. I topped off the tank in order to return the van with the same amount of gas as I had when I picked it up. I also turned over the keys to the wife. I was getting real punchy and needed a break after driving until here. We jumped on the turnpike and headed home. I kept a check on the radio to see if we could hear the game yet. I knew that usually we wouldn’t start getting in Pittsburgh stations until after we went through the tunnel but I was ever hopeful. Game Four was awesome and the Pens really showed Detroit why were in the finals against them for another year. This time last year, we were in a similar situation and I hoped that the tide would have turned with those two wins in Game Three and Four. Now we were back in Detroit. Unfortunately, we have to win this and Game Six to hoist the cup on home ice in Pittsburgh.

Once through the tunnels, I began to get very scratchy reception in on 105.9 WXDX. All I could make out was Mike Lange saying something about it being 5-0. As we wound through the mountains on the turnpike, reception faded in and out. Play continued and more and more pieces of the puzzle came into place. We were losing and it was almost the end of the game. This was indeed the low point of the trip. Not only did Detroit go up 3-2 in the series, there was the distinct possibility that they would be skating around our home ice with the Stanley Cup. As gracious of hosts as we are, I think the thought of Marion Hossa skating around our ice, his former ice, holding that cup high above his head would be enough to start a riot in the arena.

Home
Somewhere around Johnstown, the little one finally dozed off to sleep. We drove the rest of the way in silence and landed back at my In Laws’ house just before midnight. We dropped them off and ended up waking the baby. She pretty much cried until we got home. I don’t blame her. She went 12 hours without a nap and once she fell asleep we woke her up five minutes before we pulled into the driveway. I’d be pissed, too.

We unloaded the van and fell into the house out of exhaustion. We pretty much just did what we needed to go to sleep. The cats were happy to see us and we were happy to see them. We bathed the baby and put her down around 2:00 AM. We both sat in our living room, exhausted by too awake to sleep. After a shower, we were in bed and both sat there still awake. I was waiting for the last of the caffeine to escape my system and finally drifted off to sleep. Since we fed the cats late, I was able to sleep until 8:00 AM before having to get up. As I finish up these notes I noticed we missed a phone call at 10:14 AM Saturday. It was the realty company. The manager called the house five minutes after I left. He said he totally understands and believes us. He’s had problems with this outside company before and is going to reimburse us for all but two days of pool heat. Sometimes, it pays to make noise even when the odds are against you. Hopefully, the fans will make some noise in Pittsburgh during Game Six and then ultimately Game Seven. We’re not out yet. I only hope Fleury isn’t too rattled after that loss. It would be nice to have the Lombardi Trophy and Stanley Cup in Pittsburgh for the year…but I guess a World Series win might be a tall order. Maybe…



As you can see, I wrote this with no knowledge of the impending win in Pittsburgh and win in Detroit. What a Game Seven that was. Holy Crap, Fleury shook off the bad vibes of Game Five and stepped it up. Go Pens!

Vacation Is a 40 Hour a Week Job

Who knew? Here all this time I thought I was going on vacation to relax and get away from it all. Instead, I brought it all with me. Actually, it wasn’t too bad. There were a few bumps along the way, figurative and literally. Overall, it was a good vacation. My wife is usually a barometer of stress. The fact that she did not miss home and did not want to leave was a good indication that the vacation was a resounding success. Here are the notes I made while at the beach during the week.

End of Day 1 Saturday May 30
I’m finally ready to settle in for a much needed night’s sleep. We had wanted to take a evening swim but decided that it was getting late. I had called a couple of weeks ago to request that the pool be heated. Being the beginning of June, the air was still cool even though the forecast put the temps into the 80’s. With my In Laws and my daughter, I finally agreed to wife’s demands for the pool to be heated to the tune of $275. Hopefully, by tomorrow, the pool will be like bathwater. However, right now, I am starving.

The beer run took a lot longer than expected so, when everyone finally made it back to our house, we decided to just order pizza and watch Game One of the Stanley Cup Finals. If the Penguins wouldn’t have been in the running, I wouldn’t have bothered. We actually thought that we would be watching Game Seven of the Conference Playoffs between Pittsburgh and the Carolina Hurricanes but the Penguins finished off Carolina and had gone back to Detroit in a rematch of last year’s Cup Finals. With Marion Hossa making his comments about wanting to play on a team that could win the cup, I hope Crosby, Malkin, Fleury, and the rest of the crew make him eat his words.

Unfortunately, the delicious pizza was chased with a bitter pill by a loss to Detroit. The Red Wings are a good team and I hope tomorrow proves better for our Black and Gold squad. For now, I am winding down. I’ve checked emails, did a little farming and checked on my CaféPress store for any sales trying to exhaust what little caffeine I still have in my system so I can sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. This will be the first time, my daughter sees the beach. It will either be a sight to behold, or a disaster.

Day 2 Sunday May 31
I was woken up to the sound of crackling bacon. What a wonderful sound and smell for that matter. After finally falling asleep around 1 AM, I was out of bed by 9:30 AM. For some reason the beach sets my internal clock to wake me up around the same time every day. I remembered this from our last trip to the Outer Banks in 2005.

After breakfast we gathered up all our beach belongings and loaded them into the car. We rented an umbrella and two beach chairs from Ocean Atlantic Rentals which serves the Outer Banks for a lot of items. For $105 we got the chairs, umbrella, and our crib for the whole week. That’s not too bad and they deliver the items to your rental property and pick them up as well. Along with the chairs and umbrella, we had to load a cooler, all of our daughter’s beach toys, diaper bag, blanket, and towels.

We didn’t have direct beach access without walking through people’s yards. That’s why I loaded up the van. A few yards from our cul-de-sac was a public access path. We parked the van and unloaded. It was about 100 yards along a wooden planked walkway and then up a set of steps. I carried the chairs and cooler. My wife carried the backpack and towels. My Mother-in-Law walked with the little one and my Father-in-Law carried the umbrella. I believed that the shore was right on the other side of the steps.

We topped the steps and were in for a surprise. There was another dune and no walkway, just a sand path up to and over the dune. I could feel it in my gut. This was going to be hard. My F-I-L has an artificial hip and is 70 years old. My M-I-L is recovering from blood clots in her lungs and is 66. The sand is hard to walk on in good physical condition. It’s also hot. Add their physical stature, age, and relevant speed and we’re looking at a bad combination.

Once over the dune, there was another 50 yards to a suitable spot to place our stuff. I had not been to this particular area but there was an unusual amount of shells all over the sand. I’m talking ones as big as your hand and crushed ones everywhere. It didn’t even look like there was sand going into the ocean.

Little One enjoying the water. See the shells in the background.

We dropped our stuff off and I made an initial attempt at going into the water. It was freezing. The shells just didn’t end at the beach, they went on into the water up to my waist. I doubt anyone would want to get in with this kind of pain inducing surface underneath their feet.

The little one enjoyed the water and got knocked over a few times. I held onto her hand tightly and kept her upright. Everyone else stuck close to the umbrella and eventually we called it a day in favor of the pool. It was cold, too, but it didn’t hurt your feet when walking on the bottom. Still haven’t found the heater yet.

Dinner was at Dirty Dick’s Crab House in Avon. Now, I cannot be sure but I think that the new housing development between Dirty Dick’s and the road where my Sister-in-Law is staying used to be the site of the Castaway’s Inn. This was the site of the Apocalyptic Pool Hall At the End of the Outer Banks. We had been looking for it since we arrived as a sort of moment of silence and validation of sorts about our claims that we made about the place to our friends and family. If this isn’t it, it has to be close by because the Food Lion and Chinese Take Out place just up the road coordinate with our location and these are places I remember being close to when we came down in 2002. Also, the Subway shop near Dirty Dick’s is another location I remember because we looked for an open eatery for almost an hour that night back then.

The evening dealt another blow to my spirits as Pittsburgh lost to the Red Wings, again, in Game Two. Hopefully a day off and change in venue back to Pittsburgh will help.

Day 3 Monday June 1
Today, my wife and I have to drive with her sister and fiancé up to Manteo Courthouse to get their marriage license filled out. Wednesday is the wedding and the weather looks to hold out for a few more days.

It was a break from a new wrinkle we noticed at the house. The air conditioning on the top floor does not seem to be working properly. It was up to 73 degrees when we left. There are two units on the house. One regulates the temperature for the first and second floor and the other for the top floor. Both thermostats are set to 72 degrees. I called about the unit and they were going to send a tech out while we were gone. I wanted to put a sense of urgency on it since we used the stove in the mornings which heats up the room more.

With the license in order, we returned to a sweat box. I was actually looking forward to the cold pool for relief. The temp was up to 80 degrees and the report from my In Laws was that there was a break in the line between the copper and aluminum piping. It had actually frozen over from the escaping gas. The realty company expressed their sympathies and were planning to bring out some window units to help with the heat. They never showed up. Something is apparently up here because I just now noticed the sign at the front of the driveway that said For Sale. It was there when we pulled in on Saturday but I paid it no mind.

For dinner we went to a little restaurant up the road called The Dolphin Den. It was pretty good. They have great hush puppies and corn bread. Of course, I was in full CaféPress gear to promote the store wherever I go and our waiter laughed at my Moods of the Living Dead t-shirt. His brother is a soldier over in Iraq and is a big fan of zombie pop culture. I gave him the website address and wished his brother luck overseas. Perhaps I’ll see a sale come from Iraq in my reports soon. That would be cool.

Day 4 Tuesday June 2
The heat is becoming a little unbearable. It’s up to 82 degrees on the third floor. We refrained from cooking breakfast and opted for donuts. A call into the realty company reveals that they had to get approval from the owners of the house to replace the faulty unit. By 11 am they were at the house and working. Soon the temp began to fall and we were down under 80 degrees by 1pm. We decided to keep cool at the pool and discussed options for going back to the beach. Do we look for a handicap accessible location down the road or do we head over to my S-I-L’s house and use their access.

It’s also my S-I-L birthday and we decided to have a cookout to go along with our swimming party. I manned the grill with her fiancé and we discussed cooking deer meat and he noticed the heat pump for the pool. That had to be it. Besides the fact that it a fan on it like a heater, it said Pool Heat Pump on the side. The lights appeared to be on but it didn’t look to be running. Perhaps it was at the proper temperature and there was a lock out mode to keep people from messing with it. There was a definite display for temperature but no numbers appeared in the window. I might do some searching on the Internet to find out if that’s the case.

Regardless, I wasn’t going to fool with it now as the Penguins were about to play Detroit at Mellon Arena in Game 3.

Day 4 Wednesday June 3
The big wedding day has arrived. We had a little more spring in our step as the Penguins finally beat the Red Wings last night. We all went to bed exhausted from the drama and tension of the game. We had to meet the preacher at 10:30 AM in Nags Head so we needed to leave by 9:30 AM. It wasn’t fun getting the little one up as she usually sleeps a lot longer and tends to be cranky otherwise.

We met up with the preacher and headed to the beach for the wedding. He suggested not doing it down on the sand. It was close to 11:00 AM and the sun was beating down on us. It was also a little crowded and wouldn’t be very romantic as you say the vows while a wayward beach ball rolls by you. The ceremony was quick and sweet, although my wife missed the whole thing. The little one became a bit unruly and with me working the camera she had to regulate. She wandered down the board walk with our daughter while my S-I-L and her fiancé exchanged their vows, both crying during the ceremony.

On the way back we stopped at Western Sizzlin for lunch. How’s that for a reception? We also stopped at Bodie Island Light. Unfortunately, you couldn’t climb the Lighthouse but I got some decent pictures.

Bodie Island Lighthouse

Stairs Inside Bodie Light

We returned to the house and I was determined to figure this pool thing out. My new B-I-L made a startling discovery. Next to the pump on the base of the house was a black box. It appeared to be the breaker box. There was another on the wall next to the hot tub and also inside the pump house. The only difference with this box was that it was missing a breaker. My B-I-L figured it out. The pool hadn’t been heated since we’ve been here. It was never on and we were paying for heat. I walked over to the hot tub and grabbed its breaker and placed it inside the box for the heat pump. Lights started blinking and everything began to work on the once dormant heat pump. I was distraught, angry, and bedazzled. Did the rental company know this? Was this a scam? Was it an honest mistake? What does this button do?

After playing around for a few seconds, I was able to kick the heater on and raised the temperature to 82 degrees. It was currently 79 degrees in the pool and that was after being in the sun all day. We checked the jets and they were spouting warm water. I couldn’t believe it. By now, business hours were over but I am going to send an email first thing tomorrow about this.

My wife and I took a trip down to her sister’s beach area with her niece to check out the landscape. It was dark but the moon was near full giving us plenty of light to see. Again, there were two dunes to climb but at least here there was a boardwalk providing access.

The sand was cool and soft underneath my feet. We managed to find a working flashlight and I kept an eye out for ghost crabs. We had seen a couple peeking out of holes in the sand the last day we came down to the beach but at night, they are nearly invisible without extra light. A few times I noticed something moving across the sand and I knew what it was.

Get Ghost Crab Hunters on a shirt
from Mongo Angry! Mongo Smash! the store.

We came down to the water and I just stood there with the water rushing over my feet. It was cold but it was the kind of cold you don’t mind. I looked up at the cloudless sky taking in all the stars. My breathing matched the rise and fall of tide. The wind blew along the shore and I simply existed, connected to everything on the Earth.

It’s those moments that give you perspective in your life. The right ingredients come together and bring you a little closer to the source of life on the planet. You don’t feel alone because you can imagine your feet in the water being connected through a string of water molecules across the ocean to another country where someone else is standing in the ocean as well.

We made our way back to the house and contemplated going to bed. After putting the little one down, we decided to enjoy a midnight swim in our now heated pool. Before we went in, I put the breaker back in the hot tub as to not disrupt the pH of the hot tub water. I don’t know if that does anything but I didn’t want to break something else.

Day 5 Thursday June 4
What a wonderful day… he said with sarcasm…
I emailed the rental company and told them what we found. I didn’t want to play my entire hand so I said, “Something was wrong with the heater.” They sent out a tech. I was worried that the temperature would give something away but the fact that the breaker was missing put us on the side of right.

I hurried down to the pool and the guy was already pulling into the driveway. I crept around the side of the house in time to see him put a breaker into the box. The heat pump sprang into life. I sprang into action. He immediately greeted me and began talking about the fact that it was working fine. I said, “Oh. That’s good considering there was no breaker in there.” He said it was all working fine and that he bumped the temp up a couple of degrees and then quickly left. I was furious. He outright lied to me.

By the time I made it into the house, I already had an email from the rental place. He told them everything was fine. I explained how I knew that was wrong and she informed me that there was no way the pool could have kept the temperature it had unless it was running all night. My wife quickly called and was pretty much called a liar over the phone. She explained everything that we did and spoke to the manager since she was not getting any satisfaction. I then got on the phone and explained to the manager our position. The plot surrounding the house thickened. Apparently, the group used to maintain and service the pools are an independent entity hired by the owner of the house. Our house was in the process of being sold. That’s why it took so long to get back to us on the A/C before. Now we were being told that the tech coming out to the house would be a charge to the owner for a service call. I said, well I’d be more worried about what they’re paying them upfront because they don’t even maintain the pools. In the end he said he would get back to me. I pretty much conceded that I would be paying $275 for two full days of heated pool and resigned myself to just enjoy it while I had it. Worse yet, it rained part of the day.

We did take time and go back to the beach down by my S-I-L’s. This was the same spot as our night trip and it was a lot easier to get to but the loose sand made it difficult to go down to the water. My F-I-L decided to stay behind and keep cool but my M-I-L braved nature.

The sand in and out of the water was much better. No shells in sight. My wife talked to a couple down by our place before and they said that they had been coming here for years and never saw that type of beach condition. We thought maybe the storm that was off the coast last week brought all that inland.

The little one enjoyed playing in the sand and the water. She’s quite a smart cookie. She’s almost two and has three more words in her vocabulary thanks to this trip. Beach, Swimming, and Lighthouse.

That night I decided to crank the heat in the pool up in protest and we enjoyed another late night swim in 85 degree water.

The biggest highlight of the day was seeing Pittsburgh beat Detroit in Game 4. They head back to Detroit on Saturday. We probably won’t catch the game on the radio until after we emerge from the Allegheny tunnel on the turnpike. By then, the game will be pretty much over.

Day 6 Friday June 4
This is our last day at the OBX. We have a pretty full day. We had been dying to get some frozen custard, so we took a drive down towards the end of Hatteras last night. As you drive down Rte 12 towards Buxton, the Hatteras Light zips by on its trip around the island. It’s a very eerie sight as if some unknown stranger is sitting out in the darkness shining a light around. I immediately conjured up visions of Sauron’s Eye searching Mordor for the One Ring, except in a circle. Since we knew it wasn’t that far to the lighthouse we decided to use our last day to catch a trip up the steps and then down to the end of the island to visit the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum. The fateful trip in 2002 sparked my wife’s curiosity as signs for the yet to be built museum were seen along the highway as we drove home. Now she could actually go to it as it was open.

Cape Hatteras Lighthouse

The winds were clocked at 35-40 mph so the balcony was closed on the Hatteras Light. I still wanted to climb that sucker. My wife and I bought the tickets and made our way up to the top. 248 steps separated us from the base to the lamp. There were eight landings between the ground and the balcony. The windows were open so we took advantage of the breeze. Every landing opened on an opposite side of the tower and we could see our party standing there looking up at the lighthouse as if they were waiting to see us emerge from the top. Unfortunately, the balcony opened on the ocean side and we were still quite a ways from the top.

Once we reached the top of the lighthouse we were allowed to step out onto the balcony in front of the door. We were not allowed to circle around the back as the winds were too high. Wussies. In any case, I got to say I climbed the Cape Hatteras Light. When we were here in 05 we didn’t venture down to the light because we were in Corolla which would have been an hour and a half trip to the park. In 03, you weren’t allowed to climb the light. It was only four years after they moved the lighthouse down the beach and there were some structural issues that closed the tower.

We left the lighthouse and headed down to the museum. It’s just beyond the ferry over to Ocracoke island and of course, we had to travel the only road there during the time when school busses were taking kids home. The museum kind of looks like a wrecked ship hull and that’s about it. There was really nothing to it and served as pretty much a glorified gift shop. I guess in years to come they will have more exhibits but with a history as rich as the Outer Banks has with shipwrecks they could have put together a lot more by now.

Our trip back clocked in at just under 25 minutes so we planned on taking the ferry over to Ocracoke Island for our last supper. I was dying to have some crab legs and there was a seafood buffet over there that was calling my name. Unfortunately, we didn’t get started until after 7 PM. We missed the 7:30 PM ferry and would have to take the next one. The ride over to Ocracoke would take approximately 45 minutes and that would have us to close to closing time for Jimmy’s Buffet. We went to Howard’s Pub instead.

Howard’s Pub was kind of like a bayou cabin, in a good way. It was pretty big and pretty open. The windows all had screens in them and the walls, beams, and ceilings were littered with license plates, school pennants, and other sporting paraphernalia.

A pound of crab legs for $19.99? I had to do it. They were excellent. Now, I’ve been eating crab legs for twenty years now and while I don’t know much I know a good crab leg. You can tell the age and health of the crab by looking at the shell. If they have a lot of spots on them, like barnacles on a ship, you know the meat won’t be as sweet. Another tell tale sign, for me anyway, is the color. If they are deep red, it tells me they’re good. Pink and light red make me think they are older and not as good. Finally, the ability to crack open a leg and pull the entire meat out in one lump, without breaking, is a great sign. Swishing that around in drawn butter and downing it is pure decadence.

After dinner we had to get moving. It was already 10:00 PM and even though the ferry ran for another hour and a half, we had a lot to do tonight before bedtime. We headed down Rte 12 and saw a bunch of flashing lights ahead of us. Immediately, I thought someone got stuck in the sand as we had seen three police cruisers respond to such a call earlier in the week. Unfortunately, we began to realize what this was, a DUI Checkpoint.

It was quite smart really. There is only one road to go back to Hatteras Island on and that is at the other end of Ocracoke. Cops sitting just down the road on Rte 12 can catch a lot of people leaving the bars. Hatteras Island only allows the sale of beer and wine at bars. Everyone uses the free of charge ferry to go to Ocracoke for well drinks and other assorted spirits. While I had been drinking only soda, my B-I-L had two beers. I was asked for my license and he was asked to step out of the car. We had visions of him being hauled away and one of us being forced to drive their car back. His wife was also drinking and her daughter was only 12. I couldn’t drive a stick, my wife couldn’t drive a stick, my F-I-L had been drinking, and that meant that my M-I-L would have to be pulled out of the back of the van to drive the Elantra back to Avon.

Get Ocracoke Island DUI Task Force on a shirt
at Mongo Angry! Mongo Smash! the store.

Fortunately, he passed and we were allowed to leave. We missed the ferry and had to wait ten minutes for the next one. Directly in front of us in line was a truck with three gents and a cooler sitting on the tailgate, drinking. They asked us if we came through the checkpoint. I said “Yeah.” One guy yelled out, “We won a ticket!” Now, I’m not sure if they got cited for drinking and driving, open container or the fact that there were three drunk guys hanging off the tailgate but they were pretty loaded, regardless. We pulled in right behind them on the ferry and you could just feel them staring into the car at you. The one who looked like Kenny Rogers waved and winked at us. “Lock the doors!” My wife called out. I took another look and saw something familiar. They were wearing Pittsburgh sports gear. One had a Pens shirt on and the other had a Super Bowl XLIII shirt on. Now, it was entirely conceivable that they were fans from another city, however I had to find out for sure. I left the car and approached. I asked if they were from PA and they gave the obligatory answer anyone gives when they are from PA, “Pittsburgh.” Knowing that only a native Pennsylvanian would know that they were not in fact from Pittsburgh proper asked, “And…” That cued them to say, “Butler!” I said “Irwin!” which is what someone from my town would say because no one would know the place I live. We all cheered and they raised their beers high.

The ferry ride back was much quicker. The waves weren’t as choppy and we navigated back with ease. The moonlight caused the end of Hatteras Island to show up as a silhouette against the horizon. I wondered how long it would take for someone to swim to shore if they fell off the boat. As a parent, you start to look at every environment as an enemy and being at the beach for the first time with our daughter made me question every rock and leaf. We didn’t let go of her hands as we walked along the deck towards the sides. Still, I had that thought in my head of what would I do if I or her fell overboard.

You ever get that strong feeling of impulsiveness to do something horrible and completely out of character? It’s almost like a kind of Tourette’s for your brain. It’s the kind that makes you feel compelled to just want to swerve the car off the road and over a cliff. I don’t have any latent suicidal tendencies but I had this very strong urge to just run and dive off the back of the ship to see if I could survive. I could actually envision myself emptying my pockets, slipping off my shoes and socks and making like a salmon off the back of the ferry.

Once we reached Hatteras Island we watched as the Drunk Guys From Butler continued their drive with passengers sitting on the tailgate onto Rte 12. Thankfully, they turned a few streets up the road and we were free to get our asses back to Avon.

We bathed the baby, put her down, and started packing. We had to be out of the house by 10 AM and I wanted to get as much packing and loading done tonight. Around 1 AM, we finished with what we could load now. We kept a few bags out for showering and clothes. My M-I-L and I shared the last of the frozen custard we brought back from Uncle Eddy’s in Buxton. I asked her if she had a good time and she said she did. I asked her if she understood why people did all this work for a week’s worth of beach time and she said, “No.” I laughed and agreed with her. I don’t know why either. I guess it’s the inner Griswold in us all that needs to come out and wreak havoc once in awhile. I was glad she enjoyed herself and she indicated that she would do this again if the opportunity arose. I took that as a sign that she isn’t finished fighting cancer yet, which is good. I just wish cancer was finished fighting with her.

Tomorrow will be another marathon day for this Griswold family as we head for home. For now, I need to get some real sleep. Once last stop down to the pool to dip my feet in and I’m done. Oh, and I better reset the temperature since it was still 85 degrees in there. Oh yeah, the manager never called me back. I guess I will have to bring that up when I check out.