Toodles

My grandmother had many names throughout her 82 years on this earth.  Her given name was Rose Marie, and she was quick to tell you that the name was TWO words, with a space in-between, instead of one big long Rosemarie.  She was called Rose, Rosie, Rosie Posey, Ree, and Ree-Ree.  “Po” was the nickname that finally stood apart from all of the rest, short for Posey.  Her two daughters simply called her Mom, and her son affectionately dubbed her his “large fat Mama” (in all fairness it certainly was an accurate name).  Of course, my brother and I - along with our first cousins - knew her as our Grandma Po.   Out of all of those names, I've managed to convince myself that “grandma” was the name she cherished the most.

Now if you never had the pleasure of meeting her, you may be picturing a gentle, gray-haired, and soft-spoken octogenarian.  Certainly not so!  In her grandmotherly prime (as I knew her to be in her 70’s) she was indeed large, quite forceful, and she would never dream of letting her hair go gray.  She was an Italian grandmother, so what she lacked in height she made up for in voice.  She would stand in front of the bathroom mirror, her brown eyes peering in at her reflection through her big glasses…armed with a comb in hand as it expertly coiffed her light brown, almost reddish, pompadour into a high circle around her head before putting on the finishing touches of hair spray.  “Rouge” and lipstick were always applied before leaving the house with the latter properly blotted on a tissue, and then both would get placed somewhere in her abundant bosom for safe-keeping and later use.  Having lived through the Depression like many others of her generation, the woman was practical to a fault and she couldn’t discard a tissue until it was not only used thrice, but literally, grossly, falling apart.  Tissue manufacturers hated how this one woman diminished their profit margins but rejoiced when her Texan relatives came to visit, and she would bemoan the rapidity with which they would deplete her paper products.  She scoffed at their naive single use idealogies.  She would sprinkle baby powder into her decades old black slip-on shoes, turn off her constant companion TV with the plunger (more on this later), and grab her garage door opener along with her purse.  The last ritual before going out was to kiss her hand and place it on top of her black Bible while whispering a prayer.  So that's how she made it safely down her steep basement stairs all those years!! 

The aforementioned purse was anything but a dainty accessory.  This thing was heavy and it was a workhorse.  What would this looks-like-a-purse-but-functions-like-a-small-piece-of-luggage haul?  Oh, just some things any ole’ gal might need:  more lipstick, pens, her wallet, keys, more tissues just in case, lots of gum for the grandkids (this is how my addiction started), Necco wafers, and Tums.  Except Po wasn’t just any ole’ gal, which was proven by the fact that she also carried: pliers, sandpaper, a hammer, a mason jar full of coins, and clean "bloomers".  The woman loved tools, she used the sandpaper to “clean” her pencil erasers, almost never spent change unless absolutely necessary, and well, you just never knew when a clean pair of bloomers would come in handy.   Do you know anyone who actually cleans the lead off the eraser?  Even though I knew its contents, I would still marvel at the weight of her purse when she asked me to hold it for her; no wonder the woman was so strong.  I should really rethink my gym membership.  There was a brief period of time when she was tempted by the latest wallet-on-a-string fad and traded everything in for the self-described “cute” very long strap that she would wear diagonally across her chest.  Not having to use your hands or half of your body strength to lug around most of your possessions?  Very convenient!  Not having all of your tools when you want them and not being able to make exact change for a purchase?  Luckily the fad fizzled as those things typically do and life went back to normal.  Whew.

She openly made fun of everyone and yet she also loved everyone too.  Stealing one of her favorite phrases, she was “bad but good”.  This was the way she described her late husband, my grandfather, who passed away before I was born.  Together they raised three wonderful people who I love very much.  I could not possibly have a better mom and I thank God for her every day.  Grandma certainly teased and scolded plenty, but then she would also save all of the table scraps “for the animals” and place it outside, realizing that every living creature had the same basic needs.   At times the woman seemed to be such a contradiction and those surprising inconsistencies are part of what made her lovable.  Her jokes were hilarious and oftentimes were bawdy and not politically correct, but you had to laugh despite trying not to do so.  She would lower her voice so as not to get caught by my mom when she told borderline age-inappropriate jokes to her grandkids with a conspiratory smile.  Because of this and her hollering ways, she was… bad but good.

Some memories about her that I don’t want to forget:

I remember – the way she said hello when she answered the phone... she drawled out the word, slow on the first syllable and short on the second, yet still taking much longer to say the word than most people.  We have all tried to imitate it but it has never been successfully done.

I remember – the way her eyes shone as she stood clapping for me, smiling through happy tears as I stood triumphant on a stage.  My parents and my brother were there too, but the memory of her presence is what I remember the most, seeking her face out of the crowd.  I was thirteen at the time.

I remember – her booming voice and how she could yell so much when she frequently got mad, usually until she coughed (and then you’d get in trouble for making her cough).

I remember – her own made-up vocabulary.  The “F” word was NOT permitted and God help you if you said it.  My cousin would say it purposefully to get a reaction out of her and I was always amazed at his unflinching courage beyond his years.  He was younger than me!  I sat stoic, mute with fear.  Jarret:  “It’s not a swear word, it’s just Fart”.  He’d say this casually as if it were any other F word, like saying “food” or “football”.  Grandma Po, wide-eyed: (Gasp!  Thundering fist striking the table!) “How DARE you say such a thing in my house!  I don’t ever want to hear you say that again!  I mean it!”  Her tirade continued.  Her preferred word for the term, which no one could explain or defend, not even her, was “Tommy”.  Seriously, Grammy Po, where did that COME from?? Growing up I never understood why anyone would name their child Thomas until I eventually realized that was a made-up term on her part.  She also called the remote control the “plunger” and she called the plunger the ….?  That remains one of life's many mysteries.

I remember – the way she’d wave goodbye from the living room picture window every single time we drove away.

I remember – her mean streak sense of humor to us kids - how she would talk about her “demise” and suddenly shut her eyes and drop her head on her chest, taunting us to look.  This absolutely horrified us as children and made us laugh as teenagers, protesting her to please stop! because deep down we didn’t want to believe it would ever happen.

I remember – spending the night at her house as a child and how she would tuck me in – so different from the way my parents did it yet still just as comforting.

I remember – how she came to every dance recital of mine and my cousin’s, even in the sweltering summer heat before every single building in America decided to create an artificial season known as the AC-induced-winter-in-summer, with her tiny hand-held fan as she cheered us on, always telling us afterwards that we were “the best ones”, even if we weren't.  (I just added that last part to be nice ... of course we were the best!!  At least we had the best fans.)

I remember – the chinny-chin-chin goodbyes that my brother and I enjoyed and my mother disapproved.

I remember – coming home from Kansas City after her first of many big surgeries, when she was allowed back in her home for a brief period.  I had never lived so far away from home and was fearful that the world was turning in the wrong direction since she became ill.  So many people do not get similar second chances with loved ones and we were all lucky to have many of them with her.  When I saw her that day, we both cried because she knew how scared I was…  I knelt down by her chair as I usually did and buried my face in her arms, taking in her familiar scent while she stroked my hair, and we spent the afternoon together talking out on the front porch.  I was twenty-three at the time.

I remember – a breakfast feast of cinnamon sugar atop buttered toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice upon toast slice.   Yes, 12 slices of cinnamon toast and that was just my breakfast on one Saturday.  My brother probably ate 2 loaves that particular day.  Grandma Po probably rested afterwards.  She was the ultimate chef in the fine cuisine of toasting… with many people denying such a skill even existed, secretly trying to hone their own skills, and making fun of us grandkids for even suggesting this notion.  They changed their opinion when they were fortunate enough for her to graciously make them a slice…this was if she had any bread in her home after her grandchildren left.

I remember – her holding court in her chair, entertaining young and old alike with stories of her “making a man”… using perfect comedic timing and feigning innocence just as we were all gathered to eat one of her delicious meals.

I remember – playing cards with her, and even the cards weren’t exempt from taking orders.  Canasta was our favorite game to play together.  “Nnnyyeah BE THERE!” she’d shout at the deck as she whipped up the top card, fully expecting to see the one she needed most in her hand through sheer will.  This action was also frequently mimicked and usually brought on fits of giggles.

I remember – the only time I ever, and I mean EVER, that I saw her listen to someone else.  It was the weekend and we were visiting my great-grandmother.  My Grandma Helen and my Grandma Po started bickering over something, while my mom and I watched silently.  I had a friend who was with us for the day’s adventures, and she stood silent as well.  She didn’t come from an Italian family so even then I knew this was shocking for her.  Finally my great-grandmother had heard enough, and she shouted “SIT! DOWN! and SHUT! UP!”.  My friend and I were incredulous.  First, back then kids listened to adults and therefore we listened to my mom.  Second, a grandma is even older so naturally we had to listen to her too.  But a great-grandmother who can make my Grandma Po sink silently in slow-motion and tight-lipped into a chair?  That took some power.  I lost touch with that friend, but I am positive that she still remembers it too.  I need to find her on this high-tech thing that is the book of many faces and find out.  I was twelve years old at the time.

I remember – her kind eyes.  I have known many people with lovely eyes, but only hers and one other person that I’ve ever met have had eyes that would make me describe them as “kind”.  It’s like you can see the pure goodness of the soul and the emotion behind them.  I could only see this in her in rare flashes, but when it was there it was unmistakable.  (In case you are wondering, the only other person was one of her very favorite people, her nephew Bobby.)

I remember - the game shows, the stories, sitting on the front porch swing, picking up sticks and buckeyes, the lemon and chocolate bundt cakes, blast-offs, people watching at the mall, the spaghetti (omg, the spaghetti!!), puzzles, green beans, the big hats and strip teases that were a staple of every family reunion (I guarantee it was all PG.  Maybe PG-13.), New Years' Eves, my basketball games, her love of pigs, shopping at Big Lots and WOW, the way she took her coffee with overdoses of cream and sugar, the clean & crisp smell of her linen closet, the high school float flowers even though it was a beautiful waste of tissues, her soulful off-key renditions of Christmas songs and popular Elvis and Vince Gill songs.

I remember – all the things she did for her family – the big sacrifices, the frequent prayers, the little things that usually go unnoticed, and I am very thankful and blessed that I knew such a remarkable woman, my Grandma Po, for 27 years of her 82 on this earth.

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P.S.  If you knew my Grammy Po, please share a memory with me!  Thank you!  :)

It's just a little crush

Remember "Crush" sung by Jennifer Paige in 1998?  No?  Listen to it here.

I was thinking about the assortment of celebrity crushes that I've had over the years and it dawned on me that some of them could be considered....  interesting perhaps?   Let's review.

1. Michael Jackson - before you snort and hiccup with laughter, keep in mind that this crush was back when I was probably about five or six.  My crush on the man was short-lived but my fascination with him and love of his music and dancing remains.  The man was a genius.  I feel really bad about how weird he became, the appearance, ridicule, etc. 

I was playing at my friend's house up the street when somehow we got into an argument over Michael.  It went something like this:

Me: "He's mine." 

Friend: "He's mine!" 

Me: He's MINE!! 

Friend: "HE'S MINE!!!"

Well I had heard enough of her mouth so I marched over to the wall, moved the stepstool so it was right beneath his poster, stood on my tiptoes, and reached up with one hand as high as I could.  I splayed my palm out over his gloved hand on his chest and looked back at her with the meanest look I could give.  I told her, one last time, that HE.WAS.MINE.  I don't remember getting kicked out of her house, but I do remember seething on the walk home at how it was so unfair that I didn't have a Michael poster of him wearing silver sunglasses and his silver glove when I was his biggest fan. 

2. My Dad - before you cringe/gag/make a face/make a joke next time you see me, again I was probably around the age of five.  And I do know that my dad isn't a celebrity although sometimes if you squint he does kind of look like Mike Clark from Channel 4 news. 

One time I was sitting on his lap and I asked him if he could "kiss me like they do on TV".  I remember he kept not wanting to and he kept saying No and trying to talk about different things.  He kept refusing, so finally I grabbed his cheeks, puckered up, and yanked his head back and forth side to side while I moved mine in the opposite direction.  I thought this was how it was done.*  This lasted all of 1 second because I remember his eyes were wide open in shock and he pulled away.  This thought went through my head, "I feel bad for Mommy.  Daddy doesn't know how to kiss like they do on TV."   For anyone who finds this post disgusting, yinz gutterheads better remember that everything was completely G rated so don't try and twist it into something it's not.  Every little girl should be so lucky as to have a Daddy she wants to marry someday.

*This is how it's done, right?  Please tell me yes, else I'm going to have to change my smooth moves pronto.

3. MacGyver - I was around nine when MacGyver ruled my universe.  The mullet, those eyes dark with concentration, the perilous shows where he always saved the day... (be still my heart!!).  The man was so handsome and he would totally save me someday, I just knew it.  I would always set myself up on the couch several minutes ahead of time so that I wouldn't miss a second of action. 

It was either for my 9th or 10th birthday that my parents surprised me with tickets to go see one Mr. Richard Dean Anderson at a celebrity hockey game at the Civic Arena.  Except they didn't tell me where we were going or what we were going to see.  I was excited for the surprise.  Once I knew it was for a celebrity hockey game, I was excited for that too.  In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined that HE would be there.  How could I?  We were in our seats as the players warmed up.  We were sitting behind one of the goals, and my parents pointed wayyy down to the other end of the rink.  They asked me, "Do you know who that is?".  There was a player skating with his back towards us. As I looked, my young eagle eyes saw the glorious hair sticking out from underneath his helmet.  I saw "Anderson" sewn on his sweater and I saw the body movement that I studied carefully every week.  Instantly recognizing my hero, I shrieked, "MACGYVER!!!"  freakishly loud enough that he turned around, skated over towards our side and then winked, waved, and blew me a kiss.  To tell the truth, I did yell out his character name but he didn't do that last bit... I think that part came from my daydreams.  If he had, I would have passed out from the sheer force of a MacGyver air kiss, stronger than a hurricane gust that most mortals cannot withstand.

4. Eddie Vedder - I first heard EV's voice when I was making my bed, somewhere around the age of 14.  Better Man was on the radio and that song, that band, that voice burned into my memory and I bought Vitalogy at a record store when we were on vacation, just so I could get that one song.  I listened to that CD over and over and over and over again and I fell in love with the mystery front man, who had the best music/lyrics/voice I had ever heard.  Mind you, I had no clue what he looked like.  I had no clue about his radical political views that my parents always harped about.  It wasn't about that... it was about the music, man.  Just the music.  And yet there were flannel shirts.  And comfy corduroys and a song called Corduroy.  And then one day I saw his picture and it somehow all clicked.  I bought all of their cds and fell in love with the music even more.  So I don't know if it's EV himself or the band as a whole, but either way it's fantastical.

5. Elvis - Oh, to have lived when Elvis was in his prime!  I would have been one of those screaming girls swooning over him.  Sometimes I honestly wonder if people in the world "get" how great his voice was... yes I know he's still one of the world's biggest celebrities and makes millions even though he's dead and people trek from all over to visit Graceland... but do they do that because of the hoopla?  The outfits?  The showmanship?  The tragedy?  Or do they realize and respect just how powerful his voice was and how much talent the man had?   There's also his hair, his lips, his cheekbones....but those are self-explanatory.

6. Mario Lemieux - Um, this one is quite obvious from the facts:  I am a straight female.  I live in Pittsburgh.  Ergo, I must have a celebrity crush on Mario Lemieux.  When I was 18, I lucked out and got to be in the VIP tent at one of his celebrity golf invitationals.  My friend and I went with a lady who was actually volunteering and somehow they let us in the tent with her.  Lemieux gave a quick speech that I don't remember because I was dumbfounded in his presence. 

He then sat at a table and was available for autographs.  I had several requests, such as:  one for the lady who brought us there, one for my boyfriend, one for my cousin who is the biggest hockey fan I know, and one for my brother.  I got in line and got one autograph, feeling like a baby in front of The Man.  He smiled at me and I stared.  He handed me back my piece of paper and I barely managed a "Thank you".

I promptly went to the back of the line and waited for my turn again.  Each time he looked up, smiled and nodded politely, and once he gave me a curious look that said, "You again??"  I am ashamed that I got so many autographs.  I felt incredibly guilty taking advantage of his time.  I was scared silly that he was going to yell at me for being so greedy.  Yet he smiled graciously and I was grateful that he did not admonish me, else I would have surely melted into a puddle of tears at his feet.

And yes, there's this other detail about him.... where he used to play hockey extremely, exceptionally well for the Penguins for years and then he went on to save our team.  He seems to be a geniunely nice guy, so what other choice is there than to like Lemieux?

7. Daniel Sepulveda - review the part in #6 about straight females living in Pittsburgh.  Also this thing where he plays football for my favoritest football team in all the land.... also this thing called his sculpted physique... also this thing where he is a man under thirty who actually attends church and isn't ashamed of it.

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Honorable Mentions:  Brad Pitt, Jordan Knight, Uncle Jesse (aka John Stamos), Shemar Moore, Jason Kendall, Will Smith, Gavin Rossdale, Roger Federer, Marky Mark, Jeremy Piven, Paul Rudd, Rafa Nadal.

Little Love Letters

For some of the best people I know ~

Names have been changed to protect the innocent, nicknames the same to maintain the silliness... and perhaps someday they will all want to be a pierogi too, like their crazy but extremely lucky aunt.  Hopefully I can show them how it's done.  ;)

1. Nichole Sunshine (brother's first born) - Oh my sunshine, where do I start?  You've taught me a lot about babies and now little girls and somehow you even managed to convince me that pink isn't the worst color in the world.  Yours was the first diaper I changed, yours was the first voice I heard so tiny, yours was the first smile I saw that made me deliriously happy and in love.  You are the exclusive inventor of the "Nichole Why".  You're a comedian with the things that you do and say now that you're three and a half (although you've been doing and saying cute things for a long time now!).  You told me this at age two: "I'm a big girl, because I know what to do and I know what not to do.  I know what I want and I know what I don't want."  We should all be so wise.  Your big beautiful blue eyes are curious and you question as much as you can.  Your dimple shows when you smile and your little personality is getting bigger all the time. You are incredibly smart and I love to hear your thoughts, logic,  and "ideas".  You are full of wonder at everything you see and you are, well, just wonderful to me! :)

2. Denali Pie (LEL's first born) - My pumpkin pie, how I love you so!  Since I already had a niece, I was able to realize and understand more fully all of the fun and the love that I had to look forward to when you arrived.  Before you were born though, you and your doctors gave us all quite a scare...because we didn't know if you'd be a healthy baby.  I prayed and prayed for you, as did so many others, and when you were born you came out miraculously perfect.  The first time I saw you, I was overwhelmed with just how tiny you were but I was also overwhelmed with gratitude for your good health and happiness for your parents.  Your mommy and daddy let me reach inside your incubator to touch you, and I'll never forget the smallest knee propped up in the air and my finger stroke on your knee that touched my heart.  You had the cutest cry as a baby and I couldn't help myself - I had to smile when you cried (and your mom would just shake her head in amusement at me).  Every time I see you, I'm amazed at your precious little features on your beautiful little face... and how tall you're getting at almost age three.  You're a very good big sister.  You're quite a rambunctious little girl who also has excellent manners, and I have the best time when we play together.  Your hair is an impossible to describe but superb light brown color that I wish I could bottle.... so that I could use it when I have to dye my hair in a few years! :)

3. Marie Love (brother's second born, my first godchild) - Love of my life, you are so lovely!  As your daddy would say, you broke the "cute-ometer" like your big sister.  It surged to the MAX point and then it broke trying to record your levels of cuteness.  You're one and a half now, and you're the happiest baby, so pleasant and smiling all the time.  You want to do everything your big sister does and you try your best to do it.  Your baby laugh makes me feel like I am The Absolute Funniest Person in the World when we play peek-a-boo and our made-up games together.  I wish I could have your sheer joyfulness resulting from practically anything you see.  I'm amazed at how big you're getting (much too quickly for me) and I wish I could see you more often.... I can hardly believe that you're already counting in your little baby voice!  I marvel at how I got to be so lucky as to be related to you and your sister.  God has blessed our family with the two of you.  Again, as your daddy has said, "How did it happen that I won the Powerball twice with these little girls?  And this is even better than winning the Powerball."  :)

4. Elizabeth Sweetheart (LEL's second born, my second godchild) - Sweetie pie, you're sweeter than all the sugar in all the marshmallows in the whole wide world.  Your parents couldn't decide on a name right away after you were born, so when I met you on your birthday, you were a sweet unnamed angel.  Since you're almost ten months old now, you still have those beautiful chubby cheeks that I admired on your first day in this world.  You have the softest hair, which I am pleased to see is growing into a perfect color like your big sister's.  You have your mommy's eyebrows and nose and your own little machine-gun laugh that I love to hear, with two centered front teeth on the bottom and just one coming in on the top!  I am lucky and proud to be your godmother and I think you are very happy about it too....you smiled frequently as I held you during your baptism ceremony.  I was doing my best to pay attention to the priest, but I had to keep looking down at you because any time I stole a peek, your little baby mouth turned up into the biggest grin!  I hope I never forget how sweet you were that day! :)

5. A fifth niece! (JLC's growing babycakes) - Mystery baby, I can't wait to meet you!  I hope you have your mommy's enthusiasm for life and your daddy's patience, your mommy's expressiveness and your daddy's perceptiveness.  I hope you have the strong faith and kindness of both of your parents.  I already know you'll have lots of love in your life and I can't wait to be a part of it to love you too... you mean so much to me and you're not even here yet! :)

He will bring us goodness and light

(I wrote this one before heading to Florida for Christmas so I could lazily - uh, I mean easily - post it on the appropriate day.  I got sick and obviously I'm a little bit late here!  Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas!)


The following text is from a sermon at church about a month ago.  I enjoyed the priest's message and I wanted to write it down so I won't forget it. 

Some days it's difficult to get out of bed in the morning.  We think about all the things we have to do that day and we think about all the things that are troubling us.  Maybe we're having a tough time with family members, with our jobs, or with illnesses.  That's why Christmas is a perfect time to think about and reflect on why Jesus came to earth for us.  What is Jesus offering us?  Is he offering us a life without pain?  A life without any form of suffering or hurt?  No.  Jesus is offering us Love.  When he came here as a man, he experienced our ailments, our hurts, betrayals, and sufferings.  He knows what it feels like.  It is a very important distinction to remember that he is offering us Love and not a guarantee of painlessness, and he wants us to experience his love.  Having love is more vital than having a pain-free life... keep that in mind anytime you are feeling discouraged.

If you want to be a true disciple of Christ, you must take up your cross and follow him.  No one ever said this life was going to be easy.

Unfortunately though.... for as much as we might like this to be true some days..... certain things are not for us to decide.  We cannot choose for our cross to be made with styrofoam!

Merry Christmas!!  :)

November Rain

I'm gearing up for the first cold November rain.  And yes, while writing my very first (and potentially last) blog posting I realize that it is currently October....but who doesn't like that Guns N' Roses song?  The piano and the wistful lyrics complement the drums and guitar shredding superbly.  It's on my Top 25 list of all-time great songs (which will be shared later, just as soon as I compile it).   If you haven't heard the song before or seen the music video, check it out here.  Holy hair band and holy short wedding dress.

Anyway, like a lot of people -and I think many yinzers would agree- fall is my favorite time of the year.  I like it for the usual reasons that most people give if they have an affinity for this season:  Steelers football, college football, high school football, the beautiful and colorful leaves, the autumn smell and chill in the air, hot chocolate, the official start of sweaters and boots season, and the semi-annual Victoria Secret's sale.  Ok, so maybe the last one doesn't really count.  Did I mention football? 

Aside from the standard responses though, the main reason fall is my favorite time of the year is the anticipation it brings.  The anticipation of the holidays filled with family, laughter, and times spent together recalling past holidays.  The anticipation of Christmas and remembering/celebrating Christ's love for us.  The anticipation of the new year approaching and all of the possibilities it could bring.  It's a hopeful time even though the outside world is changing and getting colder each day.  The first snowfall is always magical.  (If I can make the snowfall comment after living in Erie for years with the lake-effect snows-until-you-can't-stand-it-and-then-it-snows-some-more weather, then you should be able to agree.)  Of course, I do realize that snow-falling happens in the winter season, but the waiting for its arrival and the anxious small-talk of "so when do you think it's gonna snow?" typically takes place in the fall and is a small part of the fun unpredictibility of life.  Wouldn't it be awful if we knew the future?  Frankly, I think it would be downright scary to know all of the heartbreak and agony ahead of time, while on the other hand it would also steal something away from the sheer joy in the breathless, happy, and wonderful moments in life if they couldn't catch you by surprise.  The one pesky afterthought of course may be to know the winning lottery numbers, but that's another topic for another day.

So congratulations...you have almost made it to the end of my first blog posting (yes, I'm writing to you Mom and Dad....the only two people who would read this!).  I know you've waited for quite some time for the blog's arrival since I have talked about it ad nauseum, but now that you have actually read it I'm sure you're anticipating the post's ending with an even greater fervor.  I can just hear the conversation now, it would go something like this...  My Mom: "So this is what a blog is?  Why would I want to sit here and read it?  I don't get it."  My Dad: "Now hold on just a minute, hush and keep reading.  I think there's more down below, maybe she will tell us something important."  My Mom: "If she had something important to tell us, wouldn't she have called?  Why do we have to check the internet?"

And finally - I have one more new reason to fall in love with the fall this year - even more so than other years.  It involves a dream of mine that has been slowly and steadily building.  I'm sure there are plenty of other Pittsburghers who hold this very same dream and yet many are not brave enough souls to vocalize it or even to take the first step in achieving it.  (Yes, many of these people are probably ages twelve and under, but who's checking ID?)  It is a thing of beauty, actually.  Everyone who knows me should know that I am competitive and that I love the city of Pittsburgh and Pittsburgh sports teams.  I also love to eat.  What could be better than cheering on the hometown baseball team in the most beautiful ballpark in the country while running a foot race dressed up as a Polish food staple?  Ladies and gentlemen (I mean - Mom and Dad)...I want to be a pierogi.  A Pittsburgh pierogi.  Fall serves as my official start to get-in-shape season to get doughy for try-outs in March.  I will be relentless in my training efforts.  Even if there's a cold November rain, I will have to force myself to get to the gym and "lay it on the line" as Axl Rose would say. 

Like I said before, I love the fall season because it's all about anticipation.  A girl can dream, right?  And if this doesn't work out, then I have a fantastic costume idea for next Halloween.