All Over October

I find greatness in this month of ghouls and goblins. Before Halloween concludes the October glory, there are fun, local events that spice up autumn. Jump on board our family's chronological crazy train:

Hallowboo

I had not been to Idlewild Park since the Clinton adminstration. Our country tis of thee has changed mightily since then, but by golly, Storybook Forest is still a lovable wilderness of characters. Our Saturday started with the first ever Hallowboo 5K. I sprinted to the finish to beat a man dressed as a hot dog. I was wearing a Dory winter hat. I was one hot fish. By all Pennsylvania fall standards, this first Saturday of October was a scorcher. We had enough SPF 55 to protect all of Storybook Forest.

Another ecosystem of Idlewild is Jumpin' Jungle. There is nothing like the ball pit, a place where laughter and germs reign. While giggling with my 2-year-old, all I could think about was the innocence of youth and the need for a shower.

My daughter needed to be 36 inches tall to do the monstrous cargo net. She is about 35 inches. When she was denied access due to height, she walked away, head and spirits down. Quivering, she turned to her Mom and Dad and belted out, "But, I'm strong!"  It was a beautiful, heart wrenching, battle cry. My wife was moved to tears. I got the chills. I shared in her disappointment. I really wanted to do that cargo net.

Seconds later, my daughter and I were all smiles, back in the germ pit.

I wanted to be Dad, the hero, and win my daughter a stuffed animal later in the day. I paid to shoot a baskeball. I practiced my form. I made multiple eye contacts with my daughter to make sure she was witnessing greatness. With perfect form, my shot hit the roof. Miraculously, the ball ricocheted directly into the hoop. She won a pink monkey and named him Cherries. Hero Dad. Hero Dad.

Bedford Fall Foliage Festival

There was no need to bundle up for Bedford. The day after Hallowboo, we were on foot and surrounded by foliage and folks. My wife and I have made Bedford's autumn party our Christmas shopping spree. With two kids strapped to us, we  looked more like refugees on this humid Sunday. Carrying an assortment of objects and our children, onlookers probably were perplexed. Does that family need help? Where are they headed?  Why have they come?

Do not be mistaken, it is a pleasant, annual adventure. This was our youngest's first Bedford FFF. She was my wife's weighted vest. Our oldest was my shoulder strength training. Both offspring fell asleep at just the right time- lunch at Jean Bonnet Tavern.

This Lincoln Highway landmark has the unique combo of good grub and goats. Outside the tavern, a group of goats have a cozy little community that overlooks the parking lot. After her nap, my nature loving 2-year-old bonded with one goat in particular, a silly animal who shoved his head through the fence for more intimacy. I got a little nervous. I did not need a goat to get his head stuck. My daughter already got rejected by Jumpin' Jungle height laws. The last thing we need is for her to lock eyes with a suffocating goat.

The goat awkwardly found freedom. I drove home.


Fort Ligonier Days

We back-to-backed festival weekends. My wife and I are all-in when it comes to autumn. I give a lot of credit to the staff, volunteers, vendors, and performers who make these festivals what they are. The Ligonier Days parade is a well-orchestrated odyssey.

Our foursome stood in the sun for close to an hour taking in the parade. My oldest daughter was suprisingly enthralled by Chewbacca. She recognized the Pirate Parrot. She listened to high school bands in a studious, almost expressionless, manner. Escaping the autumn sun, we ate lunch at The Kitchen on Main. We could still watch the parade and go potty. Winner, winner, let's get home by dinner.

After feeling nourished, we took to the streets. Our ice cream loving child made polite pleads for a sweet treat. Mint chocolate chip it was. My daughter and I ate it on a grassy knoll. In September 1758, brave men began building Fort Ligonier. In October 2017, a courageous Dad built a mint chocolate chip memory. George Washington would be proud.

American Red Cross Vampire 5K

In my hometown running career, I have never participated in this blood sucker until this year. It was a diverse turnout. There was a family of Ninja Turtles. Forrest Gump was the race director. There was a man with a hideous baby mask in a baby blue suit. I was a sweaty Dory. In Johnstown, October is the new July.

A sincere thank you to the staff and volunteers who put this race on and to all those in the community who ran or walked. I see some of the same faces at these events and meet new people. It is refreshing to see this cross section of community - young and old, men and women, costumed and not-costumed - exercising and supporting a worthy cause.

I plan on being back next year, maybe not as Dory, but back and out for blood.


ARToberFEST

I can run. I can write. I cannot art. In grade school, art projects were my terror. I did not create art. I created stress trying to do art. Thankfully, I graduated grade school and I am now a functioning artless adult. The Community Arts Center of Cambria County had this event for artists of all ages. I had to work, but my wife described the masterpiece.

My 2-year-old got to Picasso a pumpkin. She also made a flowery piece of art that I cannot decipher. She now uses it is like an umbrella inside the house. It is not a practical practice.  For one, our home has a roof. Secondly, I don't believe the flowers would keep her dry in a rainstorm. Aha, art is for creators and imaginations.

She found time to eat two hot dogs and get an animal painted on her hand. She requested a brown snake, a popular, feminine, seasonal choice. I would have loved to see my daughter holding a hot dog with a brown snaked hand. That's my girl. That's my girl.

Community Fire Prevention Day

Let's end with some educational heat. It has been one hot October. I am thankful for the great weather we had and the great people who put events like this together - and all the events I wrote about above. It is during this time of year that I really love living in this plot of land.

Once again, this is a short story from the perspective of my wife. The fire prevention day was held in the Westwood Plaza parking lot.  Our 2-year-old received candy upon entry. She received "fire truck swag". She met Smokey the Bear and found him to be intimidating. A police officer gave my daughter a whistle. That's a good way to ward off Smokey and drive Dad insane. A "Jaws of Life" demonstration was completed. A helicopter landing was executed.

I'm not exactly sure what my daughter learned on this day or what she will remember about her 2-year-old October, but I know this - there is a lot to do in Johnstown; there is a lot to do in our region; this is a great place to live; this a great place to be a Dad.

Next October, my daughter will be tall enough to climb that cargo net, but I learned from her words - life is not about height, it's about strength.

Each of us can make this community stronger by supporting each other. I'll never be an artist, but Johnstown is my hometown canvas and the picture keeps getting better.

Family Feast

As I have grown up and grown with Johnstown, I have had the good fortune to eat good food courtesy of good people. This past week was a reminder of how a community is connected by the hard work of families who call Johnstown home.

On Thursday night, my wife and I attended a Spangler Subaru event inside the War Memorial - now known as 1st Summit Arena. When I moved back to Johnstown in 2008, I purchased a used, green Subaru Outback. I was a one-man wrecking crew in that family wagon. The hatchback was full of sports equipment, tools I did not know how to use, and camping gear. It smelled like a single man.

That Subaru eventually went to Outback Heaven and I eventually got married and had kids. We have two Outbacks that smell like children. The hatchbacks are full of baby equipment, hiking gear to strap kids into, and tools I do not know how to use are buried under wipes and blankets. I am running the gauntlet of a Spangler Subaru Outback life and enjoying the ride.

Inside the Stars and Stripes Lounge, my wife and I welcomed a night away from the kiddos. It was an opportunity to relax and pretend like we were in the market for a 2018 Subaru Crosstrek. There was live music and food to enjoy. We talked to another couple about adventures in parenting. Promotional videos played. My brand loyalty to Subaru has a lot to do with safety, cargo space and all-wheel drive. It also has a lot to do with the family that drives the local dealership. Before I ever bought an Outback, I was in the same grade school as the owner's kids. Our paths have crossed at golf outings, weddings, and community events. Spangler Subaru supports Stackhouse Park which supports me when I need an outdoor escape after a car ride of craziness.

Two nights later, we drove our nicest Outback (Carlos) to another event and again we did not have our bundles of joy.  Our oldest Outback (Carla) rested on the street. I never named a vehicle until I began dating my future wife. I found it ridiculous to name a car, so I stuck with names as close to "car" as possible. Rest in Peace, Carl.

On this outstanding second date night of the week, we headed to the Johnstown airport to celebrate 75 years of Sunseri Wholesale. Back in the glory days of Carl, I delivered fruit baskets for this family owned and operated business. The best man in my wedding is high up on the food chain at Sunseri's. His father, highest on that chain, counted on me being jolly as I delivered fruit all over the land. I put on my Santa hat and went to work.

Many of us Christmas fruit basket deliverers still joke about delivery moments, like when I drove down Main Street the wrong way. Or when I drove up a snowy, treacherous hill to deliver a basket to whom I presumed to be The Grinch due to the ascent. Somehow, Carl successfully completed the climb and that family got their fruit. All-wheel drive all the way to the top.

This past Saturday night was not focused on fruit basket tales, but on how a one-man business became a family's legacy. Sunseri's is everything that is great about Johnstown. Generations of dedication have kept their wholesale business going and growing. My wife and I shared stories with business owners who count on Sunseri's. The room was full of families who are a part of my food autobiography. I'd love to make a family tree focused on Santo's pizza intake. It would be preposterous. From my parents to my brother to now my family, Santo's sauce is running through our veins. My brother and the owner go to the same church. The pizza is good, but the people are better.

Then, there is Clark's Corner Store. Their candy propelled me through childhood. Their breakfast pizza kicked off my wedding day and my brother's wedding day. The owner's son was my grade school quarterback. He had a great arm for a middle schooler, must have ate a lot of breakfast pizza. Instead of a cake, my wife and I cut into a Clark's gob after we tied the knot. That cornerstore has been a part of some big moments.

And at this 75th anniversary party, when we weren't sharing stories, we ate.  Flair of Country Catering is nowhere close to seven + decades of service, but they are off to one great start. It is a Johnstown success story. An ambitious, talented chef goes big and comes home with it. He doesn't buy a Subaru. He buys a mobile kitchen and launches an event planning, food making, countryside crossing business. Sunseri's started by one man traveling to Chambersburg for peaches 75 years ago. Hard work starts somewhere. Go big. Stay home - your food is awesome.

Finally, I attended Cafe Sunday at Mill House Cafe to put it all in perspective. A lyric from the opening song reads, "Come to the table, whoever is hungry / Eat from the banquet that will satisfy". I am blessed with a great family. If it weren't for my parents and my wife's parents and for friends who are family, date nights wouldn't be possible. Our community is full of small business owners making great food and greater memories. And above all, it is faith that keeps me grounded in gratitude.

Cheers to all those in the community who make Johnstown a great place. Let's keep growing. I'm proud to be a part of this feast.

The United States of Music

As our country tries to understand one man's evil in Las Vegas, I found good in music. It was music that brought people together on that Nevada night. And it is music that often inspires the good in those unwilling to let negativity prevail.

The Saturday before the tragedy at the Jason Aldean concert, I was standing and stretching in familiar territory. It was my 5th consecutive year lacing up for the Conemaugh Que Classic, marketed as our region's premiere autumn 5K. It has become a family tradition to kickoff the fall season. A talented female singer belted our National Anthem to enthuse hundreds of runners, walkers, and strollers. With the countdown clock ticking away, the song "Thunder" by Imagine Dragons fueled the community fire. A fire-breathing dragon of a Dad was ready to run.

Feeling an extra jolt, I crossed the finish line quicker than my two previous runnings of "The Que". It was no time to bask in fatherhood glory - my wife and 2-year-old were on the course. I walked back to reunite with them and to add some mileage to my morning exercise.

Upon returning home, our youngest - a 6-month-old crawling competitor - was her usual, celebratory self. "Thunder" became our family's anthem for the rest of the weekend and into the next week. Thunder, feel the thunder, Lightning and the thunder was our battle cry. The parents didn't really understand the lyrics. Our oldest thought parts of the song were scary. Our youngest may understand the song, but she is unable to talk. We danced recklessly. The 2-year-old started closing her eyes and hypnotically swaying to our family storm. I guess I am the lightning. My wife and daughters are the thunder. What a sensational storm. I could not imagine a life without this trio.

Days later, I did remember the life I once led as a single man. Driving to work on a foggy morning before the sunrise, "American Girl" blared from my radio. Years ago, in a lodge at UPJ, Tom Petty's voice was drowned out by a joyfully inharmonious group. Take it easy baby, make it last all night poured out in pure college chaos. Dreamers danced around the power of Petty. His music will live on, college town to college town, car radio to car radio.

And then on this past Wednesday night, a mountain of a man with a mountain range of a voice brought music to life at Mill House Cafe in Westmont. Bradford Loomis, a bearded, soulful storyteller, was climbing up and down the Northeast, gig-to-gig. The night before he was in Harlem. He is from Seattle. He just moved to Nashville. He wound up in Johnstown. He is the America that I find fascinating - passionate, free, and adventurous. No show is too small. Each message is important.

Surrounded by neighbors and friends, my wife and I followed Bradford's music from rumbling lows to shocking high notes. We learned about his journey, his beard, his family - his story. It was a one-hour show that I'll play back in my head for much, much longer.

If there is a battle going on between good and evil, I believe music plays along side with the good. It inspires runners to run faster; families to dance and enjoy the moments no one else sees; college kids to hold on to their youth; creative artists to tell their story.

In the face of tragedy or obstacle or uncertainty, find someone or something positive. Music just might be a part of that someone or something. It certainly was for me this autumn.

Tom Petty said it best.

"I will stand my ground. And I won't back down."

Me, You and the Zoo

Last Friday, our family made our first adventure to the Pittsburgh Zoo. One of the benefits of living in Johnstown is the range of day-trips a family can take. Our girls welcomed the jungle, especially our oldest ape. Wise like an owl and wild like a stallion, here is how she attacked the zoo in all its autumn glory.

• First day of autumn. Temperature will rise to 87 degrees. Her chameleon cheeks coincide with the rising temperature. By the peak of the heat, her face is fire truck red and her blonde hair is a swarm of sweat. 

• One of her first animal encounters is a face-to-face with a komodo dragon, a prehistoric looking lizard. Beast and child are both poised, separated by glass. Both use their tongues to intimidate. Dad tells child not to put tongue on glass as that is a yucky form of intimidation. 

• Upon the sight of a giraffe, everyone awes over the long-neck creature as he eats lunch. Everyone except her. She is looking directly down at fish in the stream as if giraffes eating grub is a common occurrence in Brownstown. "Look at these fish!", she exclaims. 

• We eat lunch at a cafe where giraffes and zebras are still in our line of vision. She eats a hot dog and animal crackers, a classic zoo meal. 

• Our zoo brigade heads to "The Island", the newest habitat in this ecosystem. An anteater patrols his paradise, presumably looking for ants. Father and daughter are shocked by the size of the anteater. Dad wants to take him home and suck up everything our family doesn't need. And of course, any ant home invaders. 

• Exiting "The Island", she is bound to crash. Bursting sun and emotions = drowsy. Gram offers ice cream. She is awake. She wants sprinkles. 

• She gets her sprinkled ice cream. Gram gets ice cream too. Gram does not get sprinkles. Our daughter is distraught over Gram not getting sprinkles. She questions the decision and states, "That makes me sad."

• The aquarium offers refuge from the heat. Swimming penguins delight her. She eventually has a conversation with a fish. "Sorry, I can't come swim with you. I don't have my swimsuit."

• Post-aquatic life, Dad and daughter climb a cargo net, a mildy dangerous exercise. We successfully complete the climb. Slides are the transportation back to our pride. They do not have a lot of zip to them. Zoo folks watch a 33-year-old man awkwardly descend. 

• In the playground, she wants to play "kitchen". She chooses a play area directly in the midday sun. While everyone rests and Mom feeds our smallest cub, Dad is at his daughter's uncomfortable restaurant. 

• After my imaginary meal, Dad and daughter do a monkey-inspired rope ascent. Once again, this leads to a slide, granting passage back to the mainland. After multiple up and downs, daughter complains of a burning butt. No one forced you to do this. 

• A cool mist is shooting out of a wall. The zookeepers must have seen our daughter's cheeks on the surveillance cameras. She runs through the mist as if it is the greatest thing that has ever happened in human history. Minutes later, she collides with a boy of her age. They both topple to the ground. It is now the worst thing that has ever happened in human history.

• I watch sea lions gracefully swim as my daughter tries to get it together. Her mother conducts a series of concussion tests. She is able to return to the zoo. 

• On the way out, we view a lynx. She is perplexed by this cat. Without a nap, threatening heat exhaustion, and surviving the "massacre at the mist", everything has become befuddling. 

• She sleeps in the car. Joy to the world. 

• When asked what her favorite animal was at the zoo, she declares, "the squids".

• There were no squids at the zoo.

• I love that girl.  

Indivisible

In the summer of 2009, my cousin - Cousin Steve - made a miraculous chip on the 18th hole to win a two-team scramble. The CSI - Cousin Steve Invitational - was born.

As summer turns to autumn, the CSI has become an annual and absurd event. Somewhere along the way, I initiated the Pledge of Allegiance into the pre-golf festivities. Mediocre to horrendous golfers gathered around and repeated after me. The tournament has grown and the outfits have gotten worse. If you drove by Royal Berkshire this past Saturday, you may have seen a catastrophic collection of colors and a Happy Gilmore group, hard hat and all.

When that first CSI was played, I was a single man and an inconsistent golfer. In my 9th attempt to declare victory in the monster I essentially created, I was a father of two and inconsistent as ever. I put on my Daffy Duck cap and let the good times and balls roll. Many family and friends have their name etched on the CSI trophy, the Lord Stanley of our silly, silly tradition. When I turned our scorecard in on Saturday, I knew that there was always next year.

Friends travel across state lines to play in the CSI. We've had golfers who are fresh out of high school and golfers who have been voting for six decades. Men and women, young and old, Johnstown dwellers and those who once dwelled here...swinging and celebrating, exactly what, I am not sure.

After the golf, my wife and I headed home. Our celebration, two crafty daughters, was awaiting. Looking back on what the CSI has become and what it was this weekend, I reflect back on the Pledge. There were no cameras to capture our declaration. Just a bunch of family and friends, saying something together. That togetherness, the silliest of togetherness, means something and in my mind, is worth doing as long as CSI endures.

And then on Sunday, and presumably every Sunday this fall, another kind of pledge - an anthem - was the story. I chose not to dive too deep in - about what others are doing or not doing. I thought about what I am trying and hoping to do.

My wife and I are going crazy trying to raise two kids, doing our best at our jobs, maintaining some type of healthy living, and sparing some time for each other. In good times and in bad.  Indivisible.

Believing that overcoming a drug epidemic, locally and nationally, is not a hopeless, isolated fight but a hopeful, community pursuit. Indivisible.

Holding on to faith no matter how many hurdles and hoops there seem to be, no matter how much self-doubt comes with it. Believing in something greater. Indivisible.

In my mind, the "justice for all" part of the Pledge starts with individual choice. I chose to wear a Daffy Duck hat while I golfed on Saturday. Freedom of expression, in all forms, is something to be grateful for. It's more about accepting than agreeing. If Cousin Steve chooses to sit, he sits. The show (CSI, Life) must go on.

Find gratitude in freedom. Love your neighbor.  And if you do, that love will speak for itself.

Trailblazers

While the second Saturday of September is still officially summer, it sure felt like autumn at the starting line for the Jim Mayer Trail Family Fun Run. No matter the season, Johnstown is a great place to discover outdoor recreation.

The Jim Mayer Trail stretches from Riverside to Bridge Street with this event beginning and ending at the Riverside trailhead. This morning race served as the final leg in the 2017 Cambria County Trail Series. This initiative highlighted our local trail system and gave community members an opportunity to compete on historic paths. On this morning, a gallery of ducks welcomed runners to the registration table.

I had never set foot on the Jim Mayer Trail before, so it was new terrain and a new experience. The pre-autumn chill quickly evaporated once we were a-running.  The trail is flat and overlooks the home of the ducks, the Stoneycreek River. I really enjoyed the out-and-back race. I enjoyed the out more, but kept my legs pumping for the back.

While exercise is my primary motivation to get out and running, the community camaraderie is a close second. There were familiar, friendly faces on the trail or volunteering to make it all possible. There were low-fives during the race and handshakes during the awards presentation. I didn't take home any hardware, but I am grateful for the hard work of those race day volunteers.

Over the past decade, I have been steadfast in being a part of race days like this one. Races are often a fusion of fellowship and a community making things happen and taking positive action. My speed might not be as quick as it once was, but my passion for contributing to community is picking up the pace.

Later in the day, my youngest and I took a stroll through Stackhouse Park. When we entered the park, it was like trying to hold a hummingbird. When we exited, she was a snoring, snuggle bug. By mid-afternoon, the summer sun was making a resurgence.

When the fall season truly begins, Johnstown trails will be an ongoing topic of conversation and restoration. On September 28th @ 6:00 p.m., Stone Bridge Brewing Company will be the site of a fundraiser to raise money and awareness for a trails project on the hillside of the Inclined Plane. Back in my childhood, I remember taking my dog down some of that slope. As of today, the trail system needs work and there is a team of community members with a plan of attack. Anyone interested in this project should stop down and learn about the plan and the people behind it.

A Scripture verse this Sunday read, "Your word is a lamp to my feet, a lamp to my feet, and a light for my path."  I've always gravitated to the analogy of life as a journey and being out in nature, out on trails, certainly gives me time to pause and think about all the good that is out there. And while in that pause, my feet keep following the trail.

I look forward to the next race, the next wilderness walk with my snuggle bug, and to learning more about the Inclined Plane project.

Together, let's lead Johnstown in the right direction. From what I've seen and heard recently, we are well on our way.

The Ethnic in Everyone

I have an English and Polish ancestry and a beard many believe to be Irish. The Cambria City Ethnic Festival is about history, music, food, and the families that scatter through the streets. My wife's grandmother likes to sit on her Cambria City porch and watch the scattering people as singing birds swoop in and out of her backyard. This year's Ethnic Fest had a bit of a chill, but with the same community warmth.

Ethnic Fest food prepares me for the autumn running season. Translation: I am motivated to run after the 3-day-carbohydrate marathon that is Ethnic Fest. The lamb sandwich at Ace's has been a Johnstown tradition for as long as I can remember. It is the one and only time each year I seek out a sandwich comprised of lamb. It is humongous.

While the lamb sandwich is in accordance with tradition, there were new people to meet and food to fancy at this year's event. A West Virginian vendor reeled me in with a sample of fudge. With my youngest strapped to my chest, I tried a chocolate-mint bite of almost heaven. With a heavy accent and a WVU cap, this guy gave us a quick lesson on the art of his craft. About a half hour later, I bought a box of the chocolate-mint. Go Mountaineers.

On Sunday, my wife and I headed to Cambria City for one last hurrah. A food truck vendor spotted us and believed we might be satisfied by a Gypsy Taco. Gypsies, roaming folks, date back centuries and history tells us they have traveled many different parts of the globe. The Grumbling Gypsy is a food truck that originated in Somerset in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. The Gypsy Taco made for a great lunch. As we ate, the sun tried to squeeze between the clouds. Rain certainly impacted the 2017 Ethnic Fest, but there is no crying at Ethnic Fest.

Other highlights this year included... My 2-year-old got her face painted in the form of Minnie Mouse on Saturday. Minnie, a beloved American rodent, has captured the hearts and minds of young and old. As the paint gradually slid and smeared, my daughter looked less like Minnie and more like monster. Streaking black and red paint reminded me of Braveheart.  What would a 2-year-old do without freedom?

That same daughter and I danced to a band's cover of Easy outside of Bottleworks. On Friday night, we spun around singing about Sunday morning. Released by The Commodores 40 years ago, the Motown chart topper puts it all in perspective. Parenting is hard. Loving those little ones is easy and easily the best investment I've ever made.

To the volunteers and vendors, thank you. Our family, in some way shape or form, took on those Ethnic Fest streets Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. That grandma sat out on her back porch, probably thinking about times gone by while squeezing the grand kids that are growing up so fast.

Next September, both my kids will be on their feet ready to walk, or run, through Cambria City.