Can't Tell the Foliage from the Weeds

Some people are born with a way with plants. I had a roommate who could make African violets bloom in the dead of winter. Our apartment was filled with her beautiful plants that she lovingly cared for, each with its own specialized watering and feeding schedule. Another friend had a similar knack, except that he treated all his plants the same – he watered them once a week and used their pots as ashtrays. His plants grew like Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors, including a small corn plant that grew to be 7 feet tall in just over a year. To my knowledge, none of them turned homicidal.

I, on the other hand, came into this world with a brown thumb. With the sole exception of the peace lily, houseplants wither in my care, no matter what I do. A helpful friend once wondered if I talked to them. Well, no, I didn’t. While I can generally keep up my end of any conversation, I simply don’t know what to say to a plant.

All this has led me to be generally oblivious to plants while maintaining a generic appreciation for them (i.e. I think flowers are pretty). Except for some of the more obvious ones (roses, tulips, sunflowers) I didn’t know one flower from another until a boss of mine put me in charge of a Mother’s Day Plant Sale fundraiser many years ago. I was a like a toddler learning the alphabet looking through those flyers of flowers.

When we moved into our dream house last year, it came with a yard full of unfamiliar and unsuspecting foliage that was suddenly under our care. We were delighted that we had a sour cherry tree in our front yard. My husband gathered sour cherry pie recipes, and had his cherry pitter at the ready. Every so often, he would eagerly check the berries, which, curiously, never seemed to ripen.

One day a passing neighbor remarked on the crab apple tree in our yard. Crab apple? The good folks at Soergel’s Farm Market verified that our sour cherries were actually crab apples. My husband quietly put away the recipes and the pitter, and we moved on, our dreams of homemade fruit pie dashed.

Another revelation upon moving here is that not all plants are desirable. Some of the plants that grow in our yard are weeds, and must be removed lest we invoke the wrath of the homeowners association. So, gamely, I bought a pair of decent gardening gloves, hedge clippers, and little gardening tools and I occasionally set out to weed the yard, probably long after others might have noticed that it needed to be done.

The problem? I don’t always know which of the plants are weeds and which are flowers. Oh, some are obvious – those awful jaggedy ugly things with the 6-inch roots are insidious and evil weeds that must be destroyed. Even I can see that. But others baffle me. My husband always says that anything that we didn’t plant and don’t want is a weed. Well, we didn’t plant any of it, and clearly some people have some strong ideas of makes a weed a weed, whether we treasure the plant in question or not. Some of the weeds have little flowers on them, and what about the clover? I don’t know where they came from, but I like them.

Then there is the issue of trimming the bushes. I thought bushes were supposed to be full. Isn’t that where the word “bushy” comes from? I try to trim them but somehow they just look like smaller versions of their original selves, not like the beautifully shaped and coiffed little shrubs that grace other peoples’ lawns.

Well, all I know is that the clover is staying. There might be a four-leaf clover in there somewhere, and I need all the good luck I can get.

Travels on the Pennsylvania Turnpike

So here we are again, traveling across this great Commonwealth of ours from Western Pennsylvania to New Jersey, a trip we make at least twice a year. Try as you might to find some better cost-free route, the only logical way to get there is on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, with all its glory and potholes.


Right now we are driving through a construction zone, which is to be expected in the summer. The curious thing is that this particular section of the road has been under construction as long as I can remember, with the same lane shifting and uneven roads that it always had.

On one hand, I appreciate the consistency. It is one constant in an ever-changing world, something on which you can rely. On the other hand, I have to wonder if they will ever finish working on it. How long can it possibly take? Shouldn’t 20 or 30 years have been enough time? One of the great mysteries of life, I suppose.

The road itself isn’t the fanciest, but it takes you where you need to go. It’s just a lot of trees, rest stops, and signs, with a few bridges, tunnels and farms thrown in, for good measure. The scenery can be pretty, if you like that sort of thing, especially in autumn, when the leaves turn. Our turnpike trips have become much more joyous since we broke down and got E-Z Pass, allowing “e-z” sailing through toll booths, and eliminating the need to have enough cash for tolls.

Our established routine on these trips goes something like this. My husband drives first, including our stop for fast food breakfast sandwiches and coffee on our way. I take over for the middle of the ride. If it is going to rain, this is usually when it happens (I am an inclement weather magnet). I turn the wheel back over to him for the final leg of the trip.

We are not driven to break speed records (no pun intended). We are perfectly happy to stop whenever there is a need. The rest stops are some of the most pragmatic establishments that you will ever find. They all have a gas station which has gas at the same outrageous prices you can find at home, not-always-clean-but-better-than-an-outhouse restrooms, and fast food. Whether you are at the state-of-the-art Sideling Hill rest stop (which features an entire convenience store), or one of the more modest stops, you can find all the necessities you might need on a road trip there, including maps, sunglasses, umbrellas, aspirin, reading material, and, perhaps most important of all, coffee. Conveniently, they also carry Pennsylvania souvenirs like coffee mugs and t-shirts.

Traveling on the turnpike is the great equalizer among people. No one cares who you are, how much money you make, or what you look like at turnpike rest stops. Folks of all walks of life bond together in a common experience. We all just want to refresh and replenish before resuming our quest to get where we’re going.

Back on the road, my husband and I pass the time with conversation and music, which is pretty much the way we pass the time everywhere else, too. The Hairspray and Big River soundtracks are some of our favorite traveling music, and Cool Yule by Bette Midler, the best Christmas album of all time, is as enjoyable in July as it is December.

To risk embarrassing a certain family member (she knows who she is), I will admit here that we also pass the time by singing, usually a medley of our favorite T.V. theme songs. My personal favorite is the theme from “The Patty Duke Show” (about “cousins, identical cousins”) but I also have a real soft spot for the duet we do to the theme from Green Acres, with me doing the Eddie Albert part, and my husband doing a spot-on Eva Gabor.

On this trip I have also found one more way to pass the time. The turnpike is a mighty fine place to write a blog. I finished this one before it was my turn to take over the driving.

How to Win on "Dancing with the Stars"

[DWTS contestants] come to my show an hour after being eliminated. Some cry; a few are too upset to talk. For some reason, once you start ballroom dancing on TV, you don’t want to stop.
-Jimmy Kimmel

Another season of Dancing with the Stars has come to an end, and I correctly predicted the outcome going into the finals. Hines Ward would win, Kirstie Alley would be second, and Chelsea Kane third.

I’ve watched this show from the beginning, and I know what it takes to win. Dancing well is just one part of it. Putting together a winning game plan takes much more than that. If you are a celebrity whose publicist is pestering you to compete on DWTS, you might want to take notes.

FAN BASE - Hines had the Steeler Nation behind him, so that’s extraordinary, but usually this is only important early in the competition. Your fans will take you only so far, unless your last name is "Palin," in which case they will, inexplicably, take you all the way to the finals.

THE “ROCKY” FACTOR – Kirstie was 60 years old, overweight and clearly not a dancer when she signed onto DWTS. We love a good underdog, and if you dance respectably and get better, we will vote you right into the finals, as we did for Kirstie.

WE’LL BE THE JUDGE - If America thinks that the judges have judged you unfairly, it may affect the way they vote. Say you’re dancing, and the audience at home is thinking, “Hey he looks pretty good!” Then the judges pipe in, and Len says you’re flat-footed, or Carrie Ann detects a lift that no one else saw, and they give you 5’s. Or, the judges rave about you when we were thinking you were just “okay.” The audience may try to literally even the score with their votes. This accounts for good dancers being voted out of the competition early, and probably hurt Chelsea, the winner of the new “Winner Takes All” dance, which earned her 15 (!) extra points from the judges, virtually assuring her a place in the finals.

PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS- As in life, attitude is very important in DWTS. We want to see that you are actually putting forth an effort to learn and perform the dances. Getting along with your pro dance partner, listening to the judges’ input graciously, cheering on your competitors, being a good sport if you get bad scores – all three of our finalists this season did this well.

MAKE 'EM LAUGH - While we expect you to take the dancing seriously, taking yourself too seriously can be your ticket home. So lighten up and have some fun. If you are uncomfortable, you will make us uncomfortable, too. Kirstie made us laugh and we want to be entertained.

HALLMARK MOMENT –The end of the competition is the time to make us cry, if you can. A compelling back story can go far in the finals. Hines had every single one of the winning factors, but absolutely clinched the win with his reaction after Kym Johnson, his professional partner, returned to dance in the semi-finals after suffering a horrific neck injury. He broke down and cried, and I cried right along with him. His back story about being half Korean and half black, his mother’s struggles, and how he became a football star despite not having an ACL definitely outdid the fact that Kirstie did a lot of cocaine when she was young. Chelsea had a totally blessed childhood and never knew a moment’s disappointment in her young life.

“MAKE OR BREAK IT” FREESTYLE - For heaven’s sake, choose your freestyle dance wisely. While it didn’t make  any difference this season you can win it or lose it with this dance. Marie Osmond lost the second she came out as a “doll,” and Jennifer Grey won it all the moment she carried that watermelon onto the stage wearing one of her Dirty Dancing outfits.

So there you have it – everything you need to know to win DWTS. If you hear they are looking for a color commentator, feel free to give them my email address.

I'll Just Sit Here in the Dark

Things really weren’t the same after the power surge messed with our computer system at work last week. We had no Internet service and no access to our server, where all our files live. We could look at our e-mail inbox, but could not send or receive e-mail. We were told it would probably be several days before the system was fixed. Suddenly, we were set adrift just outside the cyberspace in which we now operated.


To risk sounding like the old fogey that I actually am, I remembered the days before we all had computers and the Internet in our workplaces. We called people on the telephone, sent letters through the mail, looked things up in books, and typed things – like entire newsletters – on typewriters. We certainly didn’t have computers or phones that we could carry with us. Boy, did I hate those days.

My whole life changed when I got a word processor. It was basically a glorified typewriter encased in a monitor box, but it allowed me (miraculously!) to view, save, copy, edit and delete text. From there, it was an easy leap to the word processing programs on real computers, e-mail, and, for a research junkie like me, to the Internet.

When it was all abruptly taken away, I experienced something very close to a real withdrawal. Trying to work without my tools was exhausting. By the end of the second day, functioning was difficult, and I had a problem putting together intelligent sentences.

So, that evening, when we lost power at home on a calm, storm-less night, it was almost too much to bear. I’m even more attached to electricity than I am to the Internet. I thought, briefly, that Armageddon was coming after all, just a day or two late. It was reassuring when I called my son, who lives in the city, and heard that he had power. That meant that the entire Earth wasn’t affected. We were unable to reach my father, who lives near us, so at about 10 p.m. my husband and I headed out to check on him.

On our way there, from radio reports and the newspaper (via my son) we discovered that a transformer blew causing a Big Power Outage for something like 44,000 households, including ours, in two counties. After determining that Dad was just fine, and equipped with alternate light sources, we found our way to an Eat n Park that was open and had power.

The salt in the wound of all of this was that by this time, they were getting ready to announce the winner of Dancing with the Stars. Not only was I missing it, I wouldn’t be watching later as there was no electricity to power the DVR that was set to tape the show.

My sister called to find out what was going on. She told me that Chelsea Kane had already been eliminated on DWTS, so now it was between Kirstie Alley and our very own Hines Ward to win it all. She offered to stay on the phone to give me the play-by-play, but by that time, my comfort food – Grilled Stickies ala Mode- had arrived. We were the last customers left in the restaurant and they were starting to clean up, so I thought I should eat my food. A few minutes later, my son called with the good news. Hines Ward was bringing home the Mirror Ball Trophy! A little light in the darkness, to be sure.

The power was out at home for 12 hours, and the computer system at work was out, in full or in part, for four work days. Now that I am reconnected to my precious technology, the shaking has subsided and I am again breathing normally.

Reporting from Steeler Country

Now the Royal Wedding is just a happy memory, and Bin Laden is a bitter one. The Rapture scare is over, and seemingly we are all still here.  Finally, the local media can get back to the topic we really care about here in Pittsburgh.
In case you haven’t heard, the Pittsburgh Steelers went to the Super Bowl last season. If you are unaware of this, you obviously do not live in Western Pennsylvania.

It wasn’t an easy season for our Steelers. With Ben Roethlisberger forced to sit out the first four games of the season as a NFL-sanctioned punishment for alleged misbehavior off the field, and injuries to some key players including Troy Polamalu, no one would have been surprised if the Steelers didn’t even make it to the playoffs. But make it they did, and while it wasn’t always pretty, they WON those games! And off they went to their 8th Super Bowl, playing for their 7th win.

I knew all this despite the fact that I didn’t tune into a Steelers game until the second half of the first playoff game. How did I keep so well informed, you ask? I live in the greater metropolitan Pittsburgh region, aka “Steeler Country,” where news of the Steelers trump severe weather warnings (Pittsburgh’s second favorite news topic), savage assassination attempts, natural disasters, political elections, and just about everything else on local newscasts.

The Internet has revolutionized the way I don’t watch football – I can keep up with the game without ever turning on the TV, or while enjoying the figure skating being broadcast on another channel, or even while picking up my weekly groceries when the supermarket is empty because everyone else is home watching the game.

Of course, I couldn’t grow up in Pittsburgh completely untouched by the Fever. Back in the 70’s and 80’s when the Steelers first started winning Super Bowls, I watched religiously. I’ve seen The Chief three times. This one-man show about Art Rooney by Rob Zellers and Gene Collier was produced and performed several times at Pittsburgh Public Theater. I still get chills watching the footage of the “Immaculate Reception,” almost as exciting as when I watched it live.

I can barely bring myself to say this, but, our beloved Steelers did not win the Super Bowl this past February. I can’t remember who won, but it really doesn’t matter, now does it? Football in Pittsburgh is all about the Steelers.

A pallor fell over our local newscasts. Without the Super Bowl to cover, they were forced to go back to covering car accidents and homicides. No one was happy about it. Then we heard the news. Steelers wide receiver Hines Ward would be competing on Dancing with the Stars!

Oh happy day! There was rejoicing all over the Steel Valley! A Steeler would be competing for a prize once again. Hines explained that he was doing DWTS as a chance for redemption – if he couldn’t bring home the Lombardi Trophy he would bring home the Mirror Ball Trophy to Pittsburgh.

Hines and professional dance partner Kym Johnson have proven worthy of the attention, which has been excessive, of course. Hines has turned out to be likable, and a pretty fine dancer, with his fans in the audience waving their Terrible Towels after every dance.

Then Kym suffered a horrific and potentially dangerous neck injury in rehearsal, right before the semi-finals. As they were wheeling her out on a stretcher, Kym was worried about Hines missing rehearsal time, but Hines was sincerely just worried about Kym and her well-being. Kym rallied, and came back to dance on the next show. Hines broke down in tears after successfully completing the dance. OMG, Hines proved he was a sensitive guy and a gentleman, in addition to having a great smile and killer moves on the dance floor.

Now the day has come - the finals of Dancing with the Stars. Tonight, the citizens of Steelers Nation will again be perched on the edge of our seats- Terrible Towels and voting devices in hand – waiting for our Steeler to take it all, for the glory of Pittsburgh.

Those Three Little Words

There are three little words I long to hear. They don’t come easily or often, yet when I hear them, they fill me with such rich satisfaction, such serendipity and serenity that it really defies description. I actually feel warm down to my toes.

“You were right.”

Yes, once in a while, in this hardscrabble world, someone will acknowledge that I am indeed correct about something. It’s probably just because I am surrounded by supremely confident and knowledgeable folks, many of them relatives, who are so totally secure in their own correctness that the veracity of my knowledge is never just taken for granted.

I don’t pretend to be infallible, and in fact, consider myself to be an expert on just two topics – Huckleberry Finn and the art of foundation relations and grant writing. I readily admit when I am wrong and defer to those with superior knowledge to mine on any given topic.

I have, however, learned a couple of things as I navigated my way through life so far, and I do on occasion know what I’m talking about. So it is a little baffling why no one believes me without some independent proof, even when I am presenting information that I know to be factual.

It’s one thing when the doubters are my peers or my elders, but my son was BORN with a robust level of skepticism. From the time he was a baby, he never believed a word I said. He always wanted verification, preferably written and from a respected reference book. The first time he actually said “You were right, Mom” he was 17. He now knows and acknowledges that I can be and have been right, but only grudgingly.

I only mention all of this, because it has been a banner month for me.

A few weeks ago, I gave my father a phone number that he needed after looking it up on the company website. He informed me that the number I gave him was wrong, because he got a different number from the phone book. I tried to explain that the website probably had the more up-to-date information, but he was having none of it. After calling the number in the book first (it was a wrong number) he reached the company with the number I gave him. He called back, to say, incredulously, “You know, Sharon, you were right.” Ah, that felt good, although I don’t know why he always sounds SO surprised when he discovers that I am right.

My sister actually KNOWS that she is always right about everything, which makes it difficult to set her straight when some misinformation falls into her unsuspecting hands. Just last week, she sent me an e-mail referring to a man by his son’s name. I informed her that she was really talking about the father, and explained why. SIX e-mails later, she remained unconvinced. Desperate, I downloaded a picture of father and son and sent them to her. Then and only then did she realize and acknowledge that she was indeed speaking of the father. And then she said, in writing, “Oh, yeah, and you were right.” Music to my ears!

Finally, last Monday, my son and I had a lively discussion about how we should watch the TV shows on the DVR. It’s kind of complicated to explain exactly what the disagreement was, but suffice it to say that we did it my way, because we were celebrating Mother’s Day. My son sat by, waiting to prove me wrong. But in the end it worked out just the way I said it would. My son said, “Well, Mom, first of all, you were right.” Perhaps the best Mother’s Day present of all!

It’s not that I’ve been right three times in one month that pleases me so. Believe it or not, that’s not SO unusual. No, it is that three generations of family members have actually said “You were right” to me in just one four-week period, and in one case, I have it in writing.

A Tale of Two "American Presidents"

It had been a busy weekend, what with the Royal Wedding, and the fact that we had sung with the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale in their Pops Concert. So, late on Sunday evening, I was winding down, watching “The American President” again. This perfectly charming movie stars Michael Douglas as a bachelor President who woos an environmental lobbyist, played by a delightful Annette Bening.


The movie was almost over, and I decided to check Facebook and e-mail one more time before turning in.   I logged onto Facebook, and then I saw all the posts. “Osama Bin Laden is dead!” proclaimed post after post, along with professions of disbelief, and celebration, and awe.

Well, I didn’t believe it. I figured there was one of those bogus virus links going around, like the one proclaiming that Charlie Sheen was dead, and now people were picking up that news and going wild posting it. I needed to find out if it was true, and I needed to see it somewhere other than the Internet.

With one last wistful look at “The American President,” I turned on the local CBS affiliate, and there was Russ Mitchell doing a special report on the death of Bin Laden. It turns out that he was indeed reported to be dead, and it wasn’t from natural causes. We were now just waiting for Barack Obama, the actual American President, to speak to the nation. Obama came on, and verified the reports. He had issued the order, and Navy Seals had carried out the mission. Osama Bin Laden was dead. Almost 10 years after the tragic events of September 11, 2001, the alleged perpetrator had been caught and killed.

You know that old advice to never discuss politics or religion? Well, that obviously does not apply to Facebook. First, there was a lot of celebration, a sense of justice being served, a lot of “about times” expressed. Then the backlash began, with lots of people talking about how the U.S. had no more right to kill Bin Laden than he had to organize the attacks that killed thousands of American citizens on our own soil. A doctored pacifistic misquote from Martin Luther King was reposted by a least a dozen of my Friends.

I was a little nostalgic for the days when I didn’t know everyone’s politics. I believe everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, and that the freedom of speech does extend to online social networks. The only posts I found offensive were those in which the poster lectured and chided others about how they should feel and what they should post about this very important event in our history.

I found out a few things about myself through this incident. I do not trust Facebook as a news source - any news I hear on Facebook first needs to be verified by another source before I believe it to be fact. I really respect our American President. Barack Obama was decisive, took action, and followed through on something he determined to be a priority for the American people. And I am really fond of “The American President,” the movie. I’m still a little sorry to have missed the ending on this particular viewing.