Cats and Home Depot

A two-part blog today

Dogs come when called. Cats take a message and get back to you:

MEMO TO MY CAT

Dear Casanova: You have lived in this house for several years now and I have tolerated your little idiosyncrasies. I admit I’ve been a little lax on rules enforcement, but now it is time to review the HOUSE RULES:

1. Nighttime is when big people sleep. It is most difficult to sleep when a cat is curled up on your head with his tail brushing across your nose.

2. The bed is a King size. That is the largest one they make. It should easily sleep two adults and a cat. You weigh about 15 pounds, a fraction of what either of your two human bedmates weigh, so there should not be a problem here. I could not buy a bigger bed even if I wanted to and I refuse to move to the couch again to accommodate you.

3. The bowl that says “Cat Man” is yours. The food in that bowl is cat food. The food on the counter is human food. Placing your paw in the middle of the human food or poking around it with your nose does not make it cat food. Dining on cat hair is not my idea of an epicurean delight. Stay away from my food.

4. The hallway from the living room to the bedroom was not designed by NASCAR. I know that some of your cat relatives can reach a top speed of 60 mph. Racing me to the bedroom, even with a head start, is not a fair game. Tripping me offers you no advantage because you can already beat me fair and square.

5. Let’s revisit the bedroom for a moment. I have lived up to my end of the bargain by not taking you to a groomer to have you washed and trimmed, and you’ve kept your end by grooming yourself daily. But MUST you groom yourself just as I’m drifting off to sleep? And the occasional hairball… must you cough it where I step when I get up from bed? I think not.

6. You have an entire room with a fine potty box filled with kitty litter. I do not bother you when you go in to do your business. So why, when I enter my human bathroom, do you feel compelled to claw, cry, meow, and otherwise try to turn the door knob and even to crawl under the door? Just as you prefer privacy in your potty box, so do I in mine.

7. Then there is the kissing thing. Even though your tongue is a bit like steel wool, I appreciate your affectionateness and desire to kiss me. Given my preference, however, I would prefer you kiss me BEFORE you clean yourself.

8. I know you have several uncanny abilities. When we have visitors you have the ability to identify the one who likes cats least and rub against that person’s leg, climb on their lap, and muss their hair. It would be better if you did not do that.

9. Many people do not understand that you are just a pet to them but to us, you are our kids. We adopted you and you’re welcome here as long as you choose to stay.

10. Finally, don’t get all uppity when you read this one, but having a cat is better than having a kid around the house for the following reasons: you eat less, you don’t ask for money, you won’t wreck my car, you don’t smoke, I won’t have to pay for your college, and you will not come home pregnant, and even if you do we can sell your offspring.

PART II: A LUNCH CRUNCH

Ok, so I sneak off for a quickie lunch with Mrs. Dr. Forgot. It was at one of our usual Mexican Cantina lunches with food you can’t pronounce and shouldn’t trust. Pedro (real name Skippy) took our order and disappeared. The food was good - a little spicy, not AIEEEE CARRUMBA!!

On the way back my date said, “Let’s stop at Home Depot. I have to pick up some plant food.” How innocent is that? Ok, no problem

Once we got there she reminded me that the grates on the BBQ were getting awfully greasy and maybe it is time to replace them. In fact the entire BBQ is about 10 years old and getting pretty grungy. Hey! Guess what! Home Depot is having a sale. Half off on selected BBQ grilles! What a deal! The conversation was as follows:

HOME DEPOT ASSOCIATE: “Can I help you, sir?”
She: “Can we see the BBQs that are on sale?”
ME: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

HDA: “Right over here.”
SHE: “Look, Honey, by the time we buy new grilles, for just a little more we can have a whole new BBQ.”
ME: I am NOT putting another (Joe Biden word)ing BBQ together.

HDA: Sir, we can assemble one for you. In fact we have three already assembled on display outside.:
SHE: “Be still my heart!”
ME: “Right. How much extra for assembly?”

HDA: Nothing, Sir, they come either assembled or unassembled, same low price.”
SHE: “Be still my heart.”
ME: Ok, help me load the 5 bags of caca (she calls it plant food), and the 50 lb. bag of sand she bought (don’t ask me why – we have lots of sand in the desert for free), and the three other items and the BBQ into the car.

(Pay for caca, sand, BBQ, and misc.)

HDA: “Car, sir? Is that your PT Cruiser?” (begins to snigger)
SHE: Oh, I’m sure it will all fit. We don’t live far.” (Not sure what not living far has to do with whether or not it will fit)
ME: “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

HDA: (Sniggering as he measures the car then the assembled BBQ) “No way, sir, the BBQ is 60” and your rear door is 43” Yes, sir, that is WITH the seats down. We do have a truck you can rent.”
ME: Let’s get the (Joe Biden word)ing truck.”

Fast forward to loading the BBQ onto the truck. The HDA is not permitted to help much lest HD be liable so I had to climb up into the truck bed. When was the last time you saw an overweight man who was never that well coordinated and now well on the other side of a half century in age, try to climb up into a truck bed? Not a pretty sight. HDA giggled but did not help. Neither did it help when I finally got into the truck bed and stood up, cracking my head on the corner of the BBQ.

For those of you who have never been Moms, or who flunked First Aid 101, a head or scalp wound bleeds “like a studded pig.” Not only did I not get sympathy because by this time both SHE and the HDA were laughing raucously, but blood was streaming down my forehead and I was demonstrating language skills usually possessed only by the saltiest of sailors.

I finally got the BBQ secured and drove the 6 blocks or so to my house. We got the BBQ unloaded and applied a band aid to my wound. The HDA said he was putting me in for a Purple Heart.

Next to unload were the five 40lb. bags of sweet smelling stuff that is there after the cow has gone, along with the sand and other odds and ends. I went to my tool shed and pulled out my dolly (Hello, Dolly!) so I did not have to lug all that stuff around to the back yard. But the weight of the bags popped one of the tires on the dolly rendering her useless. That was my noon run.

So that is my story and I’m sticking to it. Next time she coos, “Honey, I’ll buy lunch,” I plan to make myself a sandwich and write Thoughts blogs

A little blogging music Maestro… Johnny Cash, “Home of the Blues.”

Dr. Forgot

Clairton's Rich Heritage

Clairton History

Today’s blog holds dual significance for me. It is the 400th post on this blog and the 66th post about Clairton. It is also significant because a dear, longtime friend and blog reader has agreed to share a bit of her family’s heritage.

We have written dozens of blogs about our hometown, Clairton, PA. Part of the richness of Clairton came from the amalgamation of individuals from varied backgrounds into one community. There were Catholics, Protestants, Baptists, Mormons, and all manner of religions, as well as Anglos, Middle and Eastern Europeans, African Americans, Arabs, Jews, and all manner of ethnicities. They worked side by side in the mills and operated businesses that served the community. Sometimes they married into one another’s culture. They established and built many of Clairton’s landmarks and when their adopted country went to war they served with honor.

Today’s blog is written by Donna Lancianese Lajcack whose family was so typical of so many World War II era Clairtonians. Read and enjoy.

When my Dad, Roman Lancianese, was nine years old, he immigrated from Abruzzo province in Italy with his mother, Inocenzza, and his brothers during the 1918 World Flu Epidemic. My grandfather, Pierino, had come to America and worked for two years to pay his family's passage. As they sailed into the New York City harbor, with his name pinned to his coat, my Dad stepped onto his new homeland at Ellis Island and began his new life of opportunity. In 1990, I had his name placed on a plaque. On a bus tour to Ellis Island that year, he found his name. ALL his friends and my Mother took a photo as they all pointed to his name. My Dad was so PROUD!

His family came to Clairton, PA; my dad loved his adopted country. Always curious and engaging, he worked as a "water boy" when the Glassport, PA bridge was being built in the Wilson area of Clairton. Like others, he helped to build the St. Paulinus Church, as he had lived nearby and worked in his dad's businesses. Eventually, he owned/worked in a bowling alley, bar/restaurant, flower shop, hair salon, barber, beautician and more. His smile was extraordinary and he had a passion for life and new adventures. He captured my Mother's attention (Rose Marie) when she happened to meet him at St. Paulinus Church when she was 17; he always called her, "his beautiful Rose." They married on Feb. 2, 1942 and had four children---Donna, Ramon, Gloria and Perry.

During World War II my Dad could not serve in our USA Armed Forces because of his eyesight. He stayed behind and helped others at home. One was his cousin who also emigrated from Italy. After becoming an American citizen his cousin was drafted into the US Army at age 37 and was shipped overseas to Italy, to fight in his former homeland! He became a POW within six months and remained there until the war had ended. During this period, my Dad had not only worked in his own business, but he also worked in his cousin's business. When his cousin returned, my Dad gave him ALL the money he had earned from his cousin's business during those war years....in order to help his cousin to begin his life anew. How many of us today would have made all those same sacrifices, even for a relative?!

My Dad was always aware of historical significance. He traveled to the "Chicago's World Fair," standing in front of Admiral Byrd's boat for a classic photo. He walked the ten miles from Clairton to the Allegheny County airport as a young man to see Lindbergh's stop on his way into history. Years later at that same airport, he carried my 18 month old brother, Ray, in his arms and held my hand when President Harry S. Truman came out and stood on the plane's top step and waved vigorously to the crowd. In my yellow dress and a large yellow ribbon in my long hair of curls, I remember looking up to my Dad as he told me to smile and wave to our President; I was almost three years old. I clearly remember how President Truman waved his hand back and forth over his hat to the small crowd. I then looked upwards to my Dad; his smile was always so extraordinary and captivating. It was "a moment in time" that was burned into my memory as a young child and never forgotten. My Dad always continued forever to show his respect and pride for HIS adopted and beloved country...the United States of America. He loved and lived life so large.

My Dad worked long business hours, but he continued to assist others in need throughout his life, by loaning them money in their need. He learned to play golf at 40, and he taught everyone he knew how to play golf, including his children and my husband, Denis. My brothers, Ray and Perry, became golf professionals. When my Dad celebrated his 90th birthday in 2000 on a Pittsburgh golf course with friends, he hit "his third life-time hole in one!" His golf-mates were celebrating ALL the way to the clubhouse! The Pittsburgh Press noted this special birthday event the next day in their newspaper. My Dad passed away in 2004

His vision in teaching others through kindness, a friend to all, a "hands up" to those in need, his wonderful sense of humor, a willingness to work hard to give his family the best that he could, his graciousness to everyone he met, and his extraordinary smile to bring loving joy to so many people, made my Italian immigrant Dad, Roman Lancianese, this wonderful, respectful and hard-working immigrant Citizen of his beloved...."America the Beautiful!"

Donna Lancianese Lajcak

A little blogging music Maestro… “That’s Amore,” by Dean Martin.

Baby You Can Drive My Car

Mostly Personal

A small departure: Today’s blog will talk a little about the author, Dr. Forgot as I am called. That is a moniker I picked up from colleagues at a school where I worked. It is in reference to my being an absent-minded professor. I won’t go through the specifics or the defining incident, but suffice it to say that one Sunday morning en route to catch a plane to go to a conference on Gifted Children, I stopped by the school first to pick up some notes and in the process locked myself in. But that’s another story for another time.

Cars, cars, cars: I’ve always been a car guy. My first was a used 1949 Willys Station Wagon that my father bought for me so I could deliver The Daily News to local paperboys and stores. I was 14 at the time and drove the streets of Clairton, PA without incident for two years until I was legally old enough to get a driver’s license. When the old used Willys petered out after a year or so we invested in a brand new 1957 Willys panel truck. It looked almost exactly like the old one.

In college my first car was a 1949 Packard. My roommate Geno, also a Clairton boy, and I bought the car from a Utah farmer for $80. Except that we didn’t have $80 between us, we only had $20 each, so the farmer took our $40 and a verbal promise to send him the other $40 the following month – which we did. No contracts, no lawyers, just a handshake. During college I bought and sold several cars, making small profits by cleaning them up. After college I bought many – probably a total of 70 or 75 cars over the years. But my pride and joy came to me in 2000.

A new dealership: A Jaguar dealership opened near my house in 2000. I knew the family who owned it and had purchased cars from their other dealerships over the years. As I drove by the newly opened dealership I spied a gorgeous top of the line Jaguar Vanden Plas. Of course I knew I could not afford such a car so I stopped in to do a little window shopping. Turns out that the car was not new but had just been returned from a lease. A local casino executive leased a luxury car for his girlfriend regularly. It was pristine (the car, not the girlfriend). About 16,000 miles and looked brand new. The owner said he would sell it to me at a rock bottom price which was still a little rich for my blood, but this was, after all, my dream car. I went home to think about it and picked up the daily mail which included an advertisement from the new dealership with a $5,000 certificate that said, “Make your best deal and then take $5,000 off.” I took it as a sign. This was providence. I raced back down to the dealership, certificate in hand, and purchased the car. From that moment onward it has been my pride and joy. I’ve kept it in pristine condition and receive compliments every time I drive it.

Fast forward 10 years: In two weeks it will be 10 years to the day that I purchased the Jaguar and that means the car is nearing its 14th birthday. Yes, it has been expensive to maintain over the years, more so than most, but this was my combination hobby and fun car. Still, things were wearing out. The power steering worked most of the time, and several other things were getting ready for replacement to the tune of several thousands of dollars. So I probably should not have driven it to San Diego last week but I did.

In the middle of the desert, about 100 miles from nowhere the engine sputtered then caught again. It happened a few more times as we limped into San Diego. The local Jaguar dealership was unable to provide an accurate estimate but was certain that repairs would likely cost more than the value of the car. So I drove around the area looking at possibilities while Mrs. Dr. Forgot roamed the shopping malls. I eventually arrived at a dealership that was very aggressive in providing a deal on a new car. The car was plain vanilla on the outside (well, the color was actually pearlized white) but the interior was loaded with all the bells and whistles. The price was a very good one and when we finally got to discussing the Jaguar the manager offered me an excellent price. Turns out he is a tinkerer and would but the car himself and do whatever repairs needed. So I drove home in a new car. It was not planned that way. The new car does not elicit gasps from onlookers the way the Jaguar did and people do not start conversation with me about the new car. But it is a highly rated car with excellent gas mileage, 50% better than the Jaguar, and it runs on regular. My cat is a little miffed about it. He used to love to go into the garage and stretch out on the roof of the Jag. I think he thought they were related, both being cats. But I’m sure he’ll get used to the new car just as I will.

A little blogging music Maestro… An oldie from 1967 by The Who…“Jaguar”

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

The End of a Journey

The Amazing Dr. Cutuly

Over my shoulder a backward glance: Part of today’s blog has been excerpted from an earlier one I did just about two years ago. Every community has its heroes, its zeroes, its notorious, and its characters. I have written about many that hailed from Clairton, PA, hometown to many who have made their marks on the world. We have had spies and Mata Haris (alleged), Congressional Medal of Honor winners, statesmen (several of whom were women), college presidents, authors, Hollywood actors and stuntmen, sports heroes, legends, and giants in many other fields. To review some of the local kids who made good, simply click on the Clairton label on the alphabetical list of topics to the left of this post.

Some heroes stayed home: Although the imprint of Clairton legends can be found in nearly every field around the world, many served the community from within, Police and firefighters, teachers and business owners, ministers, doctors, and the wonderful people from Meals on Wheels who prepare and deliver food daily to seniors, shut-ins, and others in need. Today I will focus on one such local hero, Dr. Eugene Cutuly who passed away yesterday just months shy of his one-hundredth birthday.

Memories of Clairton: I’ve written before about Pittsburgh suburb Clairton, PA. I was born at home in Clairton because I wanted to be near my mother when it happened. My parents were in the iron and steel business. My mother would iron and my father would steal. I entered a contest once. The winner got to go to Vegas for a week and the loser had to go to Pittsburgh. Locals rode a Noble J. Dick bus to “dawntawn Picksburgh.” The population didn’t change much – every time a baby was born some guy left town.

Clairton in the 1940s: Wind the clock and your minds back several decades to when Clairton was a Norman Rockwell kind of town – at least in my memory. Set along the Monongehela River the mills made the coke that made the steel that made Pittsburgh Steel City. With a population of some 20,000 Clairton boasted at least three movie theaters, a dozen or so car dealerships, and a swimming pool in the high school. There were at least five doctors: Dr. Rascatti, Dr. Wright, Dr. Trunzo, Dr. DeEmidio, and Dr. Cutuly as well as Dr. Stollar from Elizabeth who often treated Clairton residents. I believe they are all gone now.

A Most Unusual Man: Dr. Eugene Cutuly got his medical license in 1948 and began to practice in Clairton. Office visits cost $ 3 and home visits cost $ 4. He was one of the old time physicians who took care of children and adults. His telephone number was listed and it was not unusual for him to see patients at his home, especially during the past several decades when his office was a room in the home. Dr. Cutuly counted among his patients my siblings, myself, and both my parents (who passed away at ages 87 and 90) and he was several years older than either of them!

A Career Ends: It was neither frailty of the mind nor body that made him decide to retire from practice. A slight case of vertigo and a tad less agility were the factors that made the 97-year old practicing physician decide to finally hang up his stethoscope in 2008. He was one in a million – a model of how America used to be and an example of what modern technology has cost.

Dr. Cutuly answered his own phone, made his own appointments, was his own nurse and medical assistant, and spent as much time with his patients as was required. He was an anachronism.

Prior to earning his medical degree Dr. Cutuly earned a Ph.D. in Anatomy and was a teacher and researcher at the University of Pittsburgh.

The intertwining of lives: Besides treating my entire family, Dr. and Mrs. Cutuly were kind enough to have a daughter my age. Joan and I went through junior high and high school together and she was my date for my first ever Sadie Hawkins Dance. On a more embarrassing note, when I was in about the third grade, classmate Richard Baxter decided it would be funny if he stuck a pencil point in my rear end while I was standing and reading aloud in class. The lead pencil point broke off and I had a painful visit to Dr. Cutuly who dug out the offending point and properly treated the wound. To this day, that scar reminds me when the weather is changing. Another visit at a younger age was to sew up my hand that had been ripped open by broken glass. He stitched the wound and sprinkled disinfectant powder on it and told me it was “Special soldier powder" that was used in the war. This powder would make it heal more quickly and make the wound not hurt.” The power of suggestion worked and it did not hurt.

Rest in peace, Good Doctor: I am certain that Dr. Cutuly’s soul is somewhere with his wife, Elizabeth, who predeceased him by 15 years as well as with the souls of many of the patients he treated over the years. Our sympathy goes out to his daughters, Joan, Laura Ingram, and Mary Kartheim and other loved ones who have not yet taken the journey.

A little blogging music Maestro… “Come Sail Away,” by Styx.
(note: photo credit Lake Fong/Post Gazette)

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

Clairton Heroes and Patriots

Patriotic For No Particular Reason

Thank you Putz Martin: Ten months worth of blogs ago in this space we honored the late Richard Martin. He had fought a gallant battle against cancer but lost. He was a Clairton lad who left his mark on the community as a law enforcement officer, including a stint as Clairton Police Chief. Richard had two brothers. Leonard, named after his Dad, took on the nickname Putz. He was a little stockier and shorter than big brother Rich. Jimbo, the youngest was a scrawny kid who came up to Richard’s shoulder. We all played football on Waddell Avenue, along with Franny Metro, the Pesta brothers, Larry Triglia, Mike LeDonne, Jim Beam, and others who wandered in and out. Somebody always had a football. The goals were the front bumper of Mr. Jone’s ’37 Ford and the telephone pole. The plays were, “Go to the front door handle, cut left, and I’ll throw the ball to the headlight.” Other days we’d play full tackle football in Mr. Jacob’s pasture at the end of Waddell.

Who’d a thunk there could be a 6’3” midget?: Putz contacted me recently and we reflected over the “good old days.” He emailed me a photo of three senior citizens – one in a police uniform, one in an American Flag shirt, and one in full uniform. The occasion was Memorial Day and the “short” person on the left was Richard, at 6”3.” Putz stood in the middle at 6’4” and little Jimbo, at 6’7” struck a handsome pose in his dress Army uniform. Putz also sent me a link to a virtual wall that lists Viet Nam casualties by last name and city. I discovered the following Clairton heroes who gave their lives for our country: PFC Terry Lyle Booth, PFC William Noel Cole, SGT Robert Doering, Spec4 Fredrick Paul Gillen, LCPL James Lloyd Pettiford, PFC Wayne A. Podlesnik, SFC Albert Edwin Smith, CPL David Leland Smith, and LCPL Dennis Michael Wargo. I thank the families of these brave young men and may they rest in peace. Clairton heroes all. And Thank Leonard “Putz” Martin for the link: http://www.virtualwall.org/istate/istatpa.htm

Clairton residents have long been patriotic: As a lad growing up in Clairton one of my most poignant memories is of the Roll of Honor that occupied the entire corner of St. Clair and Miller Avenues. On it were the names of the gallant servicemen who had served in the Second World War. The American Legion has also played a role for veterans to gather and for young people to learn of our country’s heroes. From the web page of American Legion Post 75 comes the following:

“The American Legion was incorporated on September 16, 1919 by an Act of the 66th Congress of the United States.

Daniel Keffer Post 75 was organized in Clairton, Pennsylvania, in June 1920 and received its charter in August 1920 with a community dinner held at the "Clairton Inn," afterwards known as the Penn Clair Hotel. The first commander was Dudley H. Polhemus.

Meetings were held for several months in the Municipal Building. Then portable buildings were occupied on lots located where the Clairton Post Office is now situated.

In 1933, following negotiations with the Carnegie Land Company, Daniel Keffer Post 75 gave up its location at the corner of Fifth Street and St. Clair Avenue, and occupied quarters at 540 St. Clair Avenue.

The Post operates under the original charter granted in August, 1920 and also a separate and distinct charter of incorporation granted by the Courts of Pennsylvania in 1933.

During World War II, Post officers and members were heavily engaged in the sale of war bonds, the operation of the various Rationing Boards, and the support of American Armed Forces abroad and on the Home Front. After the war, the Post saw a great increase in membership as the veterans returned home. Members established scholarship funds, contributed time and money to many community activities, and sponsored local sports teams.

On November 15, 1965 Post Headquarters at 540 St. Clair Avenue were vacated, and
temporary quarters were taken up at the Hirshberg Building on the corner of Large and Miller Avenues.

The present Headquarters at the corner of Mitchell and Miller Avenues were occupied on July 1, 1966,

To this day, Post 75 continues to be a strong force in the community, donating to many charities, granting scholarships, and helping to support the band, the sports teams, the firefighters and many other worthy organizations.”

Clairton has had its share of heroes, perhaps more than its share. It is the proud home of Congressional Medal of Honor winner Captain Reginald Desiderio as well as many service men and women, some of whom have returned home, others who have not. Clairton was featured as the hometown of Viet Nam war buddies and heroes in the classic 1978 film “The Deer Hunter.” Whether Clairton residents have remained in the area or scattered with the winds, all can be proud to have come from such a proud heritage.

A little blogging music Maestro… as a tribute to our proud Clairton soldiers we dedicate the Clairton High School fight song:

“It’s Clairton High School, it’s Clairton High School
The pride of ev’ry student here.
Come on, you old grads, join with us young lads,
It’s Clairton High School now we cheer, RAH, RAH
Now is the time boys, to make a big noise,
No matter what the people say,
For there is none to fear the gang’s all here,
So Hail to Clairton High School, Hail.”

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

How Far Have We Fallen?

What have we become?

A story long ago: Today’s post mixes personal history with confusion and frustration. Bear with me if you will, or click it off and wait for a happier post if you prefer. Fifty years ago this June I was lucky enough to count myself among the Clairton High School graduating class. I left the quencher, Clairton Park, Haines Super Market, the Daily News, Clairton Progress, and all my boyhood memories behind and traveled 2,000 miles to attend a university. I did not want to attend college but my father insisted, so thinking I’d trick him into letting me join the Marines, I said that I’d only attend college if I got to choose the school. Then I laid it on him – a school I’d only heard of from a classmate. It was thousands of miles away. A church-sponsored university sponsored by a religion that neither my father nor I had heard of. No way would he say yes. But he said yes, and at the tender age of 17 I ended up a stranger in a strange land – Provo, Utah.

With the help of my parents’ financial support plus working nearly full time in the campus library, and being a bit entrepreneurial, I graduated four years later debt-free and with a degree in Psychology. Whoops! No job prospects for a psych major (except car sales, clerking in a J.C. Penney store, or flipping burgers), so I accepted an offer from a family friend to teach the sixth grade for a year until I decided what I wanted to do when I grew up. My gross salary that year, 1964, was $4800 and by the time the school year ended, my bachelor lifestyle had put me in debt by more than $12,000 – more than one-quarter of my salary.

Back to the Wild West: I returned to Utah, married a college girlfriend, and moved to Idaho to teach school. The next 20+ years were spent working two and three jobs trying to extricate myself from debt while raising a family and living a “normal” life. Finally, as I neared my 50th birthday the residual debt was cleared and I began to save a little for retirement.

Mine is not a unique story for those of my era – the leading edge before the baby boom generation – we were generally responsible about living up to our obligations. Times were not always good. Sometimes we would pay $5.00 per month on a debt until it was retired, but rarely did we stick a merchant with an unpaid bill. Rarely did we hide behind bankruptcy, or attempt to get debts discharged without paying them. That was unheard of.

TV ads galore: Fast forward to 2010. I am inundated daily with TV ads that blare, “If you owe more than $10,000 we can reduce or eliminate your debt.” The ad includes testimonials of people who boast, “I had $ 25,000 in credit card debt and only paid $2,000.” Other testimonials boast that their entire debt was “wiped away” by using the company that is being advertised. What is wrong with this picture? To me, those ads are like fingernails being scraped across the blackboard. Advertising media is encouraging Americans to eschew their obligations, and that is just plain wrong!

Americans are whiners: I fear that we have become a nation of snipers and I’m concerned that people like those who have made this country great over the years might buy into the mentality that pervades the airwaves. Why think? Why create? Why be innovative and try to solve your problems when it is so easy to dismiss them? Blame it on the government. If you are a Democrat, blame the Republicans. If you are Republican, blame the Democrats. If you are an ultra conservative or liberal, blame everybody. Pick at the country as though it were a scab. It is so much easier to criticize rather than offer solutions. Sit around and get fat by eating comfort foods then blame the airline that says you’re too fat to fit in one seat.

An old and dear friend and regular blog reader sent me an email that included a song called “Born Again American” sung by multiple people, all complaining that their government had let them down. My response was as follows:

An opposing opinion: This piece (that was sent to me) was well done and creative. However, it feeds into all the negativity that is much of what our problem is, in my humble opinion. I hear people pissing and moaning, and bemoaning what our country has become. I see a Republican in Arizona attacking another Republican (John McCain) in Arizona because he is not Republican enough. I see a Democrat Senator with a legacy of governing in Iowa quitting because he is fed up with the hatred and bullshit that pervades Congress. I see right wing radio attacking their foes like the Devil himself and listeners piling on like a bunch of hyenas who have discovered fresh prey. Everything I see and hear on the internet and in the news regarding our country smacks of "Oh my, what victims we are. Our country has been taken from us and we want it back. Boo hoo. The other side is trying to destroy our country...." etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum.

What I DO NOT hear: "This is how we can make America great again." What I do not see is what has made our country great in the past – Henry Ford with the automobile, American men and women uniting for the cause during WW-II when our country went from ground zero to the mightiest nation in the world by turning our factories into suppliers of needed goods, or two college dropouts like the ones who started the Hewlett Packard company in their garage, or two other college dropouts who started up Apple computers in their garage or Bill Gates who created the means for us to do what we are doing this instant.

We have always had a propensity for whining in this country but there have also always been those gifted, creative folks who ignored the "poor me" syndrome and focused on creating or inventing something that was the next big boon in our economy and for our society. I don't see that happening today. All I see and hear are the TV and radio pundits attacking but do not offer solutions, and their 300 million listeners who nod and clap their hands in approval like so many trained seals.

Where are the thinkers? Where are the creators? Where are the inventers? Until they step forward you can have as many "Born Again American" songs as can fit on a CD-ROM but our great country will continue to wallow in the pettiness and bickering of the lost tribe of Washington DC and the jackals who continue to attack them.

The antidote: Identify the problem(s) then stop the bitching, bickering, whining, pissing, and moaning. Instead, work toward a solution.


A little blogging Maestro… “Welcome to the Working Week,” by Elvis Costello

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

Happy Valentines Day

Hearts and Funeral flowers

Bang the drum slowly: Father Michael Bercik was a Clairton guy. He became a priest and was ordained at his home parish of St. Paulinus, after which he moved to parishes from Pittsburgh to Boston. Father Michael served as pastor at Saint Pamphilus Catholic Church in Pittsburgh for eleven years, served as pastor at St Ann's Catholic Church in Marlborough, Massachusetts for fourteen years, and served as pastor at Saint Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in Derry, New Hampshire. He also served on the Provincial Definitorium of the Providence of the Immaculate Conception. He died of complications from diabetes and kidney failure. He leaves Milbrey Campbell of Tennessee, his twin sister and brother Fred of Charleroi.

One life ends, another begins: Last week’s snow storm in Clairton brought the Blue Flame Restaurant’s service to a screeching halt. With no power for a week the local restaurant was unable to host the civic group meetings, post-funeral mercy dinners, or the many regulars who stop by for good food and conversation. But life must go on. At least that was the case with 30-year old Questa Giles of Charleroi. She was very, very pregnant during the snow storm when a little voice inside her began to say, “Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail will stop me from making my grand entrance into the world.”

Questa’s mom Gelinda Giles piled her daughter and almost grandchild into the car and headed up the recently opened Highway 43 to its terminus at Rte. 51 for a hospital, braving the weather. Once the Blue Flame came into sight Grandma, Mom, and almost Baby all knew that the ride was about to be interrupted. They whipped into the semi-snowbound parking lot and with the help of Jefferson Police Officers Sgt. William Potts and his partner Stephanie Behers, added one more life to the world in the person of 7 pound 8 ounce girl named Emani. The three generations of Giles eventually made it to the hospital where Mom and Baby are reportedly doing well. Grandma is still shaking. Perhaps the Blue Flame sign will be changed to read “Blue Flame Restaurant and Birthing Center.” If not, surely their parking lot will be remembered as a place of Special Delivery.

St. Valentine’s Day is for the birds: One myth held that if a young girl saw a particular bird on St. Valentine’s Day she would marry a particular type of man. Blackbird = man of the cloth, bluebird = man of humor, dove = man of kindness, goldfinch = man of wealth, robin = man of the sea, sparrow = man of the country and if she saw a woodpecker on Valentine’s Day she’d remain a spinster.

Top 10 gifts for her on Valentine’s Day: #10, a personally cut CD with her favorite music, #9, tickets for a weekend getaway to either her favorite spot or a romantic place you want to explore (hint: DO NOT take her to the romantic place you and your ex enjoyed so much). # 8, lingerie. Be sure to tell her that she looks better than the models at Victoria’s Secret. #7, dinner out at an upscale restaurant and make it a very special night #6 by getting there in a limo. #5 Chocolates in a heart shaped box, #4, a huge bouquet of roses complete with baby’s breath and greens. #3, jewelry, depending on your budget this could be a heart-shaped locket or lots of diamonds. #2 is poetry. If your ability is limited to “Roses are red, violets are blue,” or if you can only rhyme love to above, perhaps a fine poem from a commercial source would be your choice. And the #1 gift for a most special Valentine’s Day is the renewal of your vows. Take her to a chapel. If I may use the line that you used when wooing her, “Trust me.”

Nothing says “I love you” like a… dolphin? For as long as there’s been romance there have been symbols of love. Today we are most familiar with flowers, especially roses, hearts, lovebirds, doves, and of course Cupid and his arrows. Scholars tell us that Valentine’s and romantic symbols over the years have included pendants, crystals, butterflies, and even dolphins.

Cupid is the son of Venus, the Goddess of Love. According to mythology whomever his arrow hits will fall in love with the first person s/he sees. The love knot concept was born in the Muslim culture where women would send a message of love to a man by tying the knots of a carpet in a certain way and sending him the carpet. It is believed that on Valentine’s Day love birds and doves found their mates. And of course, the heart is the very center of life. Hence, the symbol of cupid’s arrow piercing the heart has come to represent true love.

A little blogging music Maestro…. Today there can be no better selection than John Paul Young’s, “Love is in the Air.”

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com