The Lion King Odyssey

The blockbusters of my 2026 summer began a vacation for the ages. Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey and the Log Art Theatre Academy's performance of The Lion King Jr. swept across the screen and stage in what can only be remembered as an epic July weekend. I had the endurance and honor to experience both of these reimagined, classic tales before traveling with the lionesses that are my wife and daughters in my own, real-life odyssey. 

When I think back to my childhood, my recollection of Homer is more Springfield and less ancient Greece. While I appreciate a wide variety of writing and artistry, The Simpsons has a profound edge over The Iliad in my conquests of enjoying storytelling. However, the previews to The Odyssey had me on the edge of my couch, believing I had to navigate a date night to the big screen with the woman who plays my real-life Marge. 

Meanwhile, my 11-year-old had five days - less than a week - to learn, create, sing, dance, and perform one of the greatest animated stories and soundtracks our world have ever known. 70+ kids united on a stardom savanna @ Westmont Hilltop High School and they were amazing. I am absolutely biased, but I enjoyed the two performances those kids gave this Saturday maybe more than any other stage performance I have ever seen - and I saw The Lion King on Broadway many suns ago, and my daughters have been in a number of excellent ensembles over the years. Call it recency bias. Call it Pride Rock, Dad sentimentality. Call it, Dad is taking a deep dive before leaving on vacation - Lion King Jr. was the best. 

It was an astounding achievement to pull off what those kids did. So, the first typed applause goes to the adult directors who dedicated their time, energy, and talent to give my daughter her cheetah chance. To organize and execute a theatre camp in that short of time boggles my brain. From the costume design, to the sets, to the musical numbers, The Lion King Jr. took me back to the thrill I once had when The Circle of Life opening sequence jaw dropped me as a 10-year-old. There has to be millons of people like me who can still sing the wrong words to The Circle of Life and it feels so heart poundingly right. 

Less than 48 hours earlier, my wife and I heard the waves crashing @ Westwood Plaza Theatre for the opening night of The Odyssey. The heart thumping in this arena was due to the 10-year-old excitement running through my veins and the sheer volume decible. If you are one of those people who still "goes to the movies", you are in it to get blown out of the water. The Odyssey did that in scale, sound, and sensational sequences. Allegedly, The Odyssey was shot in just over three months in five different countries. 

What?!?!?

From a cyclops shepherd to an oceanic whirlpool to the Trojan Horse, The Odyssey was a barbaric and bonkers circle of staying alive and impossible to understand how it was made. It is almost three hours long so my finest achievement was maintaining my theatre position without peeing my shorts. Take that, Odysseus (Matt Damon). I was sipping on water like it was the last gulps of my life. Outside the theatre, Canadian wildfire smoke was engulfing our community and the entire evening was quite apocalyptic, which is the best way to describe a date night. 

A Midsummer Nght's Dream?  I think not, Shakespeare. 

Damon is the clear star of The Odyssey flanked by many other well-known Hollywood faces with hundreds upon hundreds of other humans, running and swimming for their lives. The star of The Lion King Jr. was the entire ensemble - every elephant, zebra, jungle cat, and hornbill - every alligator wheeling across the stage in semi-aquatic glory and the hyena trio, meerkat, and warthog filling the auditorium with laughter. The Odyssey will surely get some Oscar buzz, but the best acting I saw all weekend came from Scar and Rafiki - incredible performances by those girls. It will probably take me a few weeks to not talk in a Scar accent or tilt my head like an all-knowing primate. 

In the end, The Odyssey and The Lion King Jr. told the same story. 

It is the story of what it is to have a home; to have something to return to and worth fighting for; the against-all-odds epic that pulls at our heart strings. It is the story of youth, wisdom, and family. It is geography and heritage. It is the song and dance that beats generation to generation, often led by talented kids reminding adults of what is truly important - community, coming together, and never giving up. 

Cheers to all creators and performers, far and wide. Cheers to the Dads like me who will sing Can You Feel the Love Tonight as a personal anthem until August. Standing ovation to The Lion King Jr. ensemble. You, boys and girls, brought it home. 

Nice work, Matt Damon. 

Good day, Johnstown. 

 

A Message from Cinderella

My 11-year-old daughter is in the midst of a stage career. Thus, her 42-year-old father is in the depths of the Dad version of that same career. With age comes wisdom, on and off the stage. Do I bring a seat cushion to comfort quartzite hard auditorium seats? You bet all of Broadway I do. As the kids say, "there is no shame in my game"  (eye rolls from all the women I live with and maybe all the women on Planet Earth). 

I realize the kids do not probably say that anymore. If anything, they text it. In a self-critique of my own modern communication style, I have been like a dormant volcano when it comes to blogging. I have not used this forum since the beginning of the calendar year. My typing fingers needed a boost and it came in an invitation to the ball. 

I was in the crowd for four consecutive nights of Bishop McCort's performance of Cinderella. In my pantheon of favorite childhood characters, which has never been released, I can attest, Cinderella was not on the list. I am more Wolverine and Tazmanian Devil and less refined /pure in spirit man, woman, or beast. With that acknowledged, I learned a lot of life lessons as a musical goer this May. Congratulations to all the humans who brought Cinderella to life and provided the following in an entertaining springtime sequence:

Lesson #1: Pumpkins are for all seasons. 

This fall to winter to whatever this is right now has felt extremely long. Of course, if you read through all my blogs, you would inevitably run into me criticizing unseasonable Johnstown weather. It is part of my Dad trajectory and an adult rite of passage. If you are in your 40s and do not frequently talk about the weather with friends and strangers alike, you are trending toward Cinderella's Crazy Marie, a wilderness woman who talks to herself and wears cabbage smelling garb. 

I really did not remember much about the story of Cinderella going into this week, but I did know that a member of the gourd family turned into a vehicle, which is of course, implausible. With the current state of gas prices, soon I will be trying to turn a pumpkin into a carriage that does not require gasoline. Crazy Andy near the garage. Thinking these thoughts, I listened to high school students sing their hearts out about impossibility and possibility. 

And that is the holding on to your pumpkin power. To give young people the opportunity to explore and entertain. To the students who starred as Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother, you had powerhouse performances and voices. Awesome stage presence that a younger audience can be inspired by. Ultimately believing, that anything is possible. 

The year my first daughter was born, 2015, gas was $2.51 a gallon on average. 

We can get back to this. Anything is possible?!?!?

Lesson #2: Surround yourself with good people. 

Prince Topher's right hand man is Sebastian, who can best be described as a prick. The high school student who played Sebastian hit all the right notes, irritatingly announcing words and appearing as if his eyeballs were going to shoot out of his self-righteous skull. He is unconcerned about the plight of the poor while reading off a scroll and calling people "ragamuffins", one of the most ridiculous terms ever created.  

The Prince grows increasingly suspicious of Sebastian, whose character faults often match up with adults on present-day, real-life power trips. Yet, for all generations and kingdoms, kindness overwhlems ridicule. And when you find the positive pack, run with them and far, far away from the ridicule roamers.

Finding a good woman is a start. I found mine. 

And because of that previous sentence, I got to golf on Sunday. (Bravo, Bravo)

To the teenager who played Sebastian, outstanding prick performance. 

Lesson #3:  Support sisters. 

On the stage for Cinderella, two real-life siblings played the roles of the zany stepsisters, Charlotte and Gabrielle. You could tell they were true sisters just by their shared, bombastic facial expressions and on-stage chemistry. They bounced around like kangaroos in dresses, wildly chattering about the state of their imaginations or lack there of. 

My daughters are 26 months apart and like Charlotte and Gabrielle, they have grown up together - hopefully in a more supportive environment (Madame, evil caregiver, not much care given and a ridicule champion). My youngest has often followed her big sister while creating her own path; over her sister's musical weekend, she had three softball games...which strikes the perfect balance of sport and theatre and parents going insane in a 72-hour time block.   

No matter what recreational or professional path they choose, Mom and Dad will be there to cheer them on. To the sisters who played Charlotte and Gabrielle, good luck with whatever road you go down and thanks for the on-stage comedy and connection. 

Lesson #4: The music never ends. 

My firstborn is building a stellar musical career and that is a testatment to the community. From Schoolhouse Rock! to Fiddler on the Roof to The Wizard of Oz to Cinderella, the common theme has been the fact that she has been surrounded by a tremendous cast of characters. And over those musical years there certainly has been strife and heartache in our part of the world and across our globe. Yet, the heartbeat of a community sometimes is best heard in a song; in lockstep choreography; in storytelling that only young people can tell. 

It starts with dedicated and inspired adults giving those young people an opportunity. I have tremendous admiration and gratitude for the men and women who give kids the musical start, direction, and guidance the world so greatly needs. To Cinderella's musical director, thank you for the years of frenzied commitment to our daughters. All three of you are great and share the quality of being, well, as Crazy Marie is described by Cinderella,"nuts". 

And I do admit that I did not need to see the Rodgers and Hammerstein Cinderella for a fifth consecutive night. I had enough - the right amount of enough. I look forward to the next stageshow and maybe, just maybe, Wolverine or Taz will be made into a Broadway production. After all, the Cinderella story is one of hope. 

Congratulations to all those local kids who sing and dance their way to the school year finish line. 

As the Fairy Godmother exclaims, "There is music in you".

Eleven Power

To end 2025 and begin 2026, like millions of other humans, I was binge watching Eleven, a super human, save the town of Hawkins, Indiana. Alas, Stranger Things came to a triumphant close. I apologize if I just spoiled the series for you. Blog reading comes with inherent dangers. 

A week and a half after I finished Stranger Things, my oldest daughter turned 11. While I do not think she can read minds or stick out her arms and launch enemies into the stratosphere, she is my super hero. She was born on a Saturday, the only Saturday I was scheduled to work that January, and immediately brought love into my life and secured my day off. Ever since, we have climbed together. And, unbelievably, she is now climbing pre-teen mountain. My climb is up the mountain for 40+ year old parents. It is full of glory and grandeur. I am just hoping my hair line peak stays strong as I reach this decade's mountain peak. 

Climb and pray. Climb and pray. 

While she never watched Stranger Things, my eldest child absolutely grew up along side Eleven, Will, Dustin, Mike, and all the other characters. When the show was released in the summer of 2016, she was stumbling and bumbling all over our house. I was trying to squeeze in science fiction episodes after she fell asleep; that sleep was sometimes graceful, sometimes strange, always eventful. 

As a child of the 80s, the nostalgia of Stranger Things was striking. My daughter grew. Characters developed. We added the much anticipated Daughter #2 in 2017. Seven months later, the Netflix thud could be heard for Season 2. And as each season went deeper and got nuttier, the kids were growing up - both on screen and in our home. My youngest daughter grew fond of anything that fell under the creepy category. Thus, Stranger Things was her hopeful haunt. With enough will power she thought she could break Dad down. If she tried hard enough, her will power could become Stranger Things' Will power. Sure enough, with less than an hour to go in 2025, she was sitting beside me in the Upside Down. I had to explain nine years of plot to an eight year old as we closed in on midnight. Now, that is the true Upside Down in this life. 

Her wiser sister had no desire for any of this nonsense, gravitating our youngest toward less creepy pastures. She holds the moral compass in their sisterly existence, and for that, I am grateful. We are counting on her to lead her younger sister up preteen mountain. 

Climb and pray. Climb and pray. 

And then there is Cambria County Box 11, another superhero of sorts with that number. This volunteer organization in our community supports 1st responders when they are called into action. My family got to learn about this dedicated group after a Crossfit workout on my daughter's 11th birthday. As a wordsmith, I was delighted by the numeric symmetry of the moment. If only Eleven was doing burpees with us at Bold Athletics that morning to really bring it all together. I imagined burpees being so much more fun when you have super human strength and preposterous pain tolerance. I have neither yet I do have something called "Dad Strength" which is my badge of honor and hope... 

"Take that, Eleven. Go ahead and save the world. I am picking myself up off this mat, sweating bullets" (internal talking to myself doing burpees).

In conclusion, I am thankful. For a daughter who has reached 11, another daughter on that mountainous trail, and to Box 11 for helping our community's 1st responders when they need it the most. When your world feels upside down this year, just take a step back or step up. No matter your age or what adversity is in store, we all have some climbing to do. 

Climb on. 

Songs of the Season

If December was a single sound it would be the combination of a dribbling basketball, referee whistle for a jump ball, a trumpet blare, a slide trombone honk, a soprano note, an alto note, a Dad snore, and of course, the peaceful call of a partridge in a pear tree.

With our daughters in the heat of band, choir, and basketball, it is a survivalist countdown to Christmas. Music, as it so often does this time of year, allows for reflection, hearty anticipation, or a healthy escape. The madness we create in calendars, bright lights, and elf migration can be countered by just the right notes at just the right time. 

Without further ado, my favorite songs of this December:

Manchild   Sabrina Carpenter

Didn't see this coming, did you?  Well, you must not live in a house with all women. Far from a traditional hymn, this song hit my airwaves this month and then I did what any traditionalist would do, I looked up the music video on Youtube. It features desert hitchhiking, explosions, an orca, questioning masculine intelligence, bubble bath pigs, and a cowboy chicken. It is four minutes of What The Frosty!?! 

If you happened to drive up our street on one December eve, you could see four humans dancing to the beat, singing high-pitch Manchild and having some sort of epiphany. 

One of the best ways to tackle December debauchery - dance it off by the refrigerator. 

On That Holy Mountain   Joe Mattingly

As members of the Bishop McCort elementary chorale, my daughters sang at the Advent of Christmas Concert. Held every year at St. John Gualbert Cathedral downtown, an adult choir combines with angelic children to create harmonious Christmas spirit. My wife and I got to enjoy this performance after climbing the mountain that is 5th and 6th grade basketball - back-to-back games in an afternoon slugfest. My eldest daughter, to her credit, transformed from scrappy baller to sweet soprano. My youngest, her basketball season over, sang from the front row as an inspired alto. She almost fouled out in one November baseketball game. In December, she melts hearts. 

This song was my favorite piece as it combined the adults, kids, and Mother Nature. "There shall be peace, led by all the children", a monumental line as we climb the mountain that is parenting. Proud of my girls for their gusto and years of praise singing. Grateful to the chorale director for her passion, humor, and Christmas crazed baton leadership. She is fierce and fantastic and fits right in with the kitchen dancing delirium that is our family. 

Silent Night   Joseph Mohr

Before the Advent spectacular concert, my girls performed at their school's Christmas concert earlier in the week, combining talents with the high school students. While there was a lot of highlights and standout performances, a 7-year-old piano player stole the show. His Silent Night quieted one and all. A statement song of calm and radiant beams performed by a brave and resilent young boy. 

This song has stood the test of time. 

And there is always a place for kids standing tall in the face of adversity. 

Days Like These  Luke Combs 

I will be the first to admit, I detest some of the December gauntlet. The hoopla can be a headache and I sometimes feel jarred in the crammed celebrations. Then, I have to take a step back and stop being a silly Manchild running around with cowboy chickens in the December desert. One of country music's top acts has brought me back down from Fa La La La Land with this simple tune. Luke sings of blue skies and the promise of green grass. Of being together and enjoying all of the trees, not just that one symbolic evergreen. 

And as we get closer to Christmas, I will appreciate days like these. Days when my kids are playing hoops and instruments, singing songs, and excited by what is to come. Days when peace on Earth seems like a longshot, but one sensational Silent Night might just get us there. 

To one and all, 

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Gobble, Gobble, Gratitude

Here is hoping for a whole lot of goodness this Thanksgiving to Christmas season, but beyond the turkey celebrations and surge toward Santa, I will reflect on greatness. Like a pumped up pilgrim or enthused elf, I announce it is available to everyone...

I present to you...

The Great Outdoors! (Plymouth Rock pilgrim fist bumps, North Pole elf cheers)

The following November experiences all have one thing in common and it is being outside. Sounds simple and maybe it is, but there is emerging scientific evidence that there is something profound about stepping out into the elements, no matter who you are or what the elements are - just getting out there is the benefit.  A quote from a book I recently read on environmental neuroscience captured it all for this 41-year-old, young at heart, adventure brain:

"Children do not run through walls when there are no walls."  

At the beginning of the month, I had the luxury of going on a field trip where walls were not an option. This was due to the "government shutdown", a ludicrious two-word term our nation has in its absurdist back pocket. Due to this factor, our field trip had no access to buildings at the Flight 93 National Memorial, which turned out to be a blessing. I had been to Flight 93 twice before and this third trek was all on foot, all outside. Flanked by my fellow Bold Crossfit gym members, we blazed the trails and felt the sun and wind on a crisp autumn morning. The surrounding nature serving as a serene dedication to what happened on that field. To walk with friends and appreciate the fresh air, imagining what a group of people endured in their final moments in the sky. To hear the Tower of Voices wind chimes and realize that each morning could and should start with gratitude. To exercise and watch the autumn breeze meet a colorful collection of tree leaves...

And then there is the downtown Johnstown Christmas tree and its artifical evergreen majesty, relocated this season to Peoples Natural Gas Park. Light up Night is propelled by that towering tree but I will make my case for the night. Each year our family attends this event, and you could argue the PNG spot of 2025 was even more magical than centered in Central Park, but no matter where they stick that tree, you need the night. The Light Up phenomenon needs moon and stars. It needs imaginative kids looking up and wondering how Santa does it. Imaginations can only go so high when there is a ceiling. 

The end of this year's Christmas parade signaled for a believing mob to move as a herd. I felt like a concert going caribou trying to get as close as possible to the countdown. The bright lights came on, the herd rejoiced, and hundreds, if not thousands, walked the winter wonderland. And from Plymouth Rock to the North Pole, humans are inclined to form a community and to celebrate together. 

Thanks to all those volunteers for make the Johnstown Light Up Night and Christmas season what it is. If you keep the tree outside, the spirit will be strong. 

Strength is often associated with the physical, but the mental game is often what holds the true power. This year's edition of the Stackhouse Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning had a forecast that some humans would label anywhere from not ideal to torturous. 24 hours before race day, the temperature would drop about 25 degrees and the wind would howl like wolves scaring away all the turkeys. Rain had the potential to make the gobble, gobble trails into a googly moogly mud maze. As a board member and dedicated Stackhouse servant, I was raking starting line leaves to serve my fellow countrymen and countrywomen, but this act was more a selfish rouse and effort to stay warm. If I am good at anything, it is forest trickery. 

The 2-mile trot was well attended and the weather held up, meaning that all a fun run in wilderness need is for Earth to still exist. If you embrace "there is no such thing as bad weather", you prosper. Thanks to all the trailblazers on Thanksgiving morning, those dressed as turkeys, bundled up too much, and the nutjobs who wore shorts. We need each and every one of you blazing the trails, from the youngest competitor to the oldest athlete unwilling to retire his or her running shoes.

Show up. Lace up. Mind over weather. 

This November, my daughters got in our first sled ride of the season and three days later I was riding my bike through the Staple Bend Tunnel; I've run across the bridge above the Stonycreek River, taking a deep breathe and appreciation of the view; I've went on solitude hikes in Stackhouse to clear my head and count my blessings. My gratitude list grows as more miles are logged playing, walking, hiking, biking, and running. 

As we move toward December, kick it into gratitude gear. Believe in Santa, your community, and yourself. 

Whether you feel great, good, or somewhere farther south, think about stepping outside. That is the only way Santa gets to his sleigh. 

Happy Holidays, Johnstown. 

Halloween 2025

This Halloween, my family dressed as the following characters:

8-year-old: Phineas

10-year-old: Ferb

Mom: Candice 

Dad: Perry the Platypus 

If you have never watched Phineas and Ferb, it is a Disney Channel revelation of a cartoon. Two brothers - Phineas and Ferb - come up with backyard ideas that their sister, Candice, finds anywhere from suspicious to revolting. She continuously attempts to warn her oblivious parents of the cockamamie schemes of her younger brothers. Meanwhile, a crime fighting platypus named Perry is fighting off Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, an evil purist of the skies. The madman versus semiaquatic mammal storyline interlocks with the sibling showdown each and every episode.

In short, it fits our family.  

As our girls have gotten older, our Halloween exploits have evolved or revolved. We have reprised costumes from years gone by for the nostalgia or comfort. I first was Perry the Platypus during the pandemic. I actually wore a Perry onesie to a farm in Virginia in 2020. There is no better illustration of how messed up Covid was than the picture of me as an out-of-state public Perry, masked, with parrots landing on my head. The birds believed I was one of them. I was disheleved and also believed I was semi-aquatic, semi-parrot, or going insane. 

5 years later, I decided a Perry trucker hat with matching T-shirt was a more socially acceptable way to parade around town as a 41-year-old. I still have the Perry onesie yet only plan to wear it outside of Pennsylvania during a Round 2, mid-life crisis.

Before any of this Halloween's tomfoolery, our family took our 10th weekend getaway to Creekside Resort, a Bedford County hidden gem in the metropolis of Clearville. Beginning in October of 2015, our family of four has done some glamping in cabins named Lily Pad, Beaver Lodge, and Turkey Roost out in the middle of nowhere. It has become our safe haven for a haunting good time in all seasons, but mostly in autumn when the leaves are changing and the hiking trail is surrounded by roaming wildlife. I have watched my girls grow up at Creekside and I will now pause to cry.

(Pause)

This year my parents occupied a cabin and so did my brother and his family. We roamed like the wildlife. We soaked in the glory of Mother Nature, family, and good health from frosty sunrises to fireside stargazing. I even organized a kickball game in apex heat on Saturday that I greatly enjoyed despite my brother getting the winning RBI and sealing my loss. Prior to this hit, both my nieces walked off the field due to their lack of enjoyment. And I may or may not have tossed my eldest daughter out of the game for foul remarks to her younger sister. 

Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with family kickball.

On the Sunday we exited Creekside, our Subaru Ascent descended into Accident, Maryland. My daughters and I were excited to return to the Cove Run Farm Corn Maze. My wife was not excited as she associates corn mazes with getting lost and/or movie murders. I assured her that this is real life and small children routinely enter and exit the corn maze without the threat of abandoment or death. 

Prior to our maze escape this year, we ate lunch at Brewery and The Beast, a delicious play on words brewhouse. I ate a scrumptious smoked pulled pork sandwich. An hour later, after surviving the corn maze as a family unit, I spent quality alone time petting two pigs at Cove Run Farm. You bet your pork belly I thought about the irony and the table to farm experience I was having.

While I was in my pig confessional, my girls were feeding cows. My wife was not feeding cows. She was in deep, deep reflection on how this was not the life she wanted to live and she will never ever feed a cow. The Terrifier for her is The Farm. I reminded her how happy the girls were to be back and how I would be a terrible, terrifying farmer. 

We returned to our homeland safe and sound. Thanks, Cove Run. At least 3 of us will be back next year!

On Trick-or-Treat night, darkness fell as we walked the streets of Westmont and then Brownstown. Hundreds of community members were handing out candy or in pursuit of it. The wind would occasionally howl. A child would occassionally scream. One of my good friends, a 1st grader, would punch me after every candy he received. This has nothing to do with celebrating the holiday or his analysis of the candy. It is my fault - I have made myself an open invitation for rough housing so the sidewalk jabs and hooks to the spine are of my own doing. If you are a concerned community member and saw a youthful Sonic the Hedgehog fighting a grown man Perry the Platypus, I sincerely Do Not apologize. 

24 hours after the Trick-or-Treat, our family scattered all the candy on the living room floor. We did some inventory. I claimed the three Almond Joys. My 8-year-old tried to make a claim for a Joy but this was not a democratic process. She did not put up much a fight as she was in a sea of Skittles. We decided that many of the treats will be shipped to the military to get soldiers sugared up. 

Support the troops. Save parents. America. 

As I retire another Perry costume after another fun Halloween season, I take inventory of what matters most - we continue to count candy and our blessings together...continue to explore, gather, and laugh with gratitude for what we have...continue to be community driven and humor powered. 

"CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUS!!!!!!!!"  - Dr. Doofenshmirtz

 

Autumnal Intelligence

My wife and I recently finished the movie, The Martian. Yes, it came out in 2015 and it felt like we started the film 10 years ago. We actually heard the Netfilix intro thud at the beginning of this month, but finishing a home movie as a parent can feel like landing on Mars. The movie features Matt Damon stranded on the Red Planet for a God foresaken long time and in October 2025, featured two parents trying to operate an earthly home, stay awake past 9:15 PM, and lead two daughters to a bright tomorrow. 

Mission accomplished. (staying awake past 9:15PM was not accomplished multiple times yet we finished the motion picture). 

But, by no means was it easy - for us or Matt Damon - life can be quite challenging no matter what planet you are on. The Martian is full of scientific survival - astrophysics and all the mumbo jumbo that makes space travel and the magic of the movies a real thing. Prior to this entertainment expedition, I watched Conan O'Brien accept the Mark Twain Award For Humor. Conan spoke to what Twain has offered his readers over the generations as I wondered what Twain would think of the intellectual / not so intellectual world we are inhabiting today. How would the man who once used the phrase "mental kaleidoscope" react to artificially intelligent written words?

I have to believe Twain would be concerned for the sake of creativity. And as a fellow and less accomplished writer, my blog hope pitch (Chat-bhp) is that words will continue to be creatively generated by humans. Granted I am not using an ink well right now, but by golly, this is me (and then my wife posts on Facebook because I refuse to have Facebook). 

I certainly have put up limits to my social connectivity and I accept the consequences. I do not like Apps or online shopping. I use one App (for my gym) and I have to try shoes on before I buy shoes to wear to the gym - repeatedly try on. Then, I leave the store, come back a week later, and try the same shoes on again to refeel the feel. This is at a place known as a shopping mall. 

Also...

Hellno to Venmo. My Instagram is walking in the woods. I get instant gratification from trees and not knowing what other people are doing with their lives. Squirrels and chipmunks over Snapchat and Tiktok, all day, every day. Nothing against anyone who use these platforms - have at it. The world is your oyster - just stand on those platforms with some positivity - that's my secondary pitch - post and publish to congratulate and connect.  

The Martian is all about getting one man back home. It takes a lot of technology to get him back to Planet Earth (10-year late spoiler) but technology alone could not get it done. It took compassion, creativity, and grit. Nothing to artifically sweeten that deal. Just people thinking, talking, and working together for a common goal. 

Of course, The Martian is Hollywood and I am typing this in Johnstown. But no matter wherever you are, I encourage you to spread positivity in your own words, use technology to uplift, and consider aborting technologically driven message missions that criticize or divide. Dialogue on division is so prevalent because of the volume and all the ways it is amplified. In order to turn up the positivity, clear the fluff and nonsense stuff in your mental kaleidoscope.

As I finished this blog, my 8-year-old approached me and showed me how close her tooth was to falling out. She had a bloody napkin in hand. 

A new mission is upon us. 

Cheers to creativity, working together, and being a part of something bigger. 

I hate blood. 

Climb On

On the second Saturday of this September, my family participated in a Stair Climb challenge. The challenge, held @ First Summit Arena @ Cambria County War Memorial, was in remembrance of all the first responders who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. 

To generations of humans, when "9/11" is heard, it automatically resonates as an event, not a day. In the 24 years since the televised scene of the Twin Towers falling down, time and technology have worked together to try to capture the profound impact of "9/11" to a generation that was not on Earth in 2001 or too young to remember. The capture is in audio recordings, documentaries, and movies; in heartbreaking interviews and in heartpounding creations - the memorial and museum in NYC; the Flight 93 National Memorial in Shanksville. The appreciation primarily comes in the form of observation and reflection. 

The Stair Climb offered appreciation through exercise - an interactive and active way to never forget. 

Bold Athletics, the Crossfit gym I joined in December 2024, hosted the Stair Climb. Ten months ago, I did not realize how that membership would evolve into a fitness family, full of colorful characters and language, community engagement, and a united camaraderie in whatever workout is written on the whiteboard that day. My wife joined in February. My daughters have participated as Bold Kids and as Crossfit cheerleaders from winter to fall. The next generation. 

The Bold experience has been motivating, humbling, fun, hillarious, and at times, painful (during one workout, my attempt to do a final rep of toes-to-bar resulted in ass-to-floor). I recovered from that 41-year-old folly and had no thoughts of falling down the War Memorial steps this past Saturday. 

Ok, maybe a thought. But, it was less about me and more about the domino effect that it may cause. Luckily, first responders were on scene. 

When we arrived at the arena shortly after sunrise, the red, white, and blue started to burst, a community canvas of Crossfit and connection. There were familiar faces, a small army of Bold members, combined with firefighters, EMS, neighbors, and television crews. The hockey ice provided a cooling effect before close to 100 humans went on a 2,000+ steps journey. And in that journey, it is amazing how much heat and hope can be generated by people doing something together. 

It was an invigorating visual boosted by music and then silent reflection - at 9:03 AM, when the first tower was struck. At 9:37 AM, when the Pentagon was hit. At 9:59 AM, when a plane crashed into the second tower. At 10:02 AM, when Flight 93 crashed on a Somerset County field. 

And after every pause, we kept climbing. For every completed climbed lap around the arena, there were more burning calves and cheering climbers. At some point, a Ric Flair WOOOO revolution ignited. During this professional wrestler phenomenon, I looked down at my climbing tag. I was climbing for Paul J. Pansini, a firefighter out of Engine #10. He looked like a guy who had a sense of humor. 

I am not exactly sure why I picked Paul. Every participant had the honor of selecting a photographed climb tag of a person who paid the ultimate sacrifice trying to save others on 9/11. At some point during the WOOOs, I saw my wife stair climbing. Saw my daughters across the arena. I took a heartfelt second to look down at a smiling Paul and unleashed an emotion-packed WOOO. 

When I got home, I learned more about Paul. According to the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation, "on his off time, he was always with his wife and children, they went everywhere together. He loved fishing and hiking. He was also a very comical person and always had a smile." Paul was a lot like me. 

Those words were written by his wife. 

I am going to hang on to my Paul J. Pansini climb tag. I think we would have been friends if we ever crossed paths. I bet he would have had a hearty laugh watching me fall to the Crossfit floor after an incomplete toes-to-bar. He will continue to cross my mind as I try to be the best Girl Dad I can be. 

Thanks to Bold Athletics for organizing this event and giving my family an opportunity to be together to support a great cause. Thanks to the firefighters, police officers, and all the first responders who serve. There were no greater fist bumps on this Saturday then those given to firemen carrying 80 pounds of gear up-and-down War Memorial steps. Attitude of gratitude for those who show up, protect, and pave the way. 

And the biggest thanks goes to Paul J. Pansini, Firefighter, Engine 10. 

The best way to honor those we have lost...

Climb on. 

Shrek The Musical Top 10

On the first Wednesday of August, my family and I traveled to Cresson Lake Playhouse to experience Shrek. Since his debut on the big screen in 2001, Shrek has been reimagined and has endured in the patheon of lovable bruts. Featured below is my Top 10 from the outstanding cast of characters who brought Shrek to musical life this summer.

#10 $1 Popcorn

If I have ever stepped foot in the Cresson Lake Playhouse before, I cannot remember doing so. Upon arrival, I was impressed by this historic house of theatrics. I had a back pocket, back row seat perfect for a Girl Dad who wants to stretch out as much as possible. Also, if I would fall asleep, wooden frames directly to my right would prevent whiplash. And I did not anticipate being bored to slumber, I am just programmed at this point in my life to get sleepy around 8:45 PM (8:30 PM) (8:25 PM) no matter where I am or what I am doing. I do admit that my head was like a fishing bobber after intermission yet that should not dismay the cast and crew. Much like Shrek, I am a creature of habit. 

And all creatures must enjoy popcorn at a playhouse. Especially when it is being sold for four quarters. In a land of tariffs, price hikes, and tip options for every conceivable purchase or experience, it is nice to know there are still woodland playhouses selling $1 popcorn.

That's a fairy tale in and of itself. 

#9 Gingerbread Man 

The scene stealer of all scene stealers this night was the Gingerbread Man. Played by a female with such conviction, I could be convinced she was born a cookie. Her hostage scene was comparable to Anne Hathaway's performance in Les Miserables. We all dream big dreams. Sometimes though you just don't want to be eaten alive by a merciless, miniscule lord. 

#8 Farquaad's Faces

That lord was Farquaad and that actor's facial expressions were pompous perfection. He consistently looked deformed in the face and acted deranged in the brain. His minions would repeat his name throughout the musical in a committed, comical chant. He scored big laughs from the crowd and rightfully so. 

Also, rightfully so, he did not get the girl. (spoiler, Farquaad face)

#7 Peter Man 

When Peter Pan came on stage for the first time, I was immediately struck by his beard and cave dweller appearance. I let it go (like Elsa), knowing that actors are probably hard to find and once found, you cannot force them to shave. Then many acts later, a mid-scene joke was told about Peter living in his parent's basement and never growing up.

Well played. Well played. 

#6 Liars

I bought 3 no-bakes preshow and initially announced I would share them. With my wife or my daughters or the 3 little pigs. 

In a dark playhouse, in the darkest corner, I ate all 3 before intermission.

Cheers, Pinocchio. 

I'm a real boy.

#5 Musical Farts

Boys and girls can appreciate farting to music. It is not ogre. It is deeply, deeply human. Before the triangle and the tambourine, there was the fart. Shrek and Fiona did what all fine actors do - they challenged their inner child and pretended to pass gas into the audience to song. 

Heartwarming.

Buttwarming.

#4 Fire Breathing Dragon 

Another standout voice came from a red, murderous, flying beast. The girl who played the fire breathing dragon had an incredible voice. She was a scary good, fire breather. The costume design across the board was top knotch yet the dragon was a particularly creative creation. And while that female role did not breathe literal fire, her singing music scaled high on the chops thermometer.

Well done, dragon. 

Voice of fire. 

#3 Other Dads

At the playhouse, the seating is split by the stage so I had a Dad's eye-view of what I could ensure were the other Dads on the opposite side. During the performance, I could easily pick out the other head bobbers and concession stand invaders. We all share the same facial expressions, driving responsibilities, and sleep patterns. It was as if a spotlight shined on these men and proclaimed...

"You are not alone and you will be driving home in the dark."

#2 Let Your Freak Flag Fly

This number was the anthem of all Shrek anthems. The battle cry for all the misunderstood and misguided fairy tale characters. This performance, by a small army of iconic characters, was a trumpet blast to embracing who you are and where you have come from. 

And that's a lesson every adult, child, ogre, and gingerbread man should live by...

Be you. 

#1 To the Cast of Characters

In November of 2024, my oldest daughter had a role in a local rendition of Fiddler on the Roof. Many of her cast mates from that Imperial Russia setting made their way to Duloc and a Kingdom Far, Far Away. The guy who played Shrek was her father in Fiddler. The actor who shared the stage with her at UPJ was now Donkey...and kicked some acting a** like a playhouse Eddie Murphy. 

Throughout the night, I fought of falling asleep by going down memory lane. From Fiddler, to Shrek, to every on stage opportunity my girls have experienced, a gratitude flag flies for all the local talent who have given us something to cheer for. 

My girls fell asleep on the car ride home. I did not have that luxury. I was dutiful rather than envious. My sleep would come soon enough. 

And when your kids are growing up fast and it is hard to slow things down, a playhouse performance might just be the place to go. 

Sweet dreams, Johnstown. 

Don't be a Farquaad. 

Midsummer Awards

No one really knows when it is the middle of summer. Culture, calendar, and heat are the essential ingredients in the summer blender. Some dog days go sun-baked, basset hound slow only then to immediately question, "Where did summer go?"  The 2025 campaign has had some scorchers and monsoons, some glory and some guff. Would you want an endless summer without air conditioning? The summer breeze might make you feel fine, but how do you feel when the humidity reaches super sticky and your home is a melting madhouse?

Without further ado, the Midsummer Awards. 

Best Picture 

Most award shows end with this category. Luckily, this is a blog and I present to you Superman. As parents, we have reached the PG-13 plateau. I can look my 10-year-old and 8-year-old daughters in the eyes and ask them, "Can you handle comic book violence and the word sh** for two hours and maintain your innocence?"  Without hesitation, they gave a unified, Clark Kent confirmation. My wife also attended. She gave unneeded confirmation and sat Subaru shotgun en route to the theatre. 

Going into this movie experience, I was not a big Superman guy. I gravitate to superheroes who have an animalistic approach - Wolverine, Spiderman, Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb is a phenomenal show). With that said, two thumbs, or claws, or hooves up for Superman. Intense action sequences led to Superman saving the day. 

That is not a spoiler. That is what he does. 

Get over it. 

Best Ensemble 

This award goes to athlete superheroes representing animals - the Johnstown Mill Rats. Since their debut season, our family has been a part of the Rat Pack. My girls are frequent participants in the on-field shenanigans. From the Fruit By the Foot, No Hands eating contest to Tug-O-War to catching frisbees in a pizza box, they've showcased their skills on the turf alongside collegian ball players. 

Those players have the Rats in position to host a playoff game next Friday. And beyond the players, there is a small army of people who get a Prospect League Team on the field to provide a fun, summertime experience. Caps off to one and all. Special shoutout to the July 3rd pre-fireworks promo video production team. The Mill Rats recreated a classic scene from the 1993 film The Sandlot and it was outstanding. 

Looking forward to more fireworks on 8/1. 

LET'S GO RATS!

Best Actress

While this blog usually focuses on hometown heroes and hoorahs, the winner in this category is from the Wild West. This June, our tribe visited Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, saving Yellowstone National Park for the grand finale and it did not disappoint. This was primarily because a tour guide named Ash was a woman I would follow to the ends of the Earth. She was a kind, knowledgeable, fascinating human who led us on a 12-hour tour de force of our country's oldest national park. 

My daughters will have the memory of observing a cinnamon black bear sitting under a canopy of trees, only to be outdone by a black bear (no cinnamon on this beast), casually climbing the grassy knoll we stood upon. That is when Ash, like a war general, commanded everyone in a 1/4 mile radius to get in a vehicle or risk being lunch. And this happened hours before we ate lunch at a picnic table near Old Faithful. 

The Mother Nature majesty moments kept coming all day. From geyser greatness to a lone wolf crossing the road to bison herds in the triple digits, it was an incredible experience. But above all, I want my daughters to remember Ash. There was a moment where my girls stood beside her, watching geysers bubble and boil, creating the wildest of mists. All three of them were smiling into that sunburst mist and it was one of my favorite memories from our Westward Expansion Lampoon of 2025. 

Close second - my wife. (Sorry, honey. You know Ash was awesome). 

Best Actor

Me (golf clap).

So, I did not drive a single mile through Yellowstone. Probably would have drove us off a cliff. But, I did drive over 800 miles in a single day from Colorado Springs to Bozeman, Montana. 

Close second - Superman. 

Best Song 

How can I write about America's pasttime and Yellowstone and not award The National Anthem?  My girls sang the anthem at a Rats game early in the season only to sing it once more at a 27-hole golf contest on the 3rd Saturday in July. That contest is a summer tradition where some of my friends return to Johnstown and pretend to be from Europe (Team Europe). Those who live in Johnstown or somewhat close to Johnstown retain citizenship (Team USA). My daughters sing the anthem every year on the steps of Berkley Hills Golf Course in this Ryder Cup for the Ridiculous. 

And despite being a key contributor to Team USA losing every single year (since the inaugural Cup of 2023), hearing my girls sing is always a win. 

Best Bet

Depending on how you classify summer, we got one to two months left. Seize every last bit of it. Run those air conditioners as hard as the Rats on the base pads. Recognize that kindness just might be the greatest superhero trait you can have. When you hear the line, "gave proof through the night that our flag was still there", carry an attitude of gratitude from sunrise to sunset. Sing it out. 

On a daily basis this summer, I have been awarded. Enjoy more fun in the sun and summer life on the run. 

And if it rains, pour gratitude on. 

Cheers to community. 

Wizardry and Women

 As the lone wolf man of my household, I learn daily from the thoughts and actions of women. This Spring semester has been particularly enlightening, bolstered by my eldest daughter's role as a munchkin in Bishop McCort's musical rendition of The Wizard of Oz. Without further ado, here is my Top 10 of the season, covering my April to May education taught by a wife, a 10-year old, and an 8-year-old:

#10: Bike Brain 

Weeks prior to Oz, my female trio attended Westmont Hilltop's musical, Into The Woods. I, being the clever fella that I am, convinced my family that I needed to literally go into the woods instead of attend this performance. Clearance granted. A showstopping Dad move. 

And then, on The Path of the Flood trail, I crashed on my bicycle. Like Wiley Coyote gets an ACME explosive dropped on him by Roadrunner crashed. Exiting the Staple Bend Tunnel and crossing a wet bridge, my bicycle made a Looney Tunes left. My body went hard right. In a second, the soundtrack to my life was written: A Dumb Dad in the Dirt. 

Thankfully, thy helmet protected thy cranium. Once I confirmed I was alive and retrieved my wheeled transportation, I had one more mile to bike for Subaru refuge. My right leg was bleeding, adrenaline was pumping, and I was internally repeating "I am such an idiot" like "There is no place like home". When I indeed got home, I had my mother, a retired nurse, come out of retirement for an unpaid, 20 minute traveling nurse appointment. She assessed my right eye socket, right cheekbone, right leg, and entire ego. 

When my girls got home from Into The Woods, I was on the couch, using two ice packs, showing off my versatility and courage. 

With one eye, I was watching televised golf. 

And we lived happily ever after. 

#9: Bird Brain

Weeks later and completely healed (not counting my pride), I had the pleasure of touring the Powdermill Nature Reserve in the heart of the Laurel Highlands. From bike buffoon to bird nerd, I was in an ornithology heaven on Earth. Hidden in the woodlands of Rector, Powdermill is a powerhouse of birding. I got to observe how birds are banded, tracked, and studied. I learned that the black and white warbler is nicknamed the "Oreo bird". I was grateful that I was no longer black and blue and able to fully appreciate this Mother Nature experience. To Bird Nerd Nation, I salute you. 

#8: Heart Award 

Counting the parents only performance of Wizard of Oz, I spent four consecutive nights in the auditorium (Kansas). By the time we got to the final performance on Saturday, I was picking out subtle differences in stage design and had consumed a tornado of popcorn. The resounding breakthrough performance, the Heart Award, goes to the girl who played Tin Man. She did this deep voiced, pathetic cry that was so perfectly heartless. 

And to all the kids who starred in Wizard of Oz, congratulations. I cannot remember the last time I watched the 1939 classic, but in 2025, a dedicated collection of kids and one dynamic musical director set the stage on fire. 

The Wicked Witch literally used fire on stage. 

Pyromaniac.

#7: Leg Forward 

At BOLD Crossfit this spring, my wife and I have conquered a variety of workouts to supplement the rigors of parenting theatre kids. This has given us the leg power to push the Subaru pedal to transport them to practices, get ice cream, etc. Above all, box jumps, air squats, lunges, assault biking and dead lifting have made us more humble, happy humans. 

That springtime energy and effort to date leads us to Memorial Day weekend, where two events separated by 48 hours, will demonstrate how the benefits of community exercise go well beyond physical. On Saturday, 5/24 The Path of the Flood Historic Races return. I will be running with a pack all destined for the finish line @ Peoples Natural Gas Park, the site of my wedding reception.

Sorry, our wedding reception. 12 years into marriage, I should know better. 

To all those running in the 5K, 8 miler, or 14 miler, good luck. Run your race.

And then on Memorial Day morning, The Murph Challenge is on. 1 mile run (Lions), 100 pull ups (And Tigers) , 200 push ups (And Bears), and 300 air squats (Oh My!)

And then another 1 mile run (Oh S***).

My wife and I are going to give it our best shot. Our daughters will be at BOLD to cheer us on and support the small army of Crossfit athletes willing to give it a go. 

Thanks to Michael Murphy who served his country, lost his life in service, and now brings people together for one glorious workout. 

As the Lion learns in Oz, wisdom is stronger that courage. Grit inspires. 

#6: Lean Forward 

My 4-year-old niece is playing in her first season of tee ball. When on the field, she gets in textbook deadlift position and puts her glove on the dirt. Her form is impeccable as she just waits for a ball to roll into her mitt. Besides chewing bubble gum, she is motionless. America's pasttime at its finest. 

Her team, sponsored by the Johnstown Mill Rats, follows their own Yellow Brick Road to home plate. Watching bobblehead kids run the bases is true theatre. Some scream. Some look lost. Some have to be enticed to keep going. At one point, a fielder on the opposition was doing dirt angels near the pitcher's mound. It is One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest meets Angels in the Outfield. 

The Johnstown Mill Rats home opener is at 7pm on Tuesday, 5/27. Our family of four will be there. 

Two of us will be sore from The Murph and might need to bring seat cushions. 

Bleachers (Oh S***). 

#5: Westward

The Wicked Witch of the West is dead. I watched her die 4 times, so it is officially over.

And in June, to celebrate, our family is headed to Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. In between my bicycle accident, finding Toto, and trying to fine tune my 41-year-old body, I have planned a Wild West expedition for the ages. 

Go big or go home. 

We are not in Kansas anymore (went in 2024). 

Eat your heart out. (Sorry, Tinman) (pathetic cry). 

#4: Go Back in Time 

Inspired by our westward expansion trip coming this June, my wife and I decided to start the series Yellowstone.

On DVD.

On a portal DVD player with a 16-inch BIG screen.

We rent the DVDs from the library.

In early May, I had to pay a 50 cent late fee for Season 4 of Yellowstone. 

If you have seen the show, imagine me as Rip. Imagine me walking up to the library checkout and being informed that I have an unpaid debt. 

I just stare at the library woman. I tell her to keep the change.

And I get on my horse and head back to the ranch. 

#3: Go Further Back in Time 

As a chaperone on my daughter's 2nd grade field trip, I provided Dad supervision @ Somerset Historical Center. This trip took place on a rain soaked Tuesday that led to localized flooding. We, the 2nd grade settlers, got to experience settling while the glades were sloppy and schools were getting early dismissals. We learned about cornmeal mush, the pack horse, red clay pottery, the spider skillet, and of course, the tinsmith. There would be no Tinman without the Tinsmith.

Thanks to all the Historical Center staff for trudging and educating us. I enjoyed learning what it was like living off the land without a DVD player. 

As John Dutton warns, "I am the opposite of progress." 

#2: A Little Left to Go

The school year is almost over and a sincere thank you to all my daughters' teachers over the years. From preschool to present day, an attitude of gratitude for educators. On the field trip I was responsible for two boys for around three hours. They were what I once was...

Lunatics. 

I imagined what it would have been like traveling with them in the 1700s. I imagined what it would be like having them in a classroom all day. As the only male chaperone, I manned the boys bathroom during the field trip and it was barbaric.

I will never curse the volume of Barbies in our house again. 

Girl Dad strong. 

#1: The Time is Now

In Oz, Dorothy takes us on an epic adventure fueled by her relationships, her ambition, and ultimately, the joy of returning home. Her story has stood the test time. Her friends, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, have resonated with generations...I think because we all can relate to their colorful characters. 

And all good stories need good characters. I am grateful for all the people described in this blog, in this community tale. I am grateful I live in a time of blogging. I would have been a bankrupt blacksmith. If I cannot pedal my bike across a wet bridge, God only knows how I would have met my doom on the settlement. 

As we power toward the end of the school year and the beginning of summer, show some grit. Support local music and races. Appreciate kids for simply being kids and be a kid at heart. When in doubt, wear a helmet. It might just save your life. 

To life, liberty, and the pursuit of the final episodes of Yellowstone (not on DVD yet!)

Carry on, Johnstown. 

February 2025 Top 10

Snow. Ice. Sleet. Slush. Freezing rain. Power outages. 

All of these did not make my Top 10 for February 2025. Without further ado, and to march into March, my gratitude list for the shortest yet most treacherous month on the calendar. In no particular order, the small businesses in our community that helped my family conquer the winter grog and combat the cabin fever that is February:

#10 - Whoever Operates a Plow 

Technically, not a small business, but a huge difference maker in our winter existence. Thanks to any human who has cleared a war path on our streets. It has been a formidable February after a January that seemed to be the longest month in the history of mankind. To all those community members who have cleared the way and probably used profanity while doing so (like I have been toward all forms of precipitation). Many a February day, I have sat in my Subaru and sworn in solititude. It is therapeutic. 

And I don't need any more therapy. Enough, winter. Enough. 

#9 - Local Newcasts 

Specifically, underpaid reporters standing in the cold @ Gobbler's Knob. We have a family tradition in our humble abode where we tune into the Punxsutawney Phil pageantry. While watching any sort of news broadcast can be deflating, I love a good weather update in the present conditions. And the apex occurs on Groundhog Day. College educated media members are assigned to the knob of all knobs. It is celebratory. It is weird. It is theatre. 

It is not therapy, but I imagine some of the reporters will be in a session soon. 

Bless their hearts. 

Curse you, hog. 

#8 - Tap 814

On Valentine's Day weekend, the weather was, you guessed it, terrible. But, the steak tips at Tap 814 - tremendous! Forecast cupid, you may have shot an arrow through my heart yet a perfectly cooked set of tips, well that is paradise. Steak, you seized the day. Nice work, Tap 814 chef. 

#7 - Saturday Night Live

Again, stretching the term "small business", the 50th anniversary special was enjoyable for so many reasons. First and foremost, it was not live on late night Saturday. It was on Sunday at a Dad friendly time and I stayed awake for the entire event, which is a feat in itself. As a humorist and dreamer, I have great admiration for SNL and the process of live comedy. If I had to add one more woman to my household, I think it would be Kristen Wiig. 

#6 - Boulevard Grill

Each February, The BLVD celebrates the life of Nicolaus Copernicus, a Polish astronomer and mathematician with a historically bad hair cut. It is a bizarre birthday party that my family has embraced for almost a decade. Their is Polish grub, accordions, and my 85-year-old uncle proudly supporting his heritage. 

A sincere thanks to The BLVD staff who made this year's celebration another silly success. The 2025 Copernicus theme "Keep your friends close, and your pierogies closer" was on point. My 7-year-old went one step further, keeping the chocolate cake even closer than the pierogies. 

She was unconcerned if the chocolate cake had Polish roots. Her great uncle also went to town on the chocolate cake, because above all, they are Americans. 

God Bless the USA.

And Poland.

And Ireland (thank you, Guinness).

#5 - Ryan's Artisan Goods

#4 - Stackhouse Park 

Shared recognition for these two all-seasons-stalwarts. Despite winter's wrath, I combined a Stackhouse Park hike with Ryan's nourishment multiple times this February. As a Stackhouse Park board member, I am grateful to all the volunteers and the Park Ranger who make Stackhouse what it is. I do not believe there is a board for Ryan's, but I would like to believe I am on it. Remember, I'm a humorist and dreamer. This Cambria City small business has provided us a gauntlet of good times grub. 

On one particular February day, I took a Stackhouse hike and observed a deceased deer that was absolutely devoured alive by a pack of coyotes. I did not see the attack, just the remains. I would share the picture, but some of you would never eat again. 

It was wild. I love Mother Nature. 

I ate a Ryan's smash burger directly after this Planet Earth experience. 

#3 - BOLD Athletics 

I am not just smashing burgers this winter. I am crushing Crossfit. Two months into this new exercise challenge, I am having a BOLD blast and my whole family has had the chance to crossover into this fitness realm. Sure, you get sore and some workouts are torturous, but the rewards have been plentiful. 

Take for instance, the Bad Ass Open (which my 7-year-old calls the "Bad A Open" because she is pure). I participated in this final day of February event where one specific workout is completed worldwide in uproarious Crossfit unity. BOLD divided humans into teams and I was destined for Team Purple. Ridiculous costumes were encouraged so I used a Donatello ninja turtle number for the royal and the ridiculousness. I did not keep the costume on while completing the workout because burpees, dumbbell hang clean-to-overheads, and lunges are hard enough. I do not need to impair my vision and add costume weight to the experience. 

I did add my 10-year-old and she was in beast mode. I went from Bad Ass to Proud Dad in a 15-minute grueling workout. She was pumped to do the workout by my side. At one point, my oldest daughter and I were moving in synchronized burpee. While the gym was a loud frenzy, I was locked in a moment that I will carry for awhile - the joy of exercising with her, separated by 30 years of life, but together on this mat and giving it all we got. 

And as I grew sentimental in my heart she was pumped to leave my side and lunge out ahead of me. Dad burpees evolved from young smiling dolphin to beached solemn whale. 

When time was up, I was covered in sweat and gave my Crossfit partner a big squeeze. 

And that was the best muscle tension of the night. She commented on how sweaty I was. 

I know how lucky I am. 

Thanks to the BOLD community and the inspired exercise. The madness extends now into March. 

Damn you, burpees, damn you. (swearing in solitude).

#2 - My Aunt 

She owns a hot tub and lives down the street. Since starting Crossfit, I have used it weekly.  

Thank you, Patty, thank you. (muscle and joint applause). 

#1 - Spring 

Think of this upcoming season as a small business. Appreciate it, visit it, and believe in it. There were so many reasons to pack up or pack it in this winter. Instead, we told winter to...

(use your own profanity)

We persevered and pushed through. We laughed out loud and slid across the ice without falling. And if you fell, you got back up. If my daughters remember anything from this winter, I hope it is the smiles stretched across the community. From a kind waittress on Copernicus night to a competitor on the Crossfit mat, kindness remains undefeated. 

Take an attitude of gratitude into March and recognize the strength in numbers starts with you. 

And if Old Man Winter tries to knock down your door...

Knock....

Him...

OUT. 

(Mic drop)

Big and Bold

"Go big or go home" is a reference that often puts emphasis on a decision. It was over 10 years ago now when a group of community members talked about investing in a big artifical Christmas tree and plopping it down in Central Park of Johnstown. When retold as legend, lampoon, or act of lunacy, no matter how it is remembered, it is just that - remembered...

to order big and bring it home. 

As a guest to Discover Downtown Johnstown Partnership's 10-year celebration of the Christmas tree, I learned about the party's shining star, the tree, which is a credit to a small army of Yuletide yahoos. And this characterization is not an offense to them. As many of them summarized, this was a Christmas crazy, going out on an evergreen limb decision. Word got around that money was being raised to ship a 36-foot-high tree out of some elf factory in the Pacific Northwest and light up Johnstown in a Chevy Chase brand of spiked eggnog, holiday fervor. 

And that is exactly what happened. 

My oldest daughter, who turned 10 this month, has celebrated all her Christmases with that downtown tree. Traditions often start when an absurd idea takes flight...

Right after this Christmas and before the New Year, I had my most significant "This is 40" moment. I decided to just walk into a Crossfit gym and declare that my athletic career was not going to go quietly into the night or at least I was not going to sink any deeper into the couch. Like the spark that led to the downtown tree, I sprung into action. 

And a month later after joining Bold Athletics, once again, I have been rewarded by community strength. At the core, and my core is quite sore from planks earlier this week, the tree and Bold are all about community. About people coming together and working toward a common goal. For anyone who has walked around the tree during the holiday season, the strength is in the numbers - of volunteers showing up winter after winter, of children singing and dancing, and of small business owners working together to make a big difference. For anyone who has trudged through snow @ 5:30 AM to complete a work out, I am proud to be in your pack. 

In my Crossfit community,  I have not been tested this much in terms of language since Spanish 2. There is the WOD, and kipping, and EMOM... I personally like the box and the assault bike because I can easily identify what a box is and I know exactly what is going to happen when I get on that bike - I am going to assault my legs. It has been a challenge and I am appreciative of the men and women who have been a part of the exercise. They have provided encouragement, motivation, humor and have helped me overcome my language barrier. 

By the time the downtown tree lights up for Year 11, I plan on being a Seasoned Crossfit Understanding Human (SCUH). I'll be 41 by then, accelerating toward Girl Dad greatness. My daughters will be getting closer and closer to teenage life and I will be pedaling harder and harder on the assault bike. 

I will have benefited from all those community members who have frozen their butts off putting up the tree and to those who have been working their asses off on the Bold mat. Hard work shines on and pays off. 

Cheer on that groundhog this Sunday. If you had to take down the tree this year or braved the subzero terrain to get to a workout, there is only one way to root. Spread an attitude of gratitude for all the risk takers, squat jumpers, and anyone willing to show up and shake it up when necessary. 

Phil, box jump us into Spring. 

Goodnight, Johnstown.  Dream big dreams. 

Adios, Invierno!  (Goodbye, Winter!)

National Lampoon Christmas Road Trip

On Friday the 13th, I was a passenger in a van to the Pittsburgh Botanic Garden with a ticket to Dazzling Nights, an exploratory, seasonal extravaganza through enchanted wilderness. Combined with friends who are family, we were a team of four parents, two boys, two girls, and zero partridge. The van was so jampacked there could have been a pear tree growing in the middle row. Without further ado, a Top 10 of our light show lampoon:

#10: Light Show PreShow 

To get the party started, the Squirrel Hill Tunnel never fails to offer a brake lights brillance. With the children eating pizza and doing assorted art projects, it gives Moms time to hunt and gather. They talk about layering while collecting items like palentologists on a van dig. The Dads criticize the architects of the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, who surely earned a lifetime of coal. They also eat pizza to stay strong and mighty. 

#9: The Bundle 

Upon arrival, I was the first person to get out of the van. This was after my fellow Dad drove through a holler that felt more like the terrain to The Grinch's abode than to anywhere in Pittsburgh. Once on foot, I surveyed the landscape while peering back at the van frenzy, which was a light show in itself. One of the Moms, not my wife, bought light up gloves for the kids from Amazon. I have never bought anything on Amazon. Ever. (reading Moms gasp in shock)

Let the walking begin. A 4th grader. Two 2nd graders. A kindergartener. Four adults in the prime of their lives. Teaching the children the magic of Christmas and driving 75 miles to walk. God Bless America. 

#8: The Bumble 

Before setting out on this expedition, my Internet research concluded that this holiday, botanic trail would be appproximately one mile of walking. In comparison, the surviving members of the Donner Party traveled 2,499 miles farther. And there light show consisted of the moon and the stars, and a wish that they would not have to resort to cannabilism before the journey was over. 

Some wishes are not granted. Thankfully, we just had Papa Johns. 

All the women in my family brigade wished to go pee before the walk. This led to two pheonoma - the never-ending line of the women's bathroom and the inability of young boys to stand still and wait. I sauntered into the men's bathroom and I could have done interpretative dance in there. The line to the women's bathroom snaked into the hallway like a desperate, frigid serpeant. When my wife exited the female throne (hours later), she looked like a security guard escorting two vandals (our children) to jail (The Great Outdoors). 

I asked what happened in there and my wife answered with her eyes. At least they didn't have to eat each other. Meanwhile, the boys were using the high traffic sidewalk to punch the air and yell untranslatable commands at the botanic garden plants. When Jesus was born, I am sure there was some commotion. 

#7: Holiday Hop 

To begin our journey, everyone received a handheld map that illustrated 14 distinct dazzling regions. If we stayed the course, the trail would circle back to our starting point. If we did not, we would end up in Ohio. I concluded that our tribe did not really settle in until Region 6, Holiday Hop. Before that geographic point, we were scatterbrained and scattertrailed. Holiday Hop is where we found our true colors, lighting up circular lights on the ground by prancing all over them. Prior to that, the previous displays lacked a platform for self-serving aggression that both children and adults enjoy this time year. 

Both our families participated in an entertaining game of light show cat and mouse. It was the high octane, laugh-out-loud silliness the Van Vortex 8 needed. Only one individual cried and that was because his brother is a barbarian. 

#6: Snow & Glow

We took Holiday Hop momentum all the way to the snow machine. The snow machine provided a beautiful flurry that led to a flurry of photos. I overheard one woman lamenting that she should have waited and used this snowglobe scene for her Christmas card picture. 

I walked up to her and told her the Donner Party never sent out a Christmas card. 

Keep it moving. 

#5: Eggnog for Clark 

At about the halfway point of the expedition, there was a strategic hut of beverage. Feeling like Lewis and Clark Griswold, I got an eggnog with the option to spike it. Glory in the Garden. After buying my wife a simliar eggnog and an unspiked hot chocolate for my precious children to share, I filed for bankruptcy. 

Through Amazon. 

#4: Firefly Field

This was the most alluring attraction on our walk in the woods. Hundreds of lights dancing as if they were fireflies. It was a beautiful display that made me think about summer and how good this eggnog is. I wondered if the Dazzling Nights board thought about calling this region the Lightning Bug Boreal instead of Firefly Field. I lost supervision of my kids while in this wonder wander. 

#3: Grand Finale 

One of the last loops took us over a bridge and around a small pond. Entitled "Brilliance", it was appropriately named and sugar plums danced in my head. Moments later I staggered through neon green laser beams that kids thought were so cool. I found them to be disorienting and oppressive to my 40-year-old eyeballs. 

Take your laser beams and your Instagram and your instant gratification needs and GET OFF MY LAWN. Where's the Tylenol?

#2: Live Music 

After completing a triumphant loop, we actually circled back to the barn, completing extra mileage because we are wilderness warriors. The barn had my oldest daughter's favorite holiday food, the hot dog. There was also a musical man with a guitar playing Christmas classics. The other three parents set off to hunt and gather while I established dominon near the musician. I fortified my position, leaning on a high top table while I also kept track of the the little ones on this righteous mission. Multiple tasking. 

While getting starry eyed listening to the tunes, I felt a tug on my vintage Christmas coat, passed down to me by a neighbor of my youth. I looked into the eyes of my kindergarten friend, the youngest of our team, and he gave me a big Christmas smile. As I was about to smile back he blurted out, 

"I JUST WIPED MY BOOGIES ON YOU...REAL BOOGIES" (immediate wild laugh) (end scene)

#1: Together 

On the van ride home, there was a lot of recapping and reliving our night on the trail. Gradually, everyone started drifting asleep. Some kids first. Then me. Then some more kids. Never the Dad driver (well done). When we arrived at our front porch, I carried my youngest daughter from the van as if she was wounded on a battlefield. 

And the hoopla that is Christmas season can sometimes feel like a battle. There is so much to do and not enough time to do it. There are the countdowns, the colors, the concerts, the concerns, the chaos, and the craziness the season brings. 

And then there are times where it is just nice to walk with your family and friends. To appreciate your health, the ability to get outside and on your feet. To share time with good people and make good memories. That is life's true light show. 

As we make our way toward Christmas, walk, don't run. Slow it down and enjoy the view. Carry an attitude of gratitude like Santa carries his bag of toys. This trail leads to 2025 and let it be a happy and healthy expedition ahead. 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Johnstown!

To Life

When my 9-year-old daughter got a role in a local performance of Fiddler on the Roof, I was not fully paying attention. This turned out to be symbolic as the musical centers on a Girl Dad trying his best to listen, love, and not lose his mind while sharing a home with all women. Like Tevye, I am the only man living under my humble abode's roof, and some times the father brain gets fuzzy in such conditions. 

Months ago, my eldest declared she got a role as one of Tevye's five daughters, the youngest, Bielke. My wife had told me about the auditon and my assumption was this was a grade school style showcase of the iconic story that I did not know or remember. If I watched Fiddler on the Roof before, it was lost in my memory. I might have been playing football with her younger sister when I received the details of this community production of Fiddler. So, that might explain why I also do not fully remember receiving the initial musical expectations - I was acting as a tackling dummy for Bielke's real life sister, who now has a Troy Polamalu jersey and it is the role of her lifetime. She puts that jersey on and her flowing Irish red hair transforms into the intimidating locks of a Hall of Fame Samoan safety. 

Fierce. 

Also fierce - Fiddler practice started in August. I learned that I needed to use my dependable Subaru to get my shining star where she needed to be. I learned that Tevye often talked to God about his unreliable horse. I found myself talking to God, driving my Outback all over the land, vaulted into the Theatre Dad Vortex. I then met the man who would take on Tevye and be my daughter's stage father. Prior to meeting this community member, my dear Bielke pointed out that Tevye and I shared striking similiarities - white guys with big beards (and hearts), not much hair on thy head (beauty), and she estimated we were around the same age (young). 

When I shook his hand, I saw the similarity and we discovered we had spent about the same time on Earth. When I heard him sing, this similarity stopped like a defiant horse unwilling to go any further. This guy was good.  In going on 10 years of driving my daughter far and wide, my stage has been the Subaru where I sing poorly, proudly, and passionately. Everything from the edited version of Bulls on Parade by Rage Against The Machine to John Denver's Country Roads. I'd like to think if I did anything in that ten years, I taught her to enjoy performing. 

On the first Friday and Saturday of this November, three performances of Fiddler on the Roof took place @ the Pasquerilla Performing Arts Center on the UPJ campus. The enjoyment flowing from the crowd was indisputable. The talent on the stage was tremendous, led by a powerhouse Tevye. Hundreds of hours of practice led to an incredible testatment to local talent.  All memories fade in time, but I hope to remember my community's Fiddler on the Roof the rest of my days and for all the right reasons. 

Reason # 1: I am so proud of the daughter I drove home from the hospital almost a decade ago. I was not blasting Bull on Parade for that first transport. I was driving more like a grandpa who should have his license taken away. We made it home safe and it has been a glorious experience ever since - being her Dad. It did not surprise me at all by how joyfully she danced, how impassioned she sang, and how strongly she acted. In the hours leading up to the shows, I confidently repeated in my Dad brain "You got this girl". And sure enough, she did. 

Reason #2: My daughter experienced the power of a community coming together. I cannot thank the Director enough for what I saw every time I picked my daughter up to take her home from practice - a genuine leader who guided, complimented, affirmed, and joked with the people dedicated to telling a story while he remained steadfast in detail and purpose. His commitment was inspiring. As the practices progressed, I would meet the cast of characters who became my daughter's stage family. I would commiserate with fellow Dads in the Theatre Vortex. Our family was invited to Friday night cast parties to share food, karaoke, and do an essential human thing - relax. 

Thank you to all those who made Fiddler on the Roof what it was - a family. From the direction to the choreography to the actors - you welcomed a little girl into a creative process that is a testatement to an undeniable truth - when good people come together, great things can happen. And that is a standing ovation that goes way beyond the curtain call. 

Reason #3: A small army of family and friends came out to support these performances. My kids have been blessed by four outrageous grandparents, who have done their fair share of driving around all over the place to help raise these wild childs. My daughters have grown up in a world where their grandparents were always there for them and that is an almost a decade long performance I will forever be grateful for. Over the course of this weekend's three shows, the audience included those four grandparents, teachers, aunts, uncles, cousins, a church family, the best man in my wedding and his family, godparents and friends. In a packed auditorium, a wolfpack of Stephenson supporters howled and hollered. An overjoyed recognition of all those who came out. If you saw me at Show #2 or Show #3, I wore shorts because I overheated at Show #1. I taught my daughter to enjoy performing. I taught myself, as a Dad in the vortex, if to be nothing else, be comfortable. 

When the final show ended late Saturday night, the performing concluded but not the celebration. This might be the last time in my life I get invited to an after party with my kids that starts at 11PM. To Bigdogz Grill we go! (howl at the moon and thank God for daylight savings)

As Fiddler folk gathered, the room filled, a loud love for the arts. Overtop the noise, the Director did what directors do - got everyone's attention. In a heartfelt toast, he acknowledged what this community created and his appreciation for the effort, the grit, and the final product. And then in a theatrical breakout, the cast started to sing the musical's rallying cry, To Life. Like we did all weekend, my wife and I clapped thunderously and foot stomped triumphantly. 

And in that moment, I was grateful for the wife who gave me two great kids. To Johnstown, our hometown, rooted in family and faith. To balancing life and letting the music speak for itself. 

To being a Fiddler on the Roof. 

Top 10 Summer to Fall

From August to September, there is an annual flurry of festival, food, and fun. The actual flurries will "be here before you know it" but it is too early to "snow on the parade". Without further ado and in no true ranking, here is a Top 10, thanking summer and welcoming fall.  

#10: Run the Park    

When I turned 40, I thought I might retire from running. That thought lasted a few seconds as a surge of pride, ambition, and ferocity seized my cranium. Running is therapeutic for this human and stillness is terrifying. Running a 5K in Stackhouse Park however is less therapy terrain and more hillside horror show. On the fourth Saturday of August, I was one of the wilderness nuts climbing our community's bountiful park for so-called fun. 

I went from being mesmerized by Denali National Park in Alaska to punishing myself in Stackhouse a few weeks after returning home. My wife captured the photo finish where a 40-year-old juggernaut lost to a younger, more athletic female. It was breathtaking trail theatre. 

Breathtaking as in I could not breathe nor could I get around that beast of a woman. Great race, comrade. 

I hear 41 is the new 21. 

I'll be back. (Terminator Voice)

#9: Art in the Park

The next day was Stackhouse's annual art extravaganza on the trail and into the Westmont streets. Each year, I assert myself as the Stackhouse Park board member who pretends to be traffic cop. I put on my Stackhouse Park baseball cap and I help vendors by providing directions and helping with the setup /tear down process. I rely on charm and good-natured disposition aligned with Mother Nature. We have had sunshine on our side throughout this event's history. Thank you, Mr. Sun, you golden star of the galaxy.  

It was a great day to celebrate community, support local artists, eat and drink from local businesses, and pet alpaca. You know it is a party when there is a beer tent and a makeshift alpaca petting zoo near a police station. God Bless America. 

Next year, let's hope for more sunshine and an elephant. 

#8: Fiddler on the Roof

When my 9-year-old secured a role in a local performance of Fiddler on the Roof , I announced I would be performing a one-man play called Drummer in the Basement, a Dad Story. Animal has always been one of my heroes. 

In all seriousness, my daughter is a performer. She is all jacked up to be On the Roof. In November, she and a cast of characters will perform at the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown and I could not be more proud of her. Until then, it is learning, practicing, and appreciating an iconic story. She has already bonded with fellow performers and benefited from the experience of meeting young people and adults who embrace the arts. 

Cheers to all you artists out there. Whether you are on a stage or a crafty creator, the world needs more creatvity and less complaining. If you are going to stand on your roof and shout, may it be to affirm or encourage someone else. 

Buy a ticket for our area's Fiddler on the Roof coming to a stage this autumn. 

Drummer in the Basement will be performed this winter - free admission.  

#7: Basketball Conditioning  

While my eldest child has been working on her craft, my youngest has been pounding the pavement. My 7-year-old is a more primal creature. She responds well to chaos. Her disposition can best be described as the calmest person during a fire drill. So, when a dedicated teacher with a military background makes her do crunches and run circles around a church, it is a beautiful thing. 

And when she wakes up the next day and curses him for it, I am so very happy. 

#6: Laurel and Grouse 

This Cambria City restaurant opened its doors this summer and it was a welcomed spot for an August date night. My wife got craveable pappardelle pasta and I ate a sirolin filet like the happiest caveman on the planet. I thought of my well done, sun scorched daughter doing crunches while I devoured medium-rare majesty, hoping the button to my jeans would not explode like a grouse flying out of the brush. 

And that dear readers is called creative writing. 

Laurel and Grouse - keep it coming. 

I ate that steak the night before I ran the Stackhouse 5K. 

We all have crosses to bear. 

#5: Log House Arts Festival

Here is something you don't hear a parent say at Arts Fest to their children:

"Touch that."

Each year in Westmont the Community Arts Center hosts this event dedicated to art of all kinds. And each year parents maze through the grounds hoping their children do not break, steal, or say something offensive about a work of art. It should be doctor recommended for parents who need to instill discipline. I've heard my wife instruct my girls to keep their hands behind their backs when entering a booth.

 "Approach the canvas like a criminal, darlings. Nod if you desire a price check." (Wife Terminator Voice).   

Thanks to all the Arts Fest vendors we visited on our Sunday stroll. And thanks to all the survivors of the Saturday storm...

#4: Saturday Storm @ Cambria City Ethnic Festival 

Our family has a short Subaru ride to Ethnic Fest each year. We get into our Ascent, a vehicle rooted in Japanese craftmanship, and descend to Cambria City rich in Polish, English, Irish, German, Welsch, and Slovakian ancenstry. It is a wonderful, yearly immigration story. On the horizion, the promise of pierogies. 

As we surveyed our eatery options, my eldest and pickiest daughter yearned for her favorite ethnic food, the hot dog. The wind began to whip. Her hot dog scent could not inflitrate the winds of change and the incoming torrential downpour. I walked nonchalant after eating pierogies, completing the digestion phase, unconcerned about finding the dog or water from the skies. 

And when it rained, it did indeed pour. Folding chairs were folded by the heavens. Cans rattled down the streets like aluminum tumbleweeds. Some tents collapsed or tried to fly. My wife and kids ran for shelter while I soaked it all in.

Once I found my family alive and the storm died down, we rebooted the hot dog pilgrimage. 

The sun came back out and a girl could live the American dream once again. When her soggy palm clutched the bun, freedom rang. 

#3: Mountain Craft Days

A week after the ethnic storm of the century, we arrived at the Somerset Historical Center to conclude a remarkable run of festing for our four. Our neighboring county puts on a turn back the clock doozy of an event. A team of parking attendants led me to a grassy knoll to park my Subaru covered wagon. From there, it was an all out, all day enlightenment. 

From buckwheat to barrelmaking, from kettle soup to apple cider, from all kinds of smiths (tin, rifle, black), from wood turning to butter churning, it was a mountainous marvel. Under the Somerset sun, we ate midday corn mush, one of my favorite sentences of all time. We shared corn on the cob and pancakes on a plate. All our blood types were changed to maple syrup + corn. My girls tried to walk on wooden stilts while I examined a replica firearm that took the life of Abraham Lincoln.  

If only someone could have told John Wilkes Booth...

"Don't touch that."

#2: Ice Cream Honors

Ice cream is vital to a Dad body. I would like to thank Serendipity and Shaffer's for a summer of shaping, sculpting, and satisfying. Here is my Mount Rushmore of 2024 ice cream:

Serendipity Coffee  (George Washington)

Shaffer's Coconut  (Thomas Jefferson)

Serendipity Raspberry Road Runner  (Theodore Roosevelt)

Shaffer's Mint  (Abraham Lincoln, Shame on You John Wilkes Booth)

#1: Smile 

There was no bummer to our end of summer. It was a tour de festival force and the starting point to all events was a smile. As the leaves start to change, do not leave the smiles in summer. Those continue on your roof, in your covered wagon, and on the trails that connect our communities. Be grateful for all those who volunteer, create, support, and inspire. Bring on pumpkin season. 

Ice Cream Honorable Mention: Serendipity or Shaffer's Pumpkin  (Statue of Liberty, no torch, holding a pumpkin)

 

Johnstown in Alaska

I finally shaved my beard. 

Up until August 2nd, my facial fortress was almost untouched in 2024. A few trims and plucks were needed but the base of thy beard was to be left alone, like the bears of Alaska. Admire from a distance, do not approach. 

In January, my eldest daughter instructed me to let my beard grow wild and free. Destination Alaska was planned for late July. The best version of her father in The Last Frontier should be a barbarian of the brush. I accepted her nomination, joyous over my daughter not being a teenager yet and these are the types of decisions we are making together. As much as I wanted my beard to blossom, I was perfectly fine with pumping the breaks on household puberty. Just stay 9-years-old, dear child. Of course, I turned 40 in April so reflections such as these have become standard operating procedure. The "life goes fast" sentimental stage. 

Spring turned to summer and the heat was on and the beard was hot. My wife and daughters were counting down our biggest trip to date while gazing into the ungroomed. And now, we are back home and I look like a school boy.  As many vacation hungry humans can attest to, from planning to conquering, it is a whirlwind. My beard will grow back much easier and faster than us returning to Alaska, a truly amazing place. 

Alaska is the 45th state I have visited and without question, it was the most epic of  our country's lands. I am currently working on a memoir centered on the adventure, an adventure that went well beyond our family of four. I hope to get it written before the calendar year is over. As I write this sentence, I am surrounded by slurping, coughing, and questioning. If you think this writer smokes a pipe in a private nook, you are mistaken. 

So, my blog entries might be few and far between as I recapture "Our Alaska" as I am calling it. So many people from the Johnstown area were characters in the adventure. Grit and gratitude will be referenced often. When traveling anywhere, packing and unpacking can be a gauntlet, but you never unpack grit and gratitude. Carry those on and off, each and every day.

I am grateful for my Alaskan adventurers. Grateful for all the people from all over the world that I met in The 49th State. I can't wait to write about them while my youngest daughter asks me, "Do you like my shoes?" and my oldest sings the same refrain 27 times in a row. 

I look forward to telling more tales and using beard oil once more. I imagine time will go by fast as summer turns to fall. Make sure you take time to laugh, say thank you, and plan the next adventure. 

Montana 2025?

Sounds like a place for a beard. 

Scorched and Shaded

The 2024 summer has been a scorcher and I guess you could say, "extreme", in terms of temperature. We, the humans, have a history of using the word "extreme" when it comes to a little bit of everything from heat to cold to views to candies - I'm talking about you Warheads. Centuries of adventurers made their mark by going to extremes, from climbing the highest heights to descending into the darkest depths. Cave dwellers clumsily walked back into the cave after a sun blasted day. Cooled coves provided refuge for voyagers torched from a day on the water. Throughout all of our history, we have needed the sun's power and the shade's relief. 

In honor of the sun and the shade, here are some of our brightest and coolest moments this July. Read with caution. I write some burns. If you can't take the heat, get off the blog. And away...we...go!

The day after our nation celebrated its Independence, I found myself on a humid golf course in a scramble format. My playing partners were my wife, father, and father-in-law in an annual search for birdies. As the humdity increased, we suffered bogeys. My wife was succumbing to the heat, demanding to know who chose 18 as the optimal amount of holes in the ground for this sport. 

It was not me, honey. 

None of this is noteworthy as my wife has always said that six holes is her maximum attention span for golf. Also, not noteworthy is the fact that we did not birdie many holes. We never do. We are not good at golf. What is interesting is that a giant snapper turtle, a prehistoric looking beast, was observed on a grassy golf knoll on this day. A friend got a picture of this monstrous reptile. The snapper looked much like our presidential candidates - old, confused, and needing somewhere to go, preferably away. Not exactly sure why this turtle presumably left his pond to feel the heat, but I admired how ancient and intimidating he looked. I hope he found his home. He has my vote. 

Three days later, my youngest daughter and I attended the Cambria County Library's educational session on turtles. In an air-conditioned community room, kids responded with hot-aired-hysteria for up close and personal shelled friends. The library's SummerQuest adventure programs continue to provide family fun where there is no time for division or debate. The most controversial moment was when one of the turtles shot out a lighting bolt of urine onto a smartly placed tarp. Airborne turtle pee?...and the crowd goes wild! Cheers to the Blair County Conservation District for the turtle talk and theatrics. 

Later that week, it was another sizzler. And the Johnstown Mill Rats decided to beat the paint out of the Chillicothe Paints. Final Score: 17-0, which reads more football score than baseball scoreboard. The Rats scored 11 runs in a marathon 5th inning. The Chill could not cool off the Rats' bats. The Paints were drying out in the outfield as the Rats ran wild. Legend has it that Bob Ross beamed down from the sun and turned the Paints bats into brushes. You had to be there. We played on the field after the Mercy Rule Win in a sweaty free-for-all.  

Rest in Peace, Paints. 

Rest in Peace, Bob, you legend. 

And while Mill Rats game are fun in the sun, I need to exercise my temple so I don't end up looking like that snapping turtle. In the heat bomb that has been July, my bicycle has been favorable transportation. One particular day this month, I loaded all the bikes into the Subaru, sweating profusley and passionately for my daughters and wife. The Outback had 4 bikes, 4 helmets, 4 water bottles, a pump, scattered hair ties, and a hammer, because you just never know. 

When we got to our destination for Tour De Cambria City,  I already looked like I did a workout yet was inspired by our family together. I was ready to wheel us to greatness. 

I got a flat tire in the first 100 yards. 

Imagine a rejected father pushing his bicycle back to the Subaru. He is sad. You can hear the air going out of his front tire and his face. Imagine his family pedaling on, forever thankful for the man who made this all possible. It is sunny and so damn hot. 

My heart and tire are now repaired. I completed a solo bike ride the morning before this blog, trying to beat the heat. I recommend riding through the Staple Bend Tunnel to feel a truly extreme temperature difference. The "real feel" from trailblazing to tunnel was amazing and refreshing. 

From the course to the library to the stadium to the trail, we are sun powered. Whether you are seeking it or trying to escape it, we are in this together. Respect the turtles and their silent approach. Watch out for foul balls and foul mouths. Pump up your tires with gratitude. 

Keep cool, Johnstown.