Christmas is often described as a busy time. Society and those of us living in it have made it busy. As a holiday, a season, and a schedule - Christmas is not simple. But, I argue, it should be. It can be. It once was. Categorically, this is the simplest way to review how my family has survived the countdown.
MIRACLE
My wife and I participated in "The Jesus Prayer", an educational and devotional night at Our Mother of Sorrows church. I enjoyed it immensely. I embraced silent reflection and prayer.
MAYHEM
Directly after "The Jesus Prayer", we picked up our children from my parents' home. I embraced noise and resistance. My oldest daughter has a no socks or shoes policy in the Subaru. It is a misguided policy for all seasons.
MUSIC
During a cleanup of the basement, a Christmas tradition, I stumbled upon my old CD collection. My oldest daughter enjoyed jamming the disks into the Bose and hearing the songs of my yesteryear. Crazy Train was a hit and highly appropriate.
MAYHEM
My mother-in-law has a key to my home. She entered recently to drop off groceries. We were not there. When she saw the kitchen floor, she suspected foul play, possibly a home invasion. Plates and refrigerator magnets were scattered everywhere. She was seconds away from calling 9-1-1 to report a burglary. She called her daughter instead. Her daughter reported that the vandal was our 2-year-old.
MUSIC
Greg and Rebecca Sparks, Pittsburgh residents with a Johnstown connection, were the main act in the Finding Christmas concert. Held in the Our Mother of Sorrows concert hall /gym /lunchroom, my wife and I once again had a few hours of togetherness without our bundles of joy. There was some reflecting and a lot of rocking out to Christmas-inspired tunes. Forever Endeavor, a talented ensemble of local musicians, led the charge and set the stage for the Sparks. It was an inspiring night of music. The Sparks finished with a sing-a-long spectacular that almost brought down the beams in the concert hall /gym /lunchroom / picture day photography studio / church hall for coffee and doughnuts.
Thank you, to all the musicians. It was one more memory in a building that has housed so many memories in my childhood /adulthood /fatherhood.
MIRACLE
On the Sunday before Christmas Eve, our family of four went to 11 o'clock mass. As the lone male representative and driver, I devised a nap time strategy. Leaving church, I instructed my wife and youngest daughter to seek shelter at home. I was going to drive until the oldest daughter fell asleep. My wife listened and I dropped her off. My youngest daughter was too young and innocent to disagree with my demands. My oldest daughter was not given a clear message in regard to this plan. I used parental trickery.
With half of our team unloaded from the car, I fielded questions from my Subaru Scholar. She fell asleep before we got to Richland.
MAYHEM
As I drove aimlessly, I stumbled upon an aim. On a Sunday, December afternoon, I was seated in an empty theater, ill-prepared for a May rainstorm. I did not think the Lake View Visitor Center, a part of the Johnstown Flood National Memorial, would be opened. It sure was. A wonderful, elderly woman told me the next movie started in five minutes.
I ran to the car, grabbed my snoozing child, and took my seat. The rain drops began to echo around me. No other conscious being was in the theater. My immediate Dad thought was a theater would be dark and there would be somewhere to sit. I did not think about the movie title, "Black Friday" and the 30-minutes of devastation I was about to put my counting sheep daughter through.
The movie is intense. It starts and ends in a graveyard. It was much more Halloween than Christmas. There were loud booms, cries for help, crashing trees, and one silent, silly Dad.
MIRACLE
She slept for the entire movie. She never moved. It was amazing. I was a little sweaty when the credits rolled. One, from the 30+ pounds I wore as a vest during the film. Two, from the flood and the thought of my 2-year-old waking up to a horrific Mother Nature.
MIRACLE
When she awoke from her nap, she was excited to be in a museum. I did not have to explain much. She immediately scanned the room and found buttons to push. She survived the flood and was ready to explore. On our drive home, we went through the town of St. Michael's. I saw firetrucks coming toward me - more lights and more sounds. My immediate thought was another tragedy.
But, the trucks were going really slow. And, by golly, there was a man waving from the firetruck rooftop. And, Jiminy Christmas, that man is Santa!?!?
I will share this moment with my daughter for all my days. My daughter and I were in shock and awe. I turned the Subaru around, following that firetruck like a bloodhound. I pulled into the fire station, scooped my elf, and ran toward Santa. As the jolly, fat man was making his way into the station, he heard the footsteps of a running father.
Once we got face-to-face with Santa, neither Dad nor daughter knew what to do. She just kept saying, "THIS IS CRAZY!" She initially did not ask Santa for anything. She just wanted to know why he was on a firetruck and not a sleigh. It was a beautiful, Christmas moment.
Santa told her that she was a good girl and that he would be coming soon. He gave her a Reese's peanut butter cup. Again, more Halloween than Christmas, but she wasn't turning down chocolate.
MAYHEM
Our Dad-daughter day ended with a Sheetz hot dog and that peanut butter cup. I let her sit shotgun in a parked vehicle to enjoy the dog and chocolate. We did a "cheers" to our adventure. I with a Squirt. She with a Little Mermaid juice. She ate the whole dog and wished to give the bun "to the birds". She ate the peanut butter cup, leaving nothing for the birds. It was a lovely lunch.
And then she refused to get back in her car seat. There I was, in a crowded Sheetz parking lot, attempting to lasso a chocolate-faced lunatic. It is the most wonderful time of the year.
I hope this Christmas brings you a lot of miracles. I hope music inspires and you can survive the mayhem.
To put it simply - celebrate with the ones you love.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Monday, December 11, 2017
Alive and Swell
Our family of four is adventuring through Advent. There is a certain chaos to the Christmas season, especially when you have one rebellious elf (oldest child, 2, rebelling her way to 3 )and gingerbread daughter (youngest, 9 months, jolly). This past December weekend was a gauntlet of tidings and joy, tired parents and jibber jabber. Hop on the sleigh, and maintain your sanity.
Mastering Mass
No matter the time or the church, mass with young children becomes a public showcase of parental skills. You have to react to impulsive, unpredictable decisions. Last weekend, my two-year-old treated a baptism like a press conference. From her reporting seat, she exclaimed, "What is he doing!?!", referring to the priest and the holy sacrament. The priest turned and answered my daughter, via microphone, respecting her curiosity and the velocity of her voice.
This weekend we attended the 4 o'clock mass at Our Mother of Sorrows. We brought my mother as a reinforcement. We sat in one row, but occupied space in the row behind us and in front of us with an arsenal of clothing, gear, toys, bags, and a car seat. My oldest daughter brought sunglasses into God's house, anticipating a miracle of radiance no one else could envision. She identifies the kneelers as balance beams. They are not for prayer. They are for performance.
After communion, I held on to my gingerbread daughter, who has not learned how to walk, but enjoyed climbing the stone wall and smiling at those who walked by. She looked toward the rafters, silently communicating that she was interested in making it to the top. Meanwhile, the elf was trying to squeeze her powerful body in between my arched back and the pew. She offered no reason why nor do I believe she had a true purpose.
When mass ended, we found the nearest potty. I was face-to-face with the eldest, sitting on her throne. She asked, "What do you want to talk about?" No baptism or bathroom is without a question.
Living the Nativity
The Conemaugh Township Ministries hosted a Live Nativity at Greenhouse Park on Saturday. Directly after that potty chat, I led the brigade to Bethlehem. As young parents, ambition carries you to a Live Nativity. Then, you carry your offspring and question your ambition. It is a beautifully, complex game of cat and mouse.
Bringing the Nativity to life takes a lot of work and dedication. This is immediately visible upon entering the Bethlehem they have created. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. When I realized this ancient town had a tour guide, red flags shot out of my skull. Our party needed an accelerated tour. It was cold and our children were confused by what was going on.
When a six-year-old identified himself as a shepherd, our two-year-old had a mind blow. She kept calling out to him, "Shepherd." "Shepherd." "SHEPHERD!" "Excuse me, SHEPHERD!" This kid was an actor. He didn't break character and was not at all flustered by her hysteria. When we got to Baby Jesus, her mind went from The Bible to Old MacDonald. She saw the animals and it was immediately, E-I-E-I-O. When she broke out in song, the crowd chuckled. And on his farm, there was a manger.
At this point, my shoulders could not take much more; my elf was on my shelf for all of Bethlehem. Thank you, Conemaugh Township Ministries. We were in. We were out. It was great.
Dancing Dinner
The Crow's Nest is less than a mile from Greenhouse Park, and couldn't you imagine Bethlehem having a restaurant called The Crow's Nest?
I made a reservation before noon on Saturday. I did not request to be seated directly beside a 2-year-old's birthday party, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
When in Bethlehem. Or Rome. Or Johnstown. Just feed us.
Our girls were well behaved and "sitting still" is a silly expectation I no longer even think about. A parent must learn how to enjoy a meal. It will never be the same enjoyment. Upon creating life, I had to recreate my vision of "enjoy your meal". When a waiter or waitress says that to me, I wonder if they understand the complexity of those three words.
After feeding my face and protecting my flock, my two-year-old was awarded a birthday party balloon. I'm not exactly sure how this occurred, but the balloon made it into the car. And at one point, while driving, it hit my head. And shortly after, my window rolled down, and the balloon went up, up, up into the sky, headed toward the moon. I'm not exactly sure how.
But I did it.
Counting Sheep
After church, after Bethlehem, after dinner, and after the balloon to the moon, we came home. Days start and end, come and go. Our girls are growing. My wife and I are trying. It is a team effort.
I love my team. I love my town. Be a shepherd to something good.
Mastering Mass
No matter the time or the church, mass with young children becomes a public showcase of parental skills. You have to react to impulsive, unpredictable decisions. Last weekend, my two-year-old treated a baptism like a press conference. From her reporting seat, she exclaimed, "What is he doing!?!", referring to the priest and the holy sacrament. The priest turned and answered my daughter, via microphone, respecting her curiosity and the velocity of her voice.
This weekend we attended the 4 o'clock mass at Our Mother of Sorrows. We brought my mother as a reinforcement. We sat in one row, but occupied space in the row behind us and in front of us with an arsenal of clothing, gear, toys, bags, and a car seat. My oldest daughter brought sunglasses into God's house, anticipating a miracle of radiance no one else could envision. She identifies the kneelers as balance beams. They are not for prayer. They are for performance.
After communion, I held on to my gingerbread daughter, who has not learned how to walk, but enjoyed climbing the stone wall and smiling at those who walked by. She looked toward the rafters, silently communicating that she was interested in making it to the top. Meanwhile, the elf was trying to squeeze her powerful body in between my arched back and the pew. She offered no reason why nor do I believe she had a true purpose.
When mass ended, we found the nearest potty. I was face-to-face with the eldest, sitting on her throne. She asked, "What do you want to talk about?" No baptism or bathroom is without a question.
Living the Nativity
The Conemaugh Township Ministries hosted a Live Nativity at Greenhouse Park on Saturday. Directly after that potty chat, I led the brigade to Bethlehem. As young parents, ambition carries you to a Live Nativity. Then, you carry your offspring and question your ambition. It is a beautifully, complex game of cat and mouse.
Bringing the Nativity to life takes a lot of work and dedication. This is immediately visible upon entering the Bethlehem they have created. I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. When I realized this ancient town had a tour guide, red flags shot out of my skull. Our party needed an accelerated tour. It was cold and our children were confused by what was going on.
When a six-year-old identified himself as a shepherd, our two-year-old had a mind blow. She kept calling out to him, "Shepherd." "Shepherd." "SHEPHERD!" "Excuse me, SHEPHERD!" This kid was an actor. He didn't break character and was not at all flustered by her hysteria. When we got to Baby Jesus, her mind went from The Bible to Old MacDonald. She saw the animals and it was immediately, E-I-E-I-O. When she broke out in song, the crowd chuckled. And on his farm, there was a manger.
At this point, my shoulders could not take much more; my elf was on my shelf for all of Bethlehem. Thank you, Conemaugh Township Ministries. We were in. We were out. It was great.
Dancing Dinner
The Crow's Nest is less than a mile from Greenhouse Park, and couldn't you imagine Bethlehem having a restaurant called The Crow's Nest?
I made a reservation before noon on Saturday. I did not request to be seated directly beside a 2-year-old's birthday party, but the Lord works in mysterious ways.
When in Bethlehem. Or Rome. Or Johnstown. Just feed us.
Our girls were well behaved and "sitting still" is a silly expectation I no longer even think about. A parent must learn how to enjoy a meal. It will never be the same enjoyment. Upon creating life, I had to recreate my vision of "enjoy your meal". When a waiter or waitress says that to me, I wonder if they understand the complexity of those three words.
After feeding my face and protecting my flock, my two-year-old was awarded a birthday party balloon. I'm not exactly sure how this occurred, but the balloon made it into the car. And at one point, while driving, it hit my head. And shortly after, my window rolled down, and the balloon went up, up, up into the sky, headed toward the moon. I'm not exactly sure how.
But I did it.
Counting Sheep
After church, after Bethlehem, after dinner, and after the balloon to the moon, we came home. Days start and end, come and go. Our girls are growing. My wife and I are trying. It is a team effort.
I love my team. I love my town. Be a shepherd to something good.
Sunday, December 3, 2017
Dad Exercise: Holiday Season
In the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I feel obligated to take advantage of sunlight and whatever warmth is available. With no sign of snow, it is time to go, go, go...
Stroller Dad - Forest
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I led an adventure team into Stackhouse Park. One of the best investments my wife and I ever made was purchasing a dynamic and seemingly indestructible stroller. Our team was comprised of my youngest daughter, riding in the dream stroller pushed by yours truly; her mother, traveling by foot; mother's maid of honor, the maid of honor's sister, and the maid of honor's father - each of whom marched with a leashed canine. It was a sight to behold. Our eldest daughter did not behold this spectacle. She was in the cozy confines of my parents', fully invested in a nap.
We weaved through the park and each other. Dogs and Dads crisscrossed. My daughter was fascinated by the frolicking. I had to focus on obstacles - loose rocks, intersecting leashes, chatting women in our party, water hazards, and mud. We conquered 2 to 3 miles of terrain. My daughter was asleep by the end and I was ready for a nap.
Stroller Dad - Residential
The thermometer reached 50+ degrees on the final Tuesday of November. Venturing from my parents' abode in Westmont, my youngest and I were once again stroller partners. The wife and wisest child were to meet us at the newly renovated Engh Field. 50+ Johnstown dwellers took advantage of a new playground and unseasonable sun.
While the walk was a workout, my Engh playground experience was a combo of cardio and strength training. My 2-year-old burst out of the Subaru and hit the ground running. When supervising your daughter at a playground, there is a mine field.to navigate - reckless boys, less than savvy swingers, the dreaded wet slide, and a multitude of hot spots for falling. I did a lot of pivoting and spotting. At one point, I was at the jungle gym's summit, pleading with my daughter to make a decision. A boy was about to trample me or push me down the ladder. He looked bewildered. He said nothing, but his eyes said, "What is the grown man doing this far up?"
My daughter eventually got herself out of that precarious position. I can't remember how, but we found safe harbor. Engh Field is a great new playground. If December Dads are lucky, we will be back at Engh and we will go home without any injuries.
Yoga Dad
Yoga is a humbling, ancient practice. My experience is limited, but every now and then, I yoga. Riek's Country Store in Brownstown transforms into a Saturday morning sanctuary for the exercise. For the first session of December, I accompanied my wife to begin the weekend. What was great about this yoga experience was my Dad Island, an isolated spot for me to be my best yoga-self. While a room full of women prepared for the class, I laid on my mat in the country store's kitchen. I was invisible to the instructor and everyone else. I had to rely solely on my ears and follow instruction. And at times, I followed my heart, and just laid there. Perfectly content on Dad Island, surrounded by kitchen aromas.
When I got home, I ate pancakes.
Running Dad
On Sunday, our family went to Sunnehanna Country Club for a holiday brunch. It was a food and family gauntlet. Surrounded by children, I carbo loaded. Taking full advantage of brunch is a parental obligation. Leave no Eggs Benedict behind. By the time Santa arrived, I was ready to curl up and dream of dancing sugar plums, even though I have no idea what a dancing sugar plum would look like or what that even is.
My oldest daughter and I napped hard when we got home. Just like her when she got to Engh Field, I took off running after my nap. I entered Stackhouse, tore through Crystal Trail, and dashed into Westmont like Dasher. Passing the Inclined Plane, I counted my blessings and how many plates I had for brunch. Descending into Brownstown, I was ready to get back to my girls.
I reentered the home, took a shower, and watched Little Mermaid for my cool down.
As Christmas draws near, find happiness and humor in the little things. Be good to your family and I hope Mother Nature continues to be good to us.
Let it sun. Let it sun. Let it sun.
Stroller Dad - Forest
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, I led an adventure team into Stackhouse Park. One of the best investments my wife and I ever made was purchasing a dynamic and seemingly indestructible stroller. Our team was comprised of my youngest daughter, riding in the dream stroller pushed by yours truly; her mother, traveling by foot; mother's maid of honor, the maid of honor's sister, and the maid of honor's father - each of whom marched with a leashed canine. It was a sight to behold. Our eldest daughter did not behold this spectacle. She was in the cozy confines of my parents', fully invested in a nap.
We weaved through the park and each other. Dogs and Dads crisscrossed. My daughter was fascinated by the frolicking. I had to focus on obstacles - loose rocks, intersecting leashes, chatting women in our party, water hazards, and mud. We conquered 2 to 3 miles of terrain. My daughter was asleep by the end and I was ready for a nap.
Stroller Dad - Residential
The thermometer reached 50+ degrees on the final Tuesday of November. Venturing from my parents' abode in Westmont, my youngest and I were once again stroller partners. The wife and wisest child were to meet us at the newly renovated Engh Field. 50+ Johnstown dwellers took advantage of a new playground and unseasonable sun.
While the walk was a workout, my Engh playground experience was a combo of cardio and strength training. My 2-year-old burst out of the Subaru and hit the ground running. When supervising your daughter at a playground, there is a mine field.to navigate - reckless boys, less than savvy swingers, the dreaded wet slide, and a multitude of hot spots for falling. I did a lot of pivoting and spotting. At one point, I was at the jungle gym's summit, pleading with my daughter to make a decision. A boy was about to trample me or push me down the ladder. He looked bewildered. He said nothing, but his eyes said, "What is the grown man doing this far up?"
My daughter eventually got herself out of that precarious position. I can't remember how, but we found safe harbor. Engh Field is a great new playground. If December Dads are lucky, we will be back at Engh and we will go home without any injuries.
Yoga Dad
Yoga is a humbling, ancient practice. My experience is limited, but every now and then, I yoga. Riek's Country Store in Brownstown transforms into a Saturday morning sanctuary for the exercise. For the first session of December, I accompanied my wife to begin the weekend. What was great about this yoga experience was my Dad Island, an isolated spot for me to be my best yoga-self. While a room full of women prepared for the class, I laid on my mat in the country store's kitchen. I was invisible to the instructor and everyone else. I had to rely solely on my ears and follow instruction. And at times, I followed my heart, and just laid there. Perfectly content on Dad Island, surrounded by kitchen aromas.
When I got home, I ate pancakes.
Running Dad
On Sunday, our family went to Sunnehanna Country Club for a holiday brunch. It was a food and family gauntlet. Surrounded by children, I carbo loaded. Taking full advantage of brunch is a parental obligation. Leave no Eggs Benedict behind. By the time Santa arrived, I was ready to curl up and dream of dancing sugar plums, even though I have no idea what a dancing sugar plum would look like or what that even is.
My oldest daughter and I napped hard when we got home. Just like her when she got to Engh Field, I took off running after my nap. I entered Stackhouse, tore through Crystal Trail, and dashed into Westmont like Dasher. Passing the Inclined Plane, I counted my blessings and how many plates I had for brunch. Descending into Brownstown, I was ready to get back to my girls.
I reentered the home, took a shower, and watched Little Mermaid for my cool down.
As Christmas draws near, find happiness and humor in the little things. Be good to your family and I hope Mother Nature continues to be good to us.
Let it sun. Let it sun. Let it sun.
Monday, November 20, 2017
To the Top this Thanksgiving
This past Friday marked my 12th race of the calendar year. Downtown Johnstown's Santa Run served as my grand finale of 2017. My oldest daughter, a soon to be 3-year-old standout, has evolved into a seasoned vet when it comes to racing. She was my partner-in-time for five races this year, including this 2-mile scoot for Santa.
I am thankful for the moments I've shared with her on race day. As a proud Stroller Dad, I push her and she pushes me. While on the move, she sometimes inquires about pending treats or delivers a news story from earlier in the week. She occasionally belts out a "Go Dad!" She is often stoic. She never complains and never asks to stop. She is my thrill ride.
When we got to the finish line on Friday, she was delighted by the candy cane and medal. The Christmas Parade and Light Up Night was about to begin. We weaved our way through the big crowd in search of Mom, Baby Sis, family, and friends. Downtown was full - of people, of spirit, and of purpose. It was a brisk and beautiful night.
On Saturday morning, it rained. It rained hard. The beauty of Friday turned into a beast of a Saturday. Welcome to Johnstown. I signed up to volunteer for the restoration of an Inclined Plane trail earlier in the week. I left the woman and children and headed for the great outdoors. Leave no trail behind.
The project's leader was now my partner-in-mud. It was just me, him, and slop. For one water-logged hour, we got after it. A trench was dug. Rocks were hurled. Water gushed out of our freshly laid drainage pipe. Watching the water shoot out, I thought about the day when my daughters and I will hike this trail to the top - the whole way to the top.
On Sunday, spiritual messages centered on growth - personal and communal. If you stepped foot downtown on Friday night or on that Inclined Plane trail after the Saturday mudslide, you would have observed growth. You would have been a part of development. I heard the words "vibrant", "awesome", "alive" and "joy" to describe Friday. I can tell you Saturday was painfully awesome and my boots are still wet. Two drastically different events with one striking similarity - community members are coming together.
Enjoy your turkey. Enjoy our town. See you at the top.
On Saturday morning, it rained. It rained hard. The beauty of Friday turned into a beast of a Saturday. Welcome to Johnstown. I signed up to volunteer for the restoration of an Inclined Plane trail earlier in the week. I left the woman and children and headed for the great outdoors. Leave no trail behind.
The project's leader was now my partner-in-mud. It was just me, him, and slop. For one water-logged hour, we got after it. A trench was dug. Rocks were hurled. Water gushed out of our freshly laid drainage pipe. Watching the water shoot out, I thought about the day when my daughters and I will hike this trail to the top - the whole way to the top.
On Sunday, spiritual messages centered on growth - personal and communal. If you stepped foot downtown on Friday night or on that Inclined Plane trail after the Saturday mudslide, you would have observed growth. You would have been a part of development. I heard the words "vibrant", "awesome", "alive" and "joy" to describe Friday. I can tell you Saturday was painfully awesome and my boots are still wet. Two drastically different events with one striking similarity - community members are coming together.
Enjoy your turkey. Enjoy our town. See you at the top.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Johnstown: The Positive Moment
"Make it your aim to do what is right"
This Old Testament quote is what gives me a sense of direction on this Sunday night. Words, especially this week in Johnstown, are too often used as a weapon. Since I started this blog roughly a year ago, my aim was to tell positive stories; to capture worthwhile moments in and around Johnstown.
That aim was initiated by faith and inspired by family. The stories would be told from experience. I would not have to make anything up. I would resist the temptation to criticize or complain. I would strike hard with humor. I would be optimistic because that is my nature - to live with a grateful edge.
The delusion would be the idea that nothing is wrong. Journalism has become so absorbed by conflict, scandal, and gloom that telling exclusively positive stories is somewhat outrageous as outrage is everywhere. From a very childish standpoint, I wanted to share good and I still do. I don't tell my daughter to "walk over to the neighbor's house and tell her everything bad about today". Social media sharing sometimes feels like that except your neighbor is everyone with Internet access.
So, if you are reading this, you are an Internetter. Warning - this is going to stay positive. I'm not going to pull a switcharoo because some other storyteller made a big splash in the pool. I was Dory for Halloween. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
Just keep positive blogging. Just keep positive blogging.
I'm going to stay the course. I am going to try to outrace Negative Nancy and all her buddies. And when I cross the finish line, I am going to try to recruit Negative Nancy. She is my neighbor and she can evolve into Positive Nancy. It might take a lot of work and it should. Change is hard and it takes time.
In what felt like a chaotic week for me, I found some inner peace this Sunday. "Make it your aim to do what is right" was my trumpet blast. This quote was a part of Cafe Sunday at Mill House Cafe. Friends and neighbors gathered to honor Jesus, a man who never had Twitter, but had a handle on everything. After that experience, our family went to the 11:00 A.M. mass at Our Mother of Sorrows.
My youngest daughter served as a cyclone in my hands. It was a bouncy Dad-daughter mass battle. When she fell asleep during the closing hymn, I declared victory. My wife was holding the heavier sack of potatoes and joyfully bobbing up and down. And then the moment happened.
When the choir - an energized, soulful, inspiring choir - finished the song, a round of applause rang out. A church - a community - clapped in appreciation. It was as if the daughter I was clutching was struck by lightning. She popped up from my drool shoulder, startled by the noise. I could only smile.
How she fell asleep during that last hymn is beyond me, but that applause got her attention. It caught her by surprise. She quickly went from startled to peaceful once more, but her reaction made me stop and think. I'd like to think she was comforted by the applause. Maybe, she thought the parishioners were cheering for her. In a weird way, I think they were.
No matter where you live, cheer for those who are doing it right. Take time to share positive thoughts and stories. Allow your shoulder to provide some comfort. I know one day I'll wish I had the drool shoulder days back.
Sleep well, Johnstown. Don't be scared by the noise. Drown them out with applause.
This Old Testament quote is what gives me a sense of direction on this Sunday night. Words, especially this week in Johnstown, are too often used as a weapon. Since I started this blog roughly a year ago, my aim was to tell positive stories; to capture worthwhile moments in and around Johnstown.
That aim was initiated by faith and inspired by family. The stories would be told from experience. I would not have to make anything up. I would resist the temptation to criticize or complain. I would strike hard with humor. I would be optimistic because that is my nature - to live with a grateful edge.
The delusion would be the idea that nothing is wrong. Journalism has become so absorbed by conflict, scandal, and gloom that telling exclusively positive stories is somewhat outrageous as outrage is everywhere. From a very childish standpoint, I wanted to share good and I still do. I don't tell my daughter to "walk over to the neighbor's house and tell her everything bad about today". Social media sharing sometimes feels like that except your neighbor is everyone with Internet access.
So, if you are reading this, you are an Internetter. Warning - this is going to stay positive. I'm not going to pull a switcharoo because some other storyteller made a big splash in the pool. I was Dory for Halloween. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
Just keep positive blogging. Just keep positive blogging.
I'm going to stay the course. I am going to try to outrace Negative Nancy and all her buddies. And when I cross the finish line, I am going to try to recruit Negative Nancy. She is my neighbor and she can evolve into Positive Nancy. It might take a lot of work and it should. Change is hard and it takes time.
In what felt like a chaotic week for me, I found some inner peace this Sunday. "Make it your aim to do what is right" was my trumpet blast. This quote was a part of Cafe Sunday at Mill House Cafe. Friends and neighbors gathered to honor Jesus, a man who never had Twitter, but had a handle on everything. After that experience, our family went to the 11:00 A.M. mass at Our Mother of Sorrows.
My youngest daughter served as a cyclone in my hands. It was a bouncy Dad-daughter mass battle. When she fell asleep during the closing hymn, I declared victory. My wife was holding the heavier sack of potatoes and joyfully bobbing up and down. And then the moment happened.
When the choir - an energized, soulful, inspiring choir - finished the song, a round of applause rang out. A church - a community - clapped in appreciation. It was as if the daughter I was clutching was struck by lightning. She popped up from my drool shoulder, startled by the noise. I could only smile.
How she fell asleep during that last hymn is beyond me, but that applause got her attention. It caught her by surprise. She quickly went from startled to peaceful once more, but her reaction made me stop and think. I'd like to think she was comforted by the applause. Maybe, she thought the parishioners were cheering for her. In a weird way, I think they were.
No matter where you live, cheer for those who are doing it right. Take time to share positive thoughts and stories. Allow your shoulder to provide some comfort. I know one day I'll wish I had the drool shoulder days back.
Sleep well, Johnstown. Don't be scared by the noise. Drown them out with applause.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Morley's and Morals
For the sixth consecutive November, I ran in the 5-mile Morley's Run. I have learned some lessons, or shall I say, morals, over the years. Here's to you, Morley:
Moral: 5 miles is about as far as I want to run.
I could do a 10K or 6.2 miles, but the next day my daughter would look at me and say, "Dad, why do you look sad?" There is a 10-mile Morley's option each year. I never choose this option because I am trying to teach my children to stay away from things that make them sad.
Moral: Getting my daughter dressed is emotionally harder than running 5 miles.
My soon-to-be three year old routinely and falsely accuses me of incompetence when it comes to getting ready for the day. My initiative and aid are protested and these protests are not peaceful. "Mom" is hooted and hollered. I change my other daughter's diaper, prepare my breakfast, or both, while wondering if and when the protests will end.
Moral: Never turn back going downhill.
In the middle of Stackhouse this year, a runner and I were stride for stride. He looked at me and said, "This is the 10 mile, right". I answered honestly. He swore. I encouraged him to win the 5-mile.
Moral: Never say never.
Will I ever run a long distance run again? I did do a half marathon and the Tough Mudder before. Will I father another child? I do love those two little girls.
Moral: Quit while you are ahead.
5 miles is enough. 2 children is enough. How do people have 5 children?
Moral: Mr. Rogers got it right.
Mr. Rogers has nothing to do with Morley's Run, but there is a neighborly love when it comes to this event. I feel like I am part of the Johnstown running community. That comes with a lot of handshakes, high-fives, and race shirts. Race t-shirts and long sleeve shirts make up somewhere between 40-45% of my waist-up-clothing. You know this is true because I used the term, waist-up-clothing.
My mother, wife, and daughters congratulated me on my 6th Morley's 5-mile finish. My youngest daughter appeared happy to see me, although unable to communicate her true feelings. My oldest daughter was happily dressed and I was happy I did not have to dress her. She and I danced to the race day band's version of The Weight, a 1968 classic from The Band. My daughter prefers The Muppets version available on YouTube and recorded in 2014. Times have changed, but "take a load off Fanny, take a load for free" never gets old.
We danced on the same ground where I danced with my wife on our wedding day. Peoples Natural Gas Park is where our wedding reception was held. It is where our family officially started. It is where my official 5-mile time was logged once more.
One day, my daughters will both be teenagers. Maybe, they will be running with me. Maybe, I will be running from them. Hopefully, I'll still be running.
Cheers to Morley, the race's organizers and volunteers, family, friends, and neighbors who make Johnstown what it is.
Moral: 5 miles is about as far as I want to run.
I could do a 10K or 6.2 miles, but the next day my daughter would look at me and say, "Dad, why do you look sad?" There is a 10-mile Morley's option each year. I never choose this option because I am trying to teach my children to stay away from things that make them sad.
Moral: Getting my daughter dressed is emotionally harder than running 5 miles.
My soon-to-be three year old routinely and falsely accuses me of incompetence when it comes to getting ready for the day. My initiative and aid are protested and these protests are not peaceful. "Mom" is hooted and hollered. I change my other daughter's diaper, prepare my breakfast, or both, while wondering if and when the protests will end.
Moral: Never turn back going downhill.
In the middle of Stackhouse this year, a runner and I were stride for stride. He looked at me and said, "This is the 10 mile, right". I answered honestly. He swore. I encouraged him to win the 5-mile.
Moral: Never say never.
Will I ever run a long distance run again? I did do a half marathon and the Tough Mudder before. Will I father another child? I do love those two little girls.
Moral: Quit while you are ahead.
5 miles is enough. 2 children is enough. How do people have 5 children?
Moral: Mr. Rogers got it right.
Mr. Rogers has nothing to do with Morley's Run, but there is a neighborly love when it comes to this event. I feel like I am part of the Johnstown running community. That comes with a lot of handshakes, high-fives, and race shirts. Race t-shirts and long sleeve shirts make up somewhere between 40-45% of my waist-up-clothing. You know this is true because I used the term, waist-up-clothing.
My mother, wife, and daughters congratulated me on my 6th Morley's 5-mile finish. My youngest daughter appeared happy to see me, although unable to communicate her true feelings. My oldest daughter was happily dressed and I was happy I did not have to dress her. She and I danced to the race day band's version of The Weight, a 1968 classic from The Band. My daughter prefers The Muppets version available on YouTube and recorded in 2014. Times have changed, but "take a load off Fanny, take a load for free" never gets old.
We danced on the same ground where I danced with my wife on our wedding day. Peoples Natural Gas Park is where our wedding reception was held. It is where our family officially started. It is where my official 5-mile time was logged once more.
One day, my daughters will both be teenagers. Maybe, they will be running with me. Maybe, I will be running from them. Hopefully, I'll still be running.
Cheers to Morley, the race's organizers and volunteers, family, friends, and neighbors who make Johnstown what it is.
Monday, October 23, 2017
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.
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.
Monday, October 16, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, October 5, 2017
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."
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."
Friday, September 29, 2017
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.
Monday, September 25, 2017
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.
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.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
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 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.
Monday, September 4, 2017
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.
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.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Parks and Recreation
My 2-year-old enjoys going to the park. She usually questions which one we are going to play at soon after I announce we are making the journey. Her geographic sense has grown and her predictions have become quite accurate. Mixed in with those predictions remains a bombardment of random thoughts and ideas.
To round out August, our family went in pursuit of new parks. The Johnstown region is full of recreational opportunities and we picked a sunny day to set out. I got behind the wheel of the Subaru and the chatter began.
Our first stop was at Laurel Ridge State Park. The Laurel Highlands hiking trail stretches 70 miles from Johnstown to Ohiopyle. I have hiked sections of the trail over the years and have enjoyed the challenging climbs and scenic terrain. On this afternoon, my wife played the role of Clark. I was Lewis. Our children were the sleepy cargo.
We did not walk far, but walked far enough to feel a parental escape. My cargo missed a gray squirrel firing through the ferns. She would have loved this National Geographic moment, but she needed her afternoon nap. My wife's cargo was snug as a wilderness bug. For fifteen minutes, we found freedom in the forest and our kids snoozed through the sunshine. We loaded the car back up and journeyed over Ligonier Mountain.
As a former Ligonier resident, I never experienced the Friendship Park of today. Recently renovated, this is a colorful and colossal park. My 2-year-old, fresh out of hibernation, attacked this new frontier. Minutes into her mad dash, she turned her bobbing blonde head toward me and stated, "Dad, this is amazing." She proceeded over the wobbly bridge.
And, fittingly, we made some friends. I served as lookout in follow-the-leader. I later led an expedition for acorns. Days later, my eldest and wisest daughter slept with a prized acorn from this trip. Oh, the glory of childhood.
At the end of the week, I returned to Friendship Park and ran the Ligonier Valley Trail at sunrise. This flat course runs through cow country and then hugs the road. It was a great way to start the day. I have been fortunate enough to build friendships stretching from Johnstown to Ligonier. I am appreciative of the people who preserve our parks and support the trail systems scattered throughout our stretch of land.
When my daughter called Friendship park "amazing" it was not an exclamation. She stopped and calmly uttered her viewpoint. It made me smile. I did not have much time to appreciate her analysis. We had to get across that bridge and attack the next obstacle.
Seize the day. Pursue the park. Be amazing.
To round out August, our family went in pursuit of new parks. The Johnstown region is full of recreational opportunities and we picked a sunny day to set out. I got behind the wheel of the Subaru and the chatter began.
Our first stop was at Laurel Ridge State Park. The Laurel Highlands hiking trail stretches 70 miles from Johnstown to Ohiopyle. I have hiked sections of the trail over the years and have enjoyed the challenging climbs and scenic terrain. On this afternoon, my wife played the role of Clark. I was Lewis. Our children were the sleepy cargo.
We did not walk far, but walked far enough to feel a parental escape. My cargo missed a gray squirrel firing through the ferns. She would have loved this National Geographic moment, but she needed her afternoon nap. My wife's cargo was snug as a wilderness bug. For fifteen minutes, we found freedom in the forest and our kids snoozed through the sunshine. We loaded the car back up and journeyed over Ligonier Mountain.
As a former Ligonier resident, I never experienced the Friendship Park of today. Recently renovated, this is a colorful and colossal park. My 2-year-old, fresh out of hibernation, attacked this new frontier. Minutes into her mad dash, she turned her bobbing blonde head toward me and stated, "Dad, this is amazing." She proceeded over the wobbly bridge.
And, fittingly, we made some friends. I served as lookout in follow-the-leader. I later led an expedition for acorns. Days later, my eldest and wisest daughter slept with a prized acorn from this trip. Oh, the glory of childhood.
At the end of the week, I returned to Friendship Park and ran the Ligonier Valley Trail at sunrise. This flat course runs through cow country and then hugs the road. It was a great way to start the day. I have been fortunate enough to build friendships stretching from Johnstown to Ligonier. I am appreciative of the people who preserve our parks and support the trail systems scattered throughout our stretch of land.
When my daughter called Friendship park "amazing" it was not an exclamation. She stopped and calmly uttered her viewpoint. It made me smile. I did not have much time to appreciate her analysis. We had to get across that bridge and attack the next obstacle.
Seize the day. Pursue the park. Be amazing.
Sunday, August 20, 2017
The Race that is Summer
Of all the seasons, summer always feels like it goes the fastest. The 2017 edition is no different. As our family returned from a beach vacation this Saturday, speed was an important element in our return.
As we made it down the home stretch, a dark and stormy cloud hovered above the Inclined Plane. Cyclones of leaves scattered about our Subaru. My 2-year-old was asking her approximate 400th question of the 8+ hour trip as we attempted to out race the rain. Our 5-month-old was fast asleep. She could sleep through the apocalypse.
Without any discussion or strategy, my wife and I did a luggage run for the ages once the car was parked. We cautioned our 2-year-old to position herself on the porch and cheer us on. Mom and Dad participated in a parent's CrossFit workout that included sprinting, scaling, tossing, passing, yelling, and laughing. My awake daughter found this event to be initially entertaining and then a bit scary. The wind swirled wildly as we ended vacation in chaos and as champions. Our smallest vacationer yawned her way back to Johnstown, oblivious to what had just transpired. The rain fell and all was well.
While it was an ominous view, it was a fitting way to return to our hometown. On the Saturday that we left Johnstown, it was sunny and bright. My 2-year-old athlete competed in an American Ninja Warrior inspired obstacle course at Stackhouse Park before braving the beach. The annual Stackhouse Jamboree is a celebration of forest, family, and fun. My daughter made a book marker, had some watermelon, crafted a necklace, and gained ninja status. A special thanks to the volunteers who helped me burn off a 2-year-old's energy before that long drive south.
There is still a thrill when it comes to the beach. As a kid, I welcomed the waves. As a Dad, I crash harder than the waves. Most of this past week's beach nights, I welcomed going to bed at the same time as my daughters. On some mornings, I ran out the door before the girls and the sun arose.
Running has evolved into a personal escape and challenge. Running through a coastal community and on to the sand, I was able to soak in the rising sun and my many blessings. I try to keep a steady pace while my thoughts sometimes run wilder than those Johnstown leaves being thrashed in the storm. Ultimately, I try to stick to this thought when I complete a run: I'm healthy. I'm thankful.
My beach runs were the diving board into Johnstown's end of summer /beginning of autumn running calendar. I hope to participate in as many races as I can, supporting local causes and my Dad body. Here are some of the runs:
Jim Mayer Trail Family Fun Run
On Saturday, September 9th, runners will be lined up near this Stonycreek River trail. It is a part of the Cambria County Trail Series, which supports the development of our local trail system. I signed up for this 5K event online and hope the community gets out there and crowds the trail.
Conemaugh Que Classic
"The Que" as many have come to coin it, is an awesome autumn event. Held on Summer's Best 2 Weeks property in Hollsopple every year, there will be a lot of coming and going on Saturday, September 30th this fall. There is a 5K, 10K, and a Kids Fun Run. I do the 5K run every year. My time keeps getting worse and the cinnamon bun at the end keeps tasting better.
Race, Rock, and Rise
Bottle Works is bringing back the city's marathon - new route, new marketing strategy, and hopefully a new crop of runners. On Saturday, October 7th, there will be a full marathon, half marathon, and marathon relay in the Johnstown streets. The "Rock" part of the event is live music that should bolster the celebration. I'm currently attempting to build a relay team. Years ago, I was part of a victorious Johnstown Marathon relay team. Maybe, just maybe, we will rise up again. Or, I'll just go to bed early with my daughters and not really care if our team wins. Advanced thanks to Bottle Works for reviving this run.
American Red Cross Vampire 5K
On Saturday, October 21st, it will be a bloody good time. Dracula might be running down Jari Drive in Richland. I have never done this event, but plan on being there this Halloween season. Costumes are encouraged. Despite the theme, biting other runners is prohibited. All proceeds go to support our local Red Cross.
Morley's Run
For the 6th straight autumn, the Johnstown community will support Morley, a deceased dog, by running. It's not really for the pooch, but it makes for a great race shirt. The 10-mile and 5-mile event supports The Tribune-Democrat Newspaper In Education Program. This year's run is on Saturday, November 4th. In my Morley's Run career, I have run through sun, rain, snow, and rain/snow. Brave whatever the weather and lace up for this excellent Johnstown race.
Summer will be over soon and many of us will ask, "Where did the summer go?" Before it ends, take a look around you and find a blessing. Sign up for a race. Support the community.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
A Wild Wednesday
While my parents watched our youngest daughter, I led my wife, my terrific two-year-old, my nine-year-old goddaughter, and her eleven-year-old sister to Sidman. The mission - eat at Morris's Tavern and then make our way to The Ranger for mini-golf and ice cream - two great Johnstown area spots for our goof troop. Here is the breakdown:
- My daughter receives the itinerary. She screams and continues high-pitch support of the adventure into the Subaru. Her mother declares that her volume is too high and the vehicle's driver could be disoriented by the intensity of her vocalization.
- Prior to arrival, our parental expectation is that our daughter will be awestruck by Morris's taxidermy. We shall not explain how the animals were encased inside the restaurant.
- Our daughter is immediately awestruck by a massive, prehistoric gumball machine. She is oblivious to the jungle cat directly behind the gumball machine.
- I enjoy 1-on-1 time with my daughter for an animal tour as the rest of the crew finds refuge for outdoor dining on the patio. During our tour, a boy, approximately seven years old, helps us identify a mammal. He gets out of his high-top seat to talk to us about this badger. We thank him for his badger identification and spirited willingness to stop eating and help his fellow man and that man's daughter.
- There is a snake sitting by the fireplace. It has fangs. My daughter and I touch the fangs.
- My wife takes our daughter on tour #2 shortly after I finish tour #1. The tour is identical except for the guide.
- The snake is still sitting by the fireplace. My wife tells my daughter to never put your hand near a snake.
- I am educated on snake protocol.
- Our table shares a fried green beans appetizer, combining good with grease. My goddaughter separates breading from vegetable due to the heat, creating two appetizers.
- Dinner is excellent and the conversations are everywhere. Our daughter yearns to take tour #3 and revisit the "creepy" buffalo.
- On tour #3 or #4, I touch the buffalo's goatee. My goddaughter views this act as brave and disgusting.
- My wife pays the bill while I manage taxidermy time. We proceed out of the restaurant. Mom and Dad restate that gumballs are not available because we don't have tickets. My goddaughter tells me that you don't need tickets to retrieve a gumball. I politely tell my goddaughter to walk away from the gumball machine.
- Club selection for mini golf is in full force. Seeing my daughter with a club, it is clearly more weaponry than sport.
- There is a practice green for parents to chase their children upon. The eleven-year-old and I watch sister /goddaughter launch a putt off the green, into the grass, and under the fence. It's going to be a long round.
- My daughter loves climbing the rocks. She is officially taken off the scorecard after Hole #1.
- On hole #5, my wife realizes it is an 18-hole course not 9. She's demoralized.
- Before we get halfway through the contest, a sixsome in front of us has a demoralized daughter. She stands in the middle of the fairway, sobbing. I approach the befuddled Dad. We play through.
- We speed up play on the back 9. We are no longer traveling in one pack. My wife and daughter are not even playing golf anymore.
- My daughter comes sprinting toward me with a clear question to ask: "Dad, are you getting sweaty?"
- All the girls pose for a post-round picture. My daughter falls off the bench. No photography needed.
- Ice cream is ordered to-go as darkness has fallen. "Blue goo" is the girls' unanimous flavor. I opt not to treat myself to goo and order a blueberry milkshake.
- On the ride home and inspired by taxidermy, I go to switch lanes and see a deceased deer laying directly on the center line. The Subaru shakes, the girls scream, my heart stops. The Outback grazes a leg. Crisis averted. After everyone gains their composure, my daughter calmly asks, "Why was that deer in the middle of the road?"
- I drop off all the women. Wife and daughter at home. Sisters at their humble abode. I go pick up my slobbery second child at my parents'. She appears excited to see me evident by slobber production.
- The children are put to bed. I don't really remember how or at what time. My wife and I do not make time to summarize the night's event. We are too tired and I write a blog.
- I love my family.
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Two Great Escapes
The final two weekends of this July gave two parents a lot of perspective. The first was spent a time zone away. The second was in our hometown.
For the first time as parents to two young daughters, my wife and I had a weekend away. We flew to Chicago for the wedding of one of my graduate school friends. While driving to the Pittsburgh airport, it was weird not having the backseat babbles. Our children are blessed with grandparents who welcomed our parental escape. It was a smooth ride to the Windy City.
We used Uber to ride around one of the country's most populous cities. At first, our Uber effort was unsatisfactory. We took a $2.00 cancellation charge on the chin. My oldest daughter would have used the term "silly goose" to describe this first go-around. By the time we booked our last pick-up, my wife and I were confident Uber-bodies.
For a weekend, big city life is fine, but I know I am a small town USA Dad. I was ready to come home, smell the grass, and complain about having to cut that same grass. My wife and I have traveled across the country and off the mainland. Our goal is to see all 50 states and maybe find our way to an island every now and then, but Johnstown is home. Our Pennsylvania hometown is far from tropical, but it's where we want to be.
The next weekend - on one of those rainy, summer Johnstown nights - we escaped once more. Escape Rooms Johnstown on Clinton Street is where our Elite 8 saved the world. The Virus is a complex and catastrophic challenge. There is nothing like family and friends trying to prevent a deadly disease from spreading. The architects of The Virus are sick people - genius level mindbenders who provide puzzle after puzzle, panic after panic. With 4 minutes left on the clock, we found the cure. It was a mix of jubilation, relief, and shock that we pulled it off.
As my wife and I ran through the rain back to the car, we smiled and savored saving the human race. Somewhat soaked, we started the Subaru and drove back to see our kids. We didn't tell them about our Escape Room heroics; they wouldn't understand. Those girls were just happy to have Mom and Dad back.
Escaping is great, but there is nothing like coming home.
For the first time as parents to two young daughters, my wife and I had a weekend away. We flew to Chicago for the wedding of one of my graduate school friends. While driving to the Pittsburgh airport, it was weird not having the backseat babbles. Our children are blessed with grandparents who welcomed our parental escape. It was a smooth ride to the Windy City.
We used Uber to ride around one of the country's most populous cities. At first, our Uber effort was unsatisfactory. We took a $2.00 cancellation charge on the chin. My oldest daughter would have used the term "silly goose" to describe this first go-around. By the time we booked our last pick-up, my wife and I were confident Uber-bodies.
For a weekend, big city life is fine, but I know I am a small town USA Dad. I was ready to come home, smell the grass, and complain about having to cut that same grass. My wife and I have traveled across the country and off the mainland. Our goal is to see all 50 states and maybe find our way to an island every now and then, but Johnstown is home. Our Pennsylvania hometown is far from tropical, but it's where we want to be.
The next weekend - on one of those rainy, summer Johnstown nights - we escaped once more. Escape Rooms Johnstown on Clinton Street is where our Elite 8 saved the world. The Virus is a complex and catastrophic challenge. There is nothing like family and friends trying to prevent a deadly disease from spreading. The architects of The Virus are sick people - genius level mindbenders who provide puzzle after puzzle, panic after panic. With 4 minutes left on the clock, we found the cure. It was a mix of jubilation, relief, and shock that we pulled it off.
As my wife and I ran through the rain back to the car, we smiled and savored saving the human race. Somewhat soaked, we started the Subaru and drove back to see our kids. We didn't tell them about our Escape Room heroics; they wouldn't understand. Those girls were just happy to have Mom and Dad back.
Escaping is great, but there is nothing like coming home.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
July Traditions
Over the course of last week, four Johnstown events spiraled into the blur that is July. It is a month that always seems to blast by. Luckily, there is always next summer to jump on board for a July tradition.
On July 13th, the VFW golf tournament was held at Windber Country Club. If I signed up for every golf tournament flyer that landed in front of me, I would be driving a cart more than my car; thus, it is important for this working Dad to pick and choose wisely when it comes to golf sign-ups. Scramble formats will forever be the most alluring due to the team concept and not having to calculate my personal score. At this year's VFW scramble, my team was my family.
Golfing with the wife, brother-in-law, and father-in-law sounds like a sitcom episode. Our 18-holes together definitely could classify as comedy and our scorecard was tragic. There was a ceremonial raising of the American flag before we made our first bogey. In their 2nd annual scramble, the VFW did a commendable job and Mother Nature deserves some recognition as well. The forecast looked ugly, but only a few isolated rain drops fell to the earth. If only more of our putts fell into those ugly, round holes in the ground...
On Saturday, I prepared myself for a drastically different athletic endeavor. Since 1994, Barnball has combined barn, basketball, and blood. It is a 2 on 2 tournament that basically goes from sunrise to sunset and has been passed on from fathers to sons. When I made my debut, I was a giddy high schooler ill-prepared for the madness of the barn where grown men battle between hay bales. In this year's edition, I was more like the elder, and I was eventually eliminated by the much younger and much bigger.
The uncle of a high school friend is the reason why Barnball exists. He transforms his property into the showcase that is Barnball - the barn court, live bands all day long, tents, hula-hoops, hammocks, kids running through the grass, a Hall of Fame, a barn couch for past champions... I overheard a rookie standing at the foot of the barn state, "I've played basketball all over the world, but I have never seen anything like this". Welcome to Coon Ridge Road's summer classic.
Ultimately, this day is not about the basketball. It is about a family tradition that evolved into a community event. I've battled my younger brother and I've watched dozens of family members go sneaker-to-sneaker in the barn. In this year's version of the double elimination saga, my teammate and I had the strength to win our first 2 games. We did not have the same strength for Game 3 and Game 4. Satisfied and sore, we headed for the barn yard.
I couldn't stay for the championship because I had children to put to bed. I thanked Uncle Bill for another Barnball. He said he wished he could have those days back - putting the kids to bed. It all goes by too fast. A lot has changed since my first Barnball, but the tournament has endured because the same families get together. Some Dads retire and some sons step into the barn. It is something to look forward to each Johnstown July.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
The Sunday after Barnball is not something I physically look forward to. Walking into church with battered bones and bruising is an expectation. This year, our family of four attended the Saint Clement Parish Festival and a polka mass served as physical therapy for my Barnball body. My 2-year-old responds well to the combination of polka and mass. She's sees how everyone in attendance seems a little more lively and loud. If she had the Pope in her clubhouse, there is no doubt in my mind she would ask for polka mass to be the one and only.
After the mass, this annual spectacular has food, games galore, and the family favorite - a bouncy house. The bouncy house can be delightful, it can be dangerous, and it sure is bouncy. It unifies brave children and scares the parents who created them. Being on holy ground, I felt better about my daughter's rampage to bouncing freedom.
The final installment in our week's event calendar was something new. Maybe, a tradition in the making. The Dillweed Bed and Breakfast and Trailside Shop sits on Route 403 and offers rest and refreshments for bikers on the Ghost Town Trail. The shop is an Americana escape with pizza by the slice downstairs and Christmas decorations on the second floor. But, the real reason we were in Dilltown was for the outdoor music in the garden behind the shop. And who better to play than a duo called The Evergreens.
Sitting on a blanket with my wife and daughters, we were flanked by family to the left and right. Our oldest daughter did not maintain a singular position while the girls played. She eventually made her way behind the drum set during an intermission. From the moment she met Animal, she has aspired to drum. In our numerous run-ins with The Evergreens, we have built a friendship. If ever the drummer goes down, our Animal is the drummer-in-waiting.
From course to barn to church to garden, Johnstown traditions are well-established or well on their way. August will be here before we know it. By then, the bruises should be gone and the memories will be a blessing.
Sunday, July 9, 2017
Strengthening the Core
On Saturday, my 2-year-old daughter and I scrambled around the playground and shared an apple. With each bite, we got closer to finishing the fruit. Eventually, all that was left was the core.
"The core" is often referenced when it comes to values and key members of a team. The inner core is at the center of Earth. While we share this planet, what is at our individual core is unique and harder to define. Over time, I think that core changes. At this point in my life, I'm finishing apples with my daughter and feel pretty good about my "core" - Faith, Marriage, Family, Community. That apple and stops along the way this weekend helped me come to that conclusion.
Before our playground pursuit, I did yoga for the first time in 2017. My wife introduced me to the exercise long before we got to the altar. I had some hesitancy that first go-around. I did not doubt my athleticism. It was more about stretching into uncharted territory. Flexibility was and is not my strength. Yoga can make a man satisfyingly sore. I found that out after my first yoga and this last one.
At Riek's Country Store in Brownstown, there is a dedicated group of yoga people that gather every Saturday morning. These people are all women. Over the years, I have made a cameo appearance and have my own studio of masculinity. It is not reserved, but I know my place. I'm close enough to hear the instructor and far enough away that if I fall, no one will fall with me.
Yoga is challenging then calming; rigorous then relaxing. Tresa, the instructor, has a voice that flows right with the meditation and restoration that yoga is designed to provide. I always leave a yoga lesson in a Gumby-like state with a smile on my face. Thank to Tresa for building up my physical core and to those faithful ladies - Brownstown's core yogis.
When Sunday rolled around and I rolled out of bed, I felt yoga. As a parent to two small children, yoga pain is not a symptom to disclose. It would be silly and no sympathy would fall upon me. Alas, I walked it off and hiked it into Stackhouse Park. Before that hike, my wife and I enjoyed Cafe Sunday with a core group of people in this community.
Sitting in that cafe, I was appreciative of the many blessings in my life. My soon-to-be-4-month-old daughter sat peacefully in her car seat. Her sister roamed wildly at her grandparents'. My wife sat beautifully by my side. And, everyone else that was in that room was someone I did not know before coming to the cafe. It has become a unique fellowship; much like that unique core that is in each of us. That fellowship is centered on faith and it feels like it is growing.
Shortly after Cafe Sunday, the 2-year-old hiker was strapped to my back as we headed for the trails of Stackhouse. Her mom and sister zoomed there way home in the Subaru. We chattered and chugged our way back. As the birds chirped, we passed an apple back and forth. This time it was a green one.
Every step of the way was worth it. I eventually threw out that apple core, but I know what to keep; what to hold on to; what to never let go.
"The core" is often referenced when it comes to values and key members of a team. The inner core is at the center of Earth. While we share this planet, what is at our individual core is unique and harder to define. Over time, I think that core changes. At this point in my life, I'm finishing apples with my daughter and feel pretty good about my "core" - Faith, Marriage, Family, Community. That apple and stops along the way this weekend helped me come to that conclusion.
Before our playground pursuit, I did yoga for the first time in 2017. My wife introduced me to the exercise long before we got to the altar. I had some hesitancy that first go-around. I did not doubt my athleticism. It was more about stretching into uncharted territory. Flexibility was and is not my strength. Yoga can make a man satisfyingly sore. I found that out after my first yoga and this last one.
At Riek's Country Store in Brownstown, there is a dedicated group of yoga people that gather every Saturday morning. These people are all women. Over the years, I have made a cameo appearance and have my own studio of masculinity. It is not reserved, but I know my place. I'm close enough to hear the instructor and far enough away that if I fall, no one will fall with me.
Yoga is challenging then calming; rigorous then relaxing. Tresa, the instructor, has a voice that flows right with the meditation and restoration that yoga is designed to provide. I always leave a yoga lesson in a Gumby-like state with a smile on my face. Thank to Tresa for building up my physical core and to those faithful ladies - Brownstown's core yogis.
When Sunday rolled around and I rolled out of bed, I felt yoga. As a parent to two small children, yoga pain is not a symptom to disclose. It would be silly and no sympathy would fall upon me. Alas, I walked it off and hiked it into Stackhouse Park. Before that hike, my wife and I enjoyed Cafe Sunday with a core group of people in this community.
Sitting in that cafe, I was appreciative of the many blessings in my life. My soon-to-be-4-month-old daughter sat peacefully in her car seat. Her sister roamed wildly at her grandparents'. My wife sat beautifully by my side. And, everyone else that was in that room was someone I did not know before coming to the cafe. It has become a unique fellowship; much like that unique core that is in each of us. That fellowship is centered on faith and it feels like it is growing.
Shortly after Cafe Sunday, the 2-year-old hiker was strapped to my back as we headed for the trails of Stackhouse. Her mom and sister zoomed there way home in the Subaru. We chattered and chugged our way back. As the birds chirped, we passed an apple back and forth. This time it was a green one.
Every step of the way was worth it. I eventually threw out that apple core, but I know what to keep; what to hold on to; what to never let go.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
My Brother is Married
It was 1:00 P.M. yesterday when my brother entered into the married club. Before, during, and after the vows, pairs ruled the day:
Coffee and Pizza
It might sound like an unlikely pair to start a wedding day, but that's how the wedding men kicked it off. My brother and I shared a Jamaican Paradise coffee from Mill House Cafe before the rest of the goof troop arrived at my humble abode. When the groomsmen /goofmen made their entrance, Clark's Corner Store breakfast pizza was devoured by one and all. I am thankful for the two local businesses that provided the morning fuel for the day's journey.
Flowers and Girl
Our 2-year-old daughter was assigned to the petals. The Grand Halle has an intimidating track to the altar and my daughter is not real big on staying on paths. She's a party animal. She's a singer. She's a trooper. At times, she's a clinger...to her mother.
So, her procession was not perfect, but neither is marriage. The flower petals were distributed and then the real show began. I think I was more nervous viewing my daughter at my brother's wedding than being the soon-to-be-husband at my own celebration. As Pastor Dave read from the heart, my beautiful flower girl was losing her mind. I stood sweaty and silent, like a proud Dad and good brother should.
Let the magic happen.
Music and Bus
After eclipsing the age of 30, you start to realize some things. On a bus full of 20-somethings, my wife and I were the lost generation. For a few hours, we did not have to parent our small children and got to hear songs we never heard before. We were used to the Trolls and Zootopia soundtrack. Seated on the bus, we were in a different type of zoo. I did not know some of the newer, hip-hop songs. I still use the term, hip-hop. My wife used the term, "jazzy beats".
We had a great time. Referencing another movie...from Wedding Crashers:
"We are not that young."
No, no we are not. Good for you, you 20-somethings. Thanks for letting us crash your bus.
Coaches and Players
There was a decorated group of Westmont Hilltop basketball players at the wedding. My brother's senior year was a historic season and many of his teammates suited up on this day. As the older athlete, I endure the commentary from far and wide on basketball legacy. Critics contend my brother's basketball resume and records give him the upper hand.
Rather than debate, I simply took a picture of that decorated group. Everyone was smiling. I reminded then that I was in the stands when they lost in the playoffs.
Cheers.
Young and Old
The dance floor does not care about when you graduated high school. It does not discriminate. My brother and his beautiful bride did a choreographed number to turn that floor into lava. From there, it was a volcanic mix of slides and shakes. As I type this sentence, my left knee is a little bit sore.
I could still beat my brother in 1 on 1 basketball.
Husband and Wife
I hope my brother and my new sister enjoyed their day. I certainly did. I got to see family, friends and neighbors celebrate. We celebrated in the community where my brother and I grew up. The same community where my daughters are growing big and strong. I danced beside the first kid I ever babysat. She just finished her first year in college. I took a picture with my high school basketball coach. The behind-the-scenes guy that gets everything rocking and rolling at the Grand Halle has a son who was on my Little League baseball team.
People and weddings come and go. On this Sunday, I'll hold on to some great memories. Johnstown has blessed me with a lot. Congratulations to the new husband and wife. They are quite the pair.
And some day, they'll be in their 30s.
Every day is an adventure and there is always something to celebrate.
Be grateful for your family, friends, and neighbors.
Coffee and Pizza
It might sound like an unlikely pair to start a wedding day, but that's how the wedding men kicked it off. My brother and I shared a Jamaican Paradise coffee from Mill House Cafe before the rest of the goof troop arrived at my humble abode. When the groomsmen /goofmen made their entrance, Clark's Corner Store breakfast pizza was devoured by one and all. I am thankful for the two local businesses that provided the morning fuel for the day's journey.
Flowers and Girl
Our 2-year-old daughter was assigned to the petals. The Grand Halle has an intimidating track to the altar and my daughter is not real big on staying on paths. She's a party animal. She's a singer. She's a trooper. At times, she's a clinger...to her mother.
So, her procession was not perfect, but neither is marriage. The flower petals were distributed and then the real show began. I think I was more nervous viewing my daughter at my brother's wedding than being the soon-to-be-husband at my own celebration. As Pastor Dave read from the heart, my beautiful flower girl was losing her mind. I stood sweaty and silent, like a proud Dad and good brother should.
Let the magic happen.
Music and Bus
After eclipsing the age of 30, you start to realize some things. On a bus full of 20-somethings, my wife and I were the lost generation. For a few hours, we did not have to parent our small children and got to hear songs we never heard before. We were used to the Trolls and Zootopia soundtrack. Seated on the bus, we were in a different type of zoo. I did not know some of the newer, hip-hop songs. I still use the term, hip-hop. My wife used the term, "jazzy beats".
We had a great time. Referencing another movie...from Wedding Crashers:
"We are not that young."
No, no we are not. Good for you, you 20-somethings. Thanks for letting us crash your bus.
Coaches and Players
There was a decorated group of Westmont Hilltop basketball players at the wedding. My brother's senior year was a historic season and many of his teammates suited up on this day. As the older athlete, I endure the commentary from far and wide on basketball legacy. Critics contend my brother's basketball resume and records give him the upper hand.
Rather than debate, I simply took a picture of that decorated group. Everyone was smiling. I reminded then that I was in the stands when they lost in the playoffs.
Cheers.
Young and Old
The dance floor does not care about when you graduated high school. It does not discriminate. My brother and his beautiful bride did a choreographed number to turn that floor into lava. From there, it was a volcanic mix of slides and shakes. As I type this sentence, my left knee is a little bit sore.
I could still beat my brother in 1 on 1 basketball.
Husband and Wife
I hope my brother and my new sister enjoyed their day. I certainly did. I got to see family, friends and neighbors celebrate. We celebrated in the community where my brother and I grew up. The same community where my daughters are growing big and strong. I danced beside the first kid I ever babysat. She just finished her first year in college. I took a picture with my high school basketball coach. The behind-the-scenes guy that gets everything rocking and rolling at the Grand Halle has a son who was on my Little League baseball team.
People and weddings come and go. On this Sunday, I'll hold on to some great memories. Johnstown has blessed me with a lot. Congratulations to the new husband and wife. They are quite the pair.
And some day, they'll be in their 30s.
Every day is an adventure and there is always something to celebrate.
Be grateful for your family, friends, and neighbors.
Sunday, June 25, 2017
Rain, Thunder and Light
"Praise the Lord, O my soul
Praise the Maker of heaven and earth"
If there was a day to complain about rain in Johnstown, it was Friday, June 23, 2017. It rained and rained and rained.
As I made my way over Ligonier Mountain, my Subaru was surrounded by streams and pools. There is a damper and dread to summer rain, but when you have a 2-year-old, positivity prevails.
Upon getting home, she was ready to go for a walk. I put on my rain jacket. She decided to put on two rain jackets. We were poised to pick out puddles and then let our feet do the work. We stomped and stomped and stomped. While much of the community was under cover, this twosome was circling Saint Michael's church in a silly, puddle search.
Meanwhile, the rumble of Thunder in the Valley was getting washed out. I would never get on a motorcycle. There would be no thrill in that travel and I know too much tragedy and not enough triumph associated with the motorcycle. Still, Thunder is good for Johnstown. We need to draw people in - bikers, hikers, kayakers, runners, festival folk, college kids, and more. There are a lot of community members making that push. While I cannot comment on how this year's motorcycle rally was, I applaud the event organizers and volunteers who put time and energy into the experience. The only way to become a destination is by being as relentless as Friday's rain.
By Sunday, the rain was a memory. That same daughter of mine was strapped in my hiking pack as we sang our way through Stackhouse Park. Rain or shine, she is excited by animal sightings. Before any critters crawled out, she passed out. In a sweeping motion, I extracted her from the pack and into my arms. Onward to the pavilion, I carried that blonde, 30+ pound sack of potatoes. The sun shined bright.
When I made it to the heart of the park, I found refuge on a stream bench. With no concept of time, I listened to the water rush by. It was a blessed moment to sit back and soak it in - a sleeping 2-year-old, a beautiful landscape, a grateful Dad.
Our post-nap hike had the animal attractions we were waiting for - dogs, birds, chipmunks, and even a snake to spice things up. As the animal expert, I was asked if the snake was a Daddy, Mommy, or baby snake. With only a few seconds to classify the slithery reptile, I went with Daddy. Our uphill exit from Stackhouse included an overview of the animal kingdom we discovered.
My 2-year-old hiker was rewarded with Shaffer's Frosty Freeze once we returned to civilization. We reunited with Mom and Baby Sis and off we went to the greatest ice cream stand in all the land. Just when the excitement level couldn't get any higher, we saw six turkeys hanging out in a field on Coon Ridge Road with a rainbow peaking out of the clouds. Our weekend was complete.
The next time it rains, and I am sure it will be soon, I am going to imagine that little girl putting on two rain coats.
Sometimes the dreariest of days bring out those who shine the brightest.
Praise the Maker of heaven and earth"
If there was a day to complain about rain in Johnstown, it was Friday, June 23, 2017. It rained and rained and rained.
As I made my way over Ligonier Mountain, my Subaru was surrounded by streams and pools. There is a damper and dread to summer rain, but when you have a 2-year-old, positivity prevails.
Upon getting home, she was ready to go for a walk. I put on my rain jacket. She decided to put on two rain jackets. We were poised to pick out puddles and then let our feet do the work. We stomped and stomped and stomped. While much of the community was under cover, this twosome was circling Saint Michael's church in a silly, puddle search.
Meanwhile, the rumble of Thunder in the Valley was getting washed out. I would never get on a motorcycle. There would be no thrill in that travel and I know too much tragedy and not enough triumph associated with the motorcycle. Still, Thunder is good for Johnstown. We need to draw people in - bikers, hikers, kayakers, runners, festival folk, college kids, and more. There are a lot of community members making that push. While I cannot comment on how this year's motorcycle rally was, I applaud the event organizers and volunteers who put time and energy into the experience. The only way to become a destination is by being as relentless as Friday's rain.
By Sunday, the rain was a memory. That same daughter of mine was strapped in my hiking pack as we sang our way through Stackhouse Park. Rain or shine, she is excited by animal sightings. Before any critters crawled out, she passed out. In a sweeping motion, I extracted her from the pack and into my arms. Onward to the pavilion, I carried that blonde, 30+ pound sack of potatoes. The sun shined bright.
When I made it to the heart of the park, I found refuge on a stream bench. With no concept of time, I listened to the water rush by. It was a blessed moment to sit back and soak it in - a sleeping 2-year-old, a beautiful landscape, a grateful Dad.
Our post-nap hike had the animal attractions we were waiting for - dogs, birds, chipmunks, and even a snake to spice things up. As the animal expert, I was asked if the snake was a Daddy, Mommy, or baby snake. With only a few seconds to classify the slithery reptile, I went with Daddy. Our uphill exit from Stackhouse included an overview of the animal kingdom we discovered.
My 2-year-old hiker was rewarded with Shaffer's Frosty Freeze once we returned to civilization. We reunited with Mom and Baby Sis and off we went to the greatest ice cream stand in all the land. Just when the excitement level couldn't get any higher, we saw six turkeys hanging out in a field on Coon Ridge Road with a rainbow peaking out of the clouds. Our weekend was complete.
The next time it rains, and I am sure it will be soon, I am going to imagine that little girl putting on two rain coats.
Sometimes the dreariest of days bring out those who shine the brightest.
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
A Father's Day Feast
Fatherhood has treated me well. With two healthy girls and a super wife, I do not have much to complain about. My 2017 Father's Day weekend was a frenetic, food themed extravaganza...
Meat and Potatoes
On Friday evening, our family brigade headed to the Community Arts Center in Westmont. Our 3-month-old stayed with her grandparents, while our family of three arrived on scene, not to eat, but to listen. Meat and Potatoes is a local music trio and the Community Arts Center served them up as the first course in the Coffee House Series. It was a relaxing atmosphere with one surprise to spice up the event.
Lilly, a turtle mascot, greeted the crowd and is expected to make appearances throughout the summer. My 2-year-old reveled in the presence of this reptile. She was unsure of whether it was a real tortoise or a girl trapped inside a turtle. I mistakenly called the mascot a frog. This identification mistake was deemed hilarious by my zoological child. She laughed at my "silly"attempt to meet the animal /girl. After seeing the cotton shell, I felt very silly about my frog talk.
We danced a little with Lilly as Meat and Potatoes combined guitar and banjo. We plan on coming back to the Arts Center later this summer to support more local musicians. Lilly is indeed a turtle and made my daughter's night.
The Leftovers
On Saturday morning, it was a change of pace, from leisure to litter retrieval. Our Mother of Sorrows Service Saturday is a monthly event where my goddaughter and I climb the hills of Stackhouse Park to rescue animal and plant life from the litter lunacy of mankind. I do not know why so many people throw objects (glass, plastic, metal ) into a park. One man's forest-tossed trash is another man's and 9-year-old's service mission.
Especially along the hillside that connects Brownstown to Westmont, there is a smorgasbord of garbage. There was a smorgasbord. My goddaughter is a mountaineer when it comes to OMOS Service Saturday. She talks almost nonstop while she climbs and carves her way through the park. She enjoys getting to the hidden bottle and soda can stuck in the stream. I enjoy our can-to-can communication that never comes close to a complaint.
It is sweaty, stinky service.
And we love it.
If you choose to litter, know we will be out there; scaling Stackhouse, seizing the day and what should never end up in the wilderness.
Thanksgiving
Almost every Sunday, my wife and I spend time at Mill House Cafe with friends and people of faith. Cafe Sundays have become a part of our faith journey. The second verse of the Father's Day Psalm read, "Enter his gates with thanksgiving". In my fatherly balance of life, finding gratitude is critical. I am so lucky to celebrate Sundays in the community I call home.
It would be foolish to overlook the coffee part of this spiritual equation. Fatherhood has without a doubt increased my coffee intake. I would have never entered the gates of Mill House if it were not for the desire for coffee. Thank you, coffee.
Do I connect a resurgence in my Christianity to coffee? Yes.
Have I ever thrown a coffee cup into Stackhouse Park? No.
Free Donuts
The Roxbury Bandshell is a strange looking "house of rock". From the street, it is hard to tell what it is. Kind of like Lilly. I thought she was a frog, but once I got close, I realized she was a turtle. Well, once you get close to the Bandshell, you realize it is a sweet place to play music. Since I do not have musical talent, listening to music works for me.
Free Donuts was the band on stage Father's Day evening. The 2017 AMERISERV concert series at the Bandshell is a great place to see local acts on a historic stage. Our Sons Restaurant is catering the concert series and my 2-year-old and I took advantage of their presence. We bought one of their monstrous $1.00 pickles. There is nothing like sharing a pickle with your 2-year-old, rolling around in the grass, listening to a band called Free Donuts.
That is fatherhood, folks.
And that is all.
Johnstown has a lot to offer this summer. You can support local in so many ways.
Meat and Potatoes
On Friday evening, our family brigade headed to the Community Arts Center in Westmont. Our 3-month-old stayed with her grandparents, while our family of three arrived on scene, not to eat, but to listen. Meat and Potatoes is a local music trio and the Community Arts Center served them up as the first course in the Coffee House Series. It was a relaxing atmosphere with one surprise to spice up the event.
Lilly, a turtle mascot, greeted the crowd and is expected to make appearances throughout the summer. My 2-year-old reveled in the presence of this reptile. She was unsure of whether it was a real tortoise or a girl trapped inside a turtle. I mistakenly called the mascot a frog. This identification mistake was deemed hilarious by my zoological child. She laughed at my "silly"attempt to meet the animal /girl. After seeing the cotton shell, I felt very silly about my frog talk.
We danced a little with Lilly as Meat and Potatoes combined guitar and banjo. We plan on coming back to the Arts Center later this summer to support more local musicians. Lilly is indeed a turtle and made my daughter's night.
The Leftovers
On Saturday morning, it was a change of pace, from leisure to litter retrieval. Our Mother of Sorrows Service Saturday is a monthly event where my goddaughter and I climb the hills of Stackhouse Park to rescue animal and plant life from the litter lunacy of mankind. I do not know why so many people throw objects (glass, plastic, metal ) into a park. One man's forest-tossed trash is another man's and 9-year-old's service mission.
Especially along the hillside that connects Brownstown to Westmont, there is a smorgasbord of garbage. There was a smorgasbord. My goddaughter is a mountaineer when it comes to OMOS Service Saturday. She talks almost nonstop while she climbs and carves her way through the park. She enjoys getting to the hidden bottle and soda can stuck in the stream. I enjoy our can-to-can communication that never comes close to a complaint.
It is sweaty, stinky service.
And we love it.
If you choose to litter, know we will be out there; scaling Stackhouse, seizing the day and what should never end up in the wilderness.
Thanksgiving
Almost every Sunday, my wife and I spend time at Mill House Cafe with friends and people of faith. Cafe Sundays have become a part of our faith journey. The second verse of the Father's Day Psalm read, "Enter his gates with thanksgiving". In my fatherly balance of life, finding gratitude is critical. I am so lucky to celebrate Sundays in the community I call home.
It would be foolish to overlook the coffee part of this spiritual equation. Fatherhood has without a doubt increased my coffee intake. I would have never entered the gates of Mill House if it were not for the desire for coffee. Thank you, coffee.
Do I connect a resurgence in my Christianity to coffee? Yes.
Have I ever thrown a coffee cup into Stackhouse Park? No.
Free Donuts
The Roxbury Bandshell is a strange looking "house of rock". From the street, it is hard to tell what it is. Kind of like Lilly. I thought she was a frog, but once I got close, I realized she was a turtle. Well, once you get close to the Bandshell, you realize it is a sweet place to play music. Since I do not have musical talent, listening to music works for me.
Free Donuts was the band on stage Father's Day evening. The 2017 AMERISERV concert series at the Bandshell is a great place to see local acts on a historic stage. Our Sons Restaurant is catering the concert series and my 2-year-old and I took advantage of their presence. We bought one of their monstrous $1.00 pickles. There is nothing like sharing a pickle with your 2-year-old, rolling around in the grass, listening to a band called Free Donuts.
That is fatherhood, folks.
And that is all.
Johnstown has a lot to offer this summer. You can support local in so many ways.
Monday, June 12, 2017
Sounds of Spring
During the opening of a Johnstown June, a mix of music could be heard...
"Praise the Lord. Clap your hands. Shout for joy."
The polka dates back to the 19th century, a simpler time for sure. In 2017, Johnstown Polkafest celebrated a genre of music with simplicity - some music, some food, and an outdoor mass under the St. Mary's pavilion. The Rhinelanders were the polka choir for the ceremony. My two-year-old seemed to appreciate the freedom of an outdoor mass, particularly the idea that dancing and clapping was encouraged.
" ________ is a ray of sunshine in my life. ________ is a ray of sunshine!"
On the corner of Diamond Boulevard in Westmont, a collection of small businesses celebrate the first Tuesday of each month. Inside Paprika Rose, Mill House Cafe, and Church Mouse Emporium there is a certain community buzz during this monthly event. Like bees to honey, neighbors swarm these three spots for coffee, crafts, music, and more. Local musician and friend, Dan Becker, entertained the coffee crowd with spiritual numbers and sing-a-longs this time around.
His "sunshine in my life"anthem struck a cord with my two-year-old daughter with the elephant mind. Our family walked into this song and walked out with it stuck in all our minds (maybe not our soon to be three-month-old / not sure what goes on inside that cranium). We summoned this tune for the remainder of the week. Just fill in someone's name and let it fly.
On Saturday, that crafty two-year-old brought "sunshine" out at just the right time. We were strolling in our fourth 5K together this year and the first annual Cuddles for Kids race. The event, held on the streets of Old Westmont, supported a charity that helps local youngsters. Cuddles got great weather for their trial-run-run. Congratulations to the event organizers and volunteers who successfully launched this event into the Johnstown running calendar.
My daughter was stoic and supportive as always. She sang Dan's catchy sunshine song and excitedly talked to me about what the lollipop options would be post-race. My little elephant will never forget her first post-race lollipop; thus, every race needeth a lolli.
Stroller Dad and daughter finished in 3rd place overall. That daughter did not care about places. She earned her lollipop...and banana.
"What it all comes down to, is that everything's going to be quite alright"
In my 33-year-old existence, I cannot remember ever venturing to Summerhill. If there was ever a time to do so, it was for the 125th anniversary of this borough. With babysitters secured, us parents had springtime fun in Summerhill.
The fire department appeared to be the center of the three-day-celebration. My wife and I were there for the Saturday festivities that featured a dynamite sister duo. The acoustics of Jill and Leah could be heard over top a herd of wine tasters. It was a showcase of local vineyards and the sound of two talented musicians.
Their cover of the above Alanis Morisette song summed up our day in Summerhill. I now know how to get there. Thanks Summerhill for a relaxing day in the neighborhood.
"Hey Ya!"
A week of music concluded with the Battle of the Acoustics Winners Showcase at Flood City Cafe on Saturday night. The Evergreens, another local and awesome female duo, kicked off the event and covered this 2003 Outkast chart topper. The Evergreens take this hip hop hit and turn it into a soft and slowed down ballad. It was a hypnotic harmony to wrap up a well-worth it music week.
Thanks to the music men and women who carried Johnstown June tunes.
"Praise the Lord. Clap your hands. Shout for joy."
The polka dates back to the 19th century, a simpler time for sure. In 2017, Johnstown Polkafest celebrated a genre of music with simplicity - some music, some food, and an outdoor mass under the St. Mary's pavilion. The Rhinelanders were the polka choir for the ceremony. My two-year-old seemed to appreciate the freedom of an outdoor mass, particularly the idea that dancing and clapping was encouraged.
" ________ is a ray of sunshine in my life. ________ is a ray of sunshine!"
On the corner of Diamond Boulevard in Westmont, a collection of small businesses celebrate the first Tuesday of each month. Inside Paprika Rose, Mill House Cafe, and Church Mouse Emporium there is a certain community buzz during this monthly event. Like bees to honey, neighbors swarm these three spots for coffee, crafts, music, and more. Local musician and friend, Dan Becker, entertained the coffee crowd with spiritual numbers and sing-a-longs this time around.
His "sunshine in my life"anthem struck a cord with my two-year-old daughter with the elephant mind. Our family walked into this song and walked out with it stuck in all our minds (maybe not our soon to be three-month-old / not sure what goes on inside that cranium). We summoned this tune for the remainder of the week. Just fill in someone's name and let it fly.
On Saturday, that crafty two-year-old brought "sunshine" out at just the right time. We were strolling in our fourth 5K together this year and the first annual Cuddles for Kids race. The event, held on the streets of Old Westmont, supported a charity that helps local youngsters. Cuddles got great weather for their trial-run-run. Congratulations to the event organizers and volunteers who successfully launched this event into the Johnstown running calendar.
My daughter was stoic and supportive as always. She sang Dan's catchy sunshine song and excitedly talked to me about what the lollipop options would be post-race. My little elephant will never forget her first post-race lollipop; thus, every race needeth a lolli.
Stroller Dad and daughter finished in 3rd place overall. That daughter did not care about places. She earned her lollipop...and banana.
"What it all comes down to, is that everything's going to be quite alright"
In my 33-year-old existence, I cannot remember ever venturing to Summerhill. If there was ever a time to do so, it was for the 125th anniversary of this borough. With babysitters secured, us parents had springtime fun in Summerhill.
The fire department appeared to be the center of the three-day-celebration. My wife and I were there for the Saturday festivities that featured a dynamite sister duo. The acoustics of Jill and Leah could be heard over top a herd of wine tasters. It was a showcase of local vineyards and the sound of two talented musicians.
Their cover of the above Alanis Morisette song summed up our day in Summerhill. I now know how to get there. Thanks Summerhill for a relaxing day in the neighborhood.
"Hey Ya!"
A week of music concluded with the Battle of the Acoustics Winners Showcase at Flood City Cafe on Saturday night. The Evergreens, another local and awesome female duo, kicked off the event and covered this 2003 Outkast chart topper. The Evergreens take this hip hop hit and turn it into a soft and slowed down ballad. It was a hypnotic harmony to wrap up a well-worth it music week.
Thanks to the music men and women who carried Johnstown June tunes.
Monday, June 5, 2017
Thanks and Tour
Downtown Johnstown was alive and well the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. For the fourth springtime, Taste and Tour has been a circuit of success. Local businesses - 35 in all - came together to make a map full of food, fun, and fellowship.
My experience began on the Inclined Plane. I rode that vehicular wonder down the steep track. As I waited to board, two kayakers were getting off the Inclined after a day in the Stonycreek water. On my descent, a wedding party was waving from below; small kids shuffled toward the gate. The sun was out. It was a great day to head downtown.
In line with my memories from previous years, Taste and Tour 2017 was a maze of family, friends, and neighbors bouncing from business to business. There is a spirit and sprint to it all - make the most out of four touring hours in the city. Those hours flew by and the businesses stayed. Tomorrow was another day for the small business owner.
Taste and Tour is an eye-opener to the hard work and dedication happening on the streets surrounding Central Park. Do not limit yourself to one day a year downtown. Days after Taste and Tour, my wife and I turned the same touring streets into our 4th wedding anniversary celebration. We ate lunch at Flood City Cafe. We got a couples massage at The Vault. We were happy, Johnstown parents blessed by eager babysitters and another sunny day in the neighborhood.
Before picking up our daughters and after an excellent meal at Back Door Cafe, the happily married man and woman looked out over the Inclined Plane observation deck. Looking down at the city below, I remembered our Peoples Natural Gas Park wedding reception. Our celebration was the venue's first ever wedding reception. Four years and two children later, I've got so much more to celebrate. I'm still dancing. My ankles might crack and my hips might have less swivel, but I am still dancing.
In one month, my brother gets married at another outstanding Johnstown venue - The Grand Halle on Broad Street. Seven days after that, I will be back at Peoples Natural Gas Park for a coworker's wedding reception. Just like those kids shuffling toward the Inclined Plane, I am excited for the summer ahead.
Our growing family has been blessed by the city they call home; by the businesses who provide food, entertainment, and relaxation; by the business men and women who make a living on the historic streets of my hometown.
Downtown Johnstown and Cambria City have some gems. They are not hiding.
Celebrate. Support. And of course, dance.
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