Being Thankful

It's Thanksgiving. 

A few moments ago I got off a video call where my parents and my brother's family were celebrating Thanksgiving.

I'm here in Florida and missing them.

My father's health is still in question although he's doing well at this moment.   My mother, while she is my mother and I worry about her mental state and her ability to drive and take care of herself if...when...my father passes.

I lie to them.   Tell them things are fine here at Casa De Wilson.  They don't know that I left my job in late September to learn how to drive a truck.   A half baked idea about finding myself, finding time to write (which I used to do a lot more of, and better...sadly you only get better when you write, and I've not been).

How it was a chance to get off the phones and away from things and look deep into myself and figure out exactly who and what I am.

It's complicated dear reader.   It's complicated.

Why is a 52 year old man still looking for and needing approval from his parents?

Our house is still up for sale, and we recently had a death in Susan's extended family.   I know she wants to be there, to be part of the lives of her friends and large family.

For me, I have mixed emotions about leaving Florida for the cold confines of Pittsburgh.  Part of me wants to go home, to be with my family.  To say goodbye to my Dad when that time comes, to be there for my mother.

To try and start some sort of relationship with my brother...and his adopted daughter.  We just got off the phone and my collection of children's classics is going to her.  They were given to me when I was three and I remember reading Black Beauty, Robin Hood, Heidi and Tom Sawyer growing up.  How those stories enraptured me.    Even now I hold these books with reverence.

They are 50 years old now, these thin blue volumes and the bindings are still good.  The pages slightly faded but the illustrations; looking almost like they were done with old wood blocks, are still fresh and clean.   On a whim I look online and find my books, my books!, for sale for over $100 dollars.   Two of the volumes are missing in that set, my set is complete and probably in better condition.

These were gifts for my kids.  It never happened that way.

I just hope that Avery, my brother's adopted daughter, develops a love a reading; a wonder for words and the worlds that they create.  That one day she will hold these books the way I do now, with nostalgia and wonder.  I touch the covers with love and respect.

Even though our house has not sold yet, we are packing things up to make it easier when that time comes, getting rid of things that we no longer use or need.  Sue's collection of Elephants, once numbering over 600, is being whittled down to sentimental items only.


Old Cd's, tapes, albums and yes; even old books are finding their ways into libraries and Goodwill stores.  The odds and ends that make up a life.  I hold a rare record in my hands and wish for a record player to here the notes of a long dead jazz trumpeter come to life once again, but I put it in the collection bin to take it to the local collector and see what I can put into my back pocket for it.

As much as I would love to keep an old Blue Note album, it is better that someone actually enjoy it before it wraps beyond recognition and repair buried in my closet.  Susan makes a joke about how she's glad it's not a Brown Note album which is an old joke only a music lover would understand.

She tears up over an old photo of her now deceased husband.  Scott was a good man.  Taking care of her and his daughter long after the divorce.  I always respected him for that.  It was what a man was supposed to do.  To care for those that he loves.

me in a horrid picture

It's later now, I raise a glass for the third year in a row for World Peace.  A tradition started on a whim by Pastafarians.  The rest of the world has stopped it seems.   I won't.   #pastafariantoastforpeace

I'm feeling mello and loved and oh so thankful.  I'm also feeling very sentimental as my Facebook memories remind me of rides that I took on this day and the best cat in the world. 

For my father and his being alive.  Even though I don't think I'll make it home for Christmas this year, I hope he'll make it through another.

For Susan, who stands by me and supports me.   Sometimes I wonder why.

For running water, for my home, for my cats that want to be petted at 3 AM when I'm sleeping, for friends, for everything.

Thank you and Happy Thanksgiving.

UPDATES - Pittsburgh and the Trucking school

As many of you know, I'm from Pittsburgh.   I did not know any of the people that were involved in the senseless murders.   I don't know anyone that was directly involved.

However it's always different when it's your home.   I know that are of Pittsburgh well, having eaten in the restaurants nearby, having friends that grew up in the area.   I remember dancing in a few local bars.

Squirrel Hill, and to a lesser extent; neighboring Shadyside, where always the Jewish part of town.   Hasidic Jews are very common on the streets, and recently I learned that Pittsburgh has one of the larger Jewish communities in the United States.  It's growing as well.

By now, many people have learned about how the local Muslim Community raised over one hundred thousand dollars for the families of the slain and injured.

Pittsburgh is a special place, everyone raves about their hometowns of course, but we "Yinzers" know something about our town.   Part of it was due to the history of our city, part of it was do to topography.

Pittsburgh is a city of immigrants,and the Jews started to move into the area in the early 1830's.  As was the custom at the time many of them congregated together in certain areas of the city,  Squirrel Hill became the Jewish neighborhood, and it's remained that way since.

Pittsburgh however is not a easy city to get around in, and you often crossed rivers and bridges (literally and figurative) to go from one part of the city to another.   This exposed Pittsburgher's to different cultures, languages and even religious beliefs on a daily basis. 

Since Pittsburgh was a "blue collar steel town", "The Polack, the Jew, the Negro, the Irishman" all worked side by side and provided the steel that forged a nation.  Various words unique to the area but I'm sure a linguist would be able to trace the roots of them back to various languages somehow formed so that everyone could somehow communicate.

What this has meant is that Pittsburgh and it's citizens have been very proud of their city, very open to outsiders and have developed an attitude of "live and let live" when it comes to your personal beliefs and opinions.

Generally speaking, Pittsburgh is a very progressive and forward looking city.  It is stronger than hate.

Now that we got the political part of the blog out of the way......

Let's talk about not succeeding.


I could never really master backing up the truck.   Straight line backing is exactly like it seems and I did OK with that.  Where my issues where is something called "Off Set Backing" and "Ally Backing." 

Off Set Backing is basically go from Lane A into parallel Lane B.  You pull up forward and then back the truck up into the parallel lane. 

While the attached video makes it look easy, it's actually not.   Set up is everything, although the ally docking is a bit easier than the off set.

Sadly I just could not seem to master it.  I had spent over 200 hours of working in class, on the pad (where we practiced these procedures) and actually driving on the road. 

I tried my best, I gave it my best shot.   Even though I mastered everything else, these two procedures I just could not figure out.

Long story short, I threw away a lot of money doing something I'm not sure of I would have liked doing in the first place.  I also find myself without a job at the moment.   I'm not even sure if I can collect unemployment since my former job and I parted ways on good terms, although I was told that I would be welcomed back by former managers.

It's okay no matter what happens.  Life is weird and wonderful and full of surprises.   In the meantime however...anyone got a job open?

Rocky Bleier - The Play

I happened to see this the other night...and thought I would share some thoughts bopping around my head on it.



To quote someone in the attached video "If someone had come to us with the Rocky Bleier story as a work of fiction, we would have found it to far fetched."

Rocky Bleier is, for those either not interested in or those that don't follow sports, perhaps one of the greatest living Pittsburgh Steelers of all time.  He played on the dominating teams of the mid and late seventies where he won four Super Bowls and was elected into the football Hall of Fame. 

Susan won tickets during a giveaway at a local watering hole where we will go and watch the games with other "Yinzers" and Pittsburgh sports fans. 

He was also awarded the Purple Heart in Vietnam for the injuries he suffered in the battle field, where a grenade severely damaged his right foot and a bullet damaged his thigh. 

"The Rock's" comeback story is inspirational and sometimes hard to believe.  He was told he never walk again...much less play football.   He was told he never be good enough to make the first team, he was actually cut by the Steelers several times, yet he fought back.  

Even after catching a touchdown pass in the Super Bowl, the words out of the announcer's mouth were "He's not that good of a player."

What surprised me in the play, if you indeed can call it a play....think of it as more as a one man's life story seen through the eyes of sports....and how sports reflects on culture.  

1)  Bleier was born and raised Catholic.  While he doesn't swell on his Catholicism, actually not bringing it up much at all, he's really not thanking some higher power.   Concentrating more on chance and probability.  "What," he asks "are the chances of a football deflecting just right and into the outstretched arms of a man of Italian American history being in just the right place at the right time?   Or that of a grenade rolling off the back of my commanding officer to land, unexplored, between my feet?

2)  Being a Vietnam veteran and suffering so, Bleier has the right to go on an anti-war triad if he wants so, it's the only political moment in the play and is handled with honor and respect.  "The country chose amnesia over history" he states.  

Bleier's story is remarkable in a lot ways, even if he had never played football for the Steelers. It is also something that is truly unique to Pittsburgh in a lot a ways. Not the tropes about some blue collar kid doing good.  Or when life knocks you down,you get up and move on.  The biggest disappointment you can ever have is not believing in yourself.

When people ask me, "Why do Pittsburgher's love their Steelers?"  You can point to Rocky in a lot of ways.   Rocky Bleier's The Play is a talk about his life, and in a lot of ways a story about rebirth and renew.  

Pittsburgh was a dirty steel town, so dark it's been said that the streetlights never turned off.  Then the citizens said, "No more" and it wasn't.  The Pittsburgh Renaissance started in 1947 and continued all the way through till 1973.  That's when the mighty steel mills started to shut down, unemployment started to run rampant.   I was 7 at the time, and although I don't remember my family suffering much...I know there was suffering.

I do know that as I was growing up, into the late 70's and early eighties one beacon of hope was the Mighty Steelers, and I also remember the city investing in things like Education, something new called "robotics" and how we, as a city, were building towards the future.   Oh yes, we were knocked down...but we win in the end.

Pittsburgher's shyly smile at each other because we know, that no matter where we go those three rivers run in our blood.   That you find strength in teamwork, in building for the future.  In hard work and dreams and sweat. 

You make your own probabilities. 

To Leave or to Stay

These past couple of months have been interesting to say the least.

The talk about me getting a new bike is settled for now (I will be buying a new bike by year's end).  A new dilemma has reared its ugly head in our family and is one, which while not consuming us, has certainly kept us awake at night.

Should we stay here in Florida, or head back home to Pittsburgh?

This all has to do with family.

The lovely Susan has family there, so do I, but her mother is starting to show signs of Alzheimer's disease.  Sue is the oldest child of five and it seems, the only one with not only the ability but the desire to help her mother.

Then their is my family.  My father is in his mid 80's and has two benign tumors in his head.  My mother, 10 years his junior, is capable of taking care of herself but she can't drive and is showing signs of dementia.  Unlike Sue's mom, she has not been tested but the signs of the two illnesses are similar, and my brother can not take my mother in for a variety of reasons.

Both of them will refuse to move to Florida.  Sue's mother is rooted to her home in Grove City, PA (about an hour north of Pittsburgh) and my mother will not leave her only granddaughter.  My father, always the stoic, knows that the best care he can get is in Pittsburgh.  It makes sense for him to stay.

We are faced with some startling realities. 

1)  Our parents are not immortal.  No matter how much we with they were.

2)  I have lost two aunts to Alzheimer's in the last 3 years.  Now my mother is showing signs of it or dementia.  This scares the hell out of me.

3)  Susan's medical issues can be better served in the cool of Pennsylvania, as the excessive heat in Florida can effect her more than we like.

It does bring up a good question though about what is home.   Sue's family is rooted to the area, she is too...even though she moved 1000 plus miles to be with me.  My brother feels the same way.  Although my parents have moved and traveled a lot since retirement, they still call Western Pennsylvania home. 

I love Pittsburgh, it's rivers run in my veins and I do like going back to it.  I've written about it before.  It is really a great place to live.  I remember reading somewhere that if Pittsburgh was a European city, people would flock to it.

However home for me is wherever I've hung my hat.  I've lived in Tampa for over 10 years, in Charlotte, North Carolina for over 10 years.   Charleston, South Carolina for a bit.  Savannah, GA for a bit.  I've considered taking a job in Jacksonville/St. Augustine, Florida at one time (and in hindsight, I should have but that's in the past).   I was also offered a job in Boise, ID early in my career. 

Pittsburgh may always be "home", but somewhere along the way, it stopped being "home."

I've been halfway around the world and am serious planning on retiring to Portugal if Sue and I ever break up or she dies before me.   I'm not joking.   I've looked into it.

Jack Kerouac must have influenced me more than I thought he did.   Jean Genet too but for completely different reasons.  I remember a friend of mine - Matt the Muppet - handing me that book when I was in my 20's.   "This book will fuck up your life."   To the young philosophy minded education major, it did.    But I regress.

So here I sit, a still young man that can not imagine himself being 52, considering what he will do.  Considering yet another career change and wondering if a move would be helpful at all.   I'm not sure if I could even find another job paying what I make now.  Nor am I sure I wish too.

When my grandparents passed, I was still a young man.  I didn't understand what my parents (who were my age) were going through.  What they were feeling.   Now I face the same choices, the same decisions that they did.  It's not easy. 

The reality of it is starting to sink in.

Motivation to ride

"What motivates you?

My boss asked me that question yesterday.

I really did not have an answer ready.  "Well, I like to help people."

"Okay Ms. America and we all want world peace too...but answer the question.  Because if you don't know what motivates you how can you motivate someone else?"

It was a good and fair question.  It took me a bit of soul searching but in the end I found the answer.  What motivates me? 

Travel and movement.

I'm motivated by trying something different.  Seeing something different.  Personal growth if you want to call it that.  I'm not really motivated by money (despite owning my own business since 2008 and being in sales most of my life).    One of the best sales months I ever had was due to the promise of a exotic dinner at a restaurant I had never been to but only if I met a certain goal.

Money, like the computer or a car...or even my bike, is just a tool to help me achieve what I really want to do.  Which is to move and travel and see what is over that next hill, what is around that next bend.  The more I think about this...the more logical it becomes to me.

I may have grown up in Pittsburgh, PA but I went to school in Erie, PA and Slippery Rock, PA.  My family likes to joke that when my brother and I turned 18 , my parents said "We love you, now get out."  I guess those travel roots were put down early.

After college, I moved south as soon as I could and have spent time in Charleston, SC.  As well as living briefly outside of Savannah, GA.  It was not till I moved to Charlotte, NC (where I had a job that taught me something new everyday and often required me to travel through the south) that I was fully affected by the travel bug.

Since then I've been able to travel to the various islands in the Caribbean and a nations in Europe, Asia and South America.

I've traveled to New York City twice, Chicago twice, Las Vegas once.  I've touched down in nearly every state that touches the Atlantic Ocean.  Sue and I are planning on going back to Las Vegas sometime next year (a place she's never been) and our first trip to New Orleans.

If things work out in the long run, then Sue and I will be buying an RV and traveling the US and Canada once we retire. Well I may not be a fan of the idea of getting a trike or a Spyder, the reason I'm even considering it is because Sue wants even more stability when she rides with me.  Plus she knows that I would never ever forgive myself if I were in an accident with her on back.

I just have that travel bug, that need to see what is over the next hill, and my bike allows me to explore all those wonderful back roads near me.

Who was it that said "Four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul"?  They were certainly right.  As I look back on my "biking life" I've found that I've been happiest when I have a idea of where I want to go, but it's someplace that I've never been.  It's finding that small mom and pop cafe, or the old cemetery in between point A and B that intrigue me.  Sometimes getting there is more interesting than the final destination...and yes, I know what a cliche that is.  That motivates me to ride, it's just a shame that all I seem to do is ride back and forth to work, so is it any wonder why I'll chose a different path in sometimes?

Even the TV shows I enjoy watching (and I hate TV) are geared towards the exotic and unusual.  Travel shows, history and education predominately.  I used to think that one of the reasons that Jack Kerouac was my favorite author was do to his spontaneous prose, which is basically how I try to write...capturing that feeling of the moment without worrying about how it is structured.  Now in the light of this revelation, I can not help but wonder if it was his nearly neurotic need to be constantly in movement?

Yea, the more I think about this the more I think that my job is just a means to an end.  I need that gas money, I need that hotel room...but that getting away from work is why I work.  That desire to travel is strong in me.

After all, the world is always a more interesting place 50 miles from where your at.

Sending Scooter Bob on...

“Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life - and travel - leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks - on your body or on your heart - are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt.”  - Anthony Bourdian

 

Bob is showing his age, his bumps and bruises are there for all to see.  I pack him in a box being sure to wrap in up in bubble wrap and store him in packing peanuts.  I can see where repairs have been made, I had to make one myself to his rear wheel.  His next destination is set and I take a few minutes to wish him well as I pack a little token of his adventures here in Tampa snugly beside him.  

 

 

I am not sure what I expected to happen when I first signed up for this, it was over two years ago after all and I never met the man.  He was however one of the first to reply to what I was writing and that encouraged me to keep writing a blog about my motorcycling adventures. A subject I'm sure some would claim that I knew nothing (and still know nothing) about.  I suppose this was my way of honoring that memory.

 

Tokens from around the world

 

I didn't get to do everything I wanted to do with him either.  However Susan is right, with my work schedule (I work till 8 PM most nights and own a small business on the side) and the current level of craziness that is our lives, it's better to send him on to the next person.  The riding seasons will change quickly in some parts of the country.  Besides if I managed to do everything that I wanted to do with him, I would have him for another month or two. Maybe three.

Its better to send him on, although he was becoming part of the family.  

 

Tipper (black) and Sparky (brown) with Scooter Bob

 

He did get me out though on the bike.  He did allow me to explore a little bit some places that I may have gotten to eventually, or maybe never explored at all.  I suppose that is what this is all about.  

 

We had a death in the family recently which lead to my scrambling to go home to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania recently.  I was there more for moral support as my Susan and her daughter made arrangements, said their goodbye's...and buried a man I liked and respected.   During this time I also celebrated my 50th birthday, with the sad realization that the days ahead of me are less numerous than the days behind me.  I might as well make them worth living.

 

Scooter Bob didn't get kissed by a mermaid...nor did he see Bok Towers or the wondrous collection of puns (and found artwork) that is Solomon's Castle.    What matters however is the symbolism of Scooter Bob.  He connects a bunch of strangers who enjoy motorcycling, blogging and living life to the fullest.  He takes us out of our comfort zone.  Sometimes that is enough.  That is the brotherhood of two wheels. That is family.  

 

Bob picking out places he would have liked to visit. 

 

You can't go home again.

“Perhaps this is our strange and haunting paradox here in America -- that we are fixed and certain only when we are in movement. At any rate, that is how it seemed to young George Webber, who was never so assured of his purpose as when he was going somewhere on a train. And he never had the sense of home so much as when he felt that he was going there. It was only when he got there that his homelessness began.” 
― Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again

We were driving the back roads of Pennsylvania, I have a silly smile on my face as I push the rental car into the tight corners...Susan is beside, relaxed and at ease, she causally says "Your enjoying this."

"I love to drive." I tell her.

That's true.  I do love to drive and often when the world got to much for a much younger man it was not uncommon for me to jump in the car and take off down the back roads and end up 50, 75, 100 miles away...feeling refreshed and happy.

I always felt that the world began 50 miles from where ever I was at.  You get used to being in one place and the excitement, the bright lights are always elsewhere.  The city calls out to visit.  There is always one more dance hall, one more bar, one more pretty girl with dark seductive eyes.  In college I started to explore the world, and not always in the best ways.

When I lived in Charlotte, NC that experimentation continued by "touring with the Dead" for a bit.  Going here and there and spending wild nights listening to bands, meeting artists and comics and spending late nights with a bottle of wine discussing the world.

In the unusual heat of May (it was about 10 to 15 degrees warmer than it normally is in PA for this time of year), which seemed like a normal Florida spring day to us, I realized that this was no longer my home.  I also realized that I was no longer the young idiot I once was.   Not that I had spent my "adult" life wasting away in Margaritaville.  I managed to make a good living, got married twice and owned two homes.

Somehow in between all the adventures I had built myself a life.  Adulthood happened when I was not expecting it.  Not that all the experiments and experiences were successful, I still have nothing nice to say about Anna; my first wife, for example.  Still though, they made me who and what I am.  A good man.

So what brought on all this reminiscing?  My parent's 50th anniversary for one thing.  Seeing old friends that have lived some dreams.  I could not help but wonder what happened to the young man that tried to live his life to a Rush song.

I'm not giving in to security under pressure
I'm not missing out on the promise of adventure
I'm not giving up on implausible dreams
Experience to extremes...Experience to extremes...

I grew up.

So I wait on my Kimmie to be fixed.  It could be finally repaired today, maybe tomorrow.  Just in time for me to ride during the heat of the day and be caught out in thunderstorms at night.  Just in time for me to consider finally giving up on my self employment, which is starting to lose money for me.

I know that Kimmie and I are going to have some further adventures.  There is much to explore in my backyard.  Places to see, to go, people to meet.

Maybe that will help get me out of this funk.

Learning Patience

It's been a long time since I posted anything to this blog.  I've been away, it's been a busy week as I went home to Pittsburgh to be with my loving parents - who recently celebrated their fiftieth (50) wedding anniversary.   It's hard to believe I've known these people all my life.

This trip allowed me to do some other things as well.  My lovely Susan has a daughter named Stephanie who just celebrated her twenty fifth birthday.  My brother adopted a lovely little girl two years ago and she had a birthday on April 15th.  So I got the chance to celebrate that with them as well.

Sue and Steph

And of course, it was Mother's day...least we forgot that.

If there was a theme to all this celebration over the last week it was "Patience."  I was not dealing with the plans for my parent's party directly, that was my brother's job, Knowing my mother, he had his hands full.  I got a little bit of that the week before as she called several times wanting us to bring photo albums or other small knick-knack's home.  As frustrated as I was with her at times, I knew it was worse for my brother.  Patience.

If I have learned anything from my parents...it's that patience is the key.  That and communication, as Susan and I discuss nearly everything that affects us.

So these past weeks it's been patience.  My bike is fixed, the electrical gremlin was a rectifier.  The gasket is repaired, the part finally arriving from the Mesolithic era.  Then I got a call from Mike, super mechanic.

"Hey Rob, it's Mike."

Yea Dude, what's up?

"Well we found another issue with your bike.  It's the oil pressure gauge."

Patience.

Luckily this all happened before my trip home, so there was little I could do about it. What I wanted to do was spend time with friends and family.  Visit something called Randyland - which I learned about via the Atlas Obscura website, and generally relax.  Sadly I just run out of time, I was unable to spend some time with some friends but I was able to spend time with others.  Over all a good relaxing weekend.

Some highlights are below, you can see photo's of my parent's 50th here (I'm still trying to get everyone named LOL) and additional photo's of my visit to Randyland here.

My Brother Gary and myself

Sue, Me, Mom, Dad, Avery (little one), Amy, Gary

Some Photo's of Randyland

Building one of two

Taken from within the courtyard

The courtyard itself

I just thought they were cute

Yea, I left my worries there.

A special thanks goes out to the work that Randy Gilson does, he's helping to bring back an old and once blighted neighborhood back with vibrant colors, hope and love...and it's an ongoing work in progress.  I understand he wants to add a little cafe and coffee shop soon.  As well as expand into the nearby neighborhoods.   Support the man and what he does by visitinghis website. Or his facebook page here.

Of Memorial Day and soccer players.

I could not let the Memorial Day weekend go by without some recreational riding.  I didn't get to do much of it.  I didn't even manage to go that far, but I did finally get off the beaten track of my day to day commute and take some different roads.  Finally I was able to hit the back roads, the side roads, the strange little ally's that cut parallel or through the main strips.

So I rode to work and made it on time, but at least I got to ride something that was different.  Traffic was light on Friday and Saturday but by Sunday it was again packed with church goers and those heading to the beach for one more day of frolic.

I needed those side roads with their little twists and blind curves.  One day by accident I found a side road near where I work, it's got 15 or 16 curves in a little bit over 3 miles of road.  Kimmie handled them them like a champ and again I felt the spark flair up a little.  After nearly 5 months of not being able or allowed to ride...it just felt right.

Speaking of Memorial Day, it would be wrong of me not to say "Thank you" to the various men and woman that have served in our armed forces to protect the rights and freedoms we have today.  That being said, I feel that it is also my duty to remind people that just because we have that freedom does not mean we should take it for granted.  A citizen must always watch their government to ensure that they are serving the people, and not themselves or another Master.  So if you don't vote, don't bitch.  You can register to vote here if your not registered already.

Just in case your new to this blog, I'm a soccer fan.  Since this is my blog I'm going to talk about soccer for a moment.   You may want to stop reading now.

Still here?

Good.

Ever since I kicked a ball around in grade school I've been a fan of the beautiful game, and it's been a difficult ride for me.  From watching indoor soccer in the late 70's and early 80's to the feeling of amazement I had when I opened up the paper in 1993 to find the Charleston Battery on the front page.  At times I've felt like a voice out in the wilderness.  So to see what the sport has become here in the US, and what it has the potential to become, makes my heart fill with pride.  We have three, count them three, viable leagues.  The big one, the MLS, the second tier NASL (which is the league the local Tampa Bay Rowdies play in)  and the third tier USL; which is the league my beloved Pittsburgh Riverhounds play in.

Without going into to much detail, I've watched the interest around the upcoming World Cup with a bit of bemusement.  The recent controversy over the dropping of Landon Donovan from the US squad has helped propel the sport even more into the public conscious.  After all, he has scored 57 goals for the USA over his career, many of which of helped the team advanced further then many felt possible.  His 2010 goal against Algeria helped ignite a nation.

In the end though you have to trust the coach.  Donovan has had a bit of a "prima donna complex" follow him throughout his career and his commitment to the sport has wavered over the last few years.

To hear the arguments about why or why not he should have been included are interesting to me.  At the end of the day though...it's the coach that decides, and it's him that will reap the rewards or the disgrace.  Personally I think it's a good move.  If the team somehow manages to get out to the group (The USA is grouped with Germany - the second best team in the world right now), Portugal (which is ranked the third best team in the world) and Ghana.  They were the country that knocked the USA out of the last two world cups.  Most of us that follow the game understand that it is an uphill battle and the key is the first two games.  The US can not afford to lose the first game.  It can afford a tie in the second game, but may require help.  A win against Portugal is possible, and has been done before.

Even if they don't advance, the USA is looking good for the next World Cup (the USA has qualified for every World Cup since 1990).  The young players will have experience at the world stage and Mr Donovan will only be 36.  Old by a soccer player standards but he may still be able to provide a spark at that age.

It's going to be an interesting ride.

Back from the wilds

This is actually just an update.

I made it back from the wilds of Penns Woods without much wear and tear.  Before I left, I was informed that upon my return I would be trained as a First Responder.  Considering what I do, I figured this would be more geared to working with Police and 911.

Boy!  Was I ever wrong.

This is a Medical First Responder training.  This is for accidents, serious injuries and worst case scenario type stuff.  Which, again considering what I do for a living, may not be a bad idea.  It's not your basic first aid training (which I had years ago during one day and promptly forgot).  This is advanced stuff, and requires a lot of study on my part (It's actually a 48 hour course being done in 1 work week).

Not me, but yes I ended up on the backboard eventually

It's something that I think I can do.  I have a solid background in Biology and Science.  I also have a kind heart...and am not sure if I am strong enough to keep calm and cool and focused when all hell is breaking loose about me.  Hopefully, I will never have to use any of this.

If something does happen, if something does go badly wrong it will be good to know that I have that training.  That knowledge.  Now I'm thinking more than ever that I need to find out where and when the next Road Guardian class will be held.

So give me a week.  I need to concentrate on that and work on getting my life in some sort of order.  I'll be back and tell you all about my trip to Pittsburgh and everything else.  Just give me some time...there is some good stuff happening in May.  Some good news on the horizon.

Going home...a love letter to Pittsburgh

Plan for the immediate, understand what is coming down the road and prepare for the future.  This will most likely be my last blog entry for the month of April.  Starting on the 17th I'll be traveling back to Pittsburgh, my home town, and I will not be back till the end of the month.

Photo by Renee Duncan-Tabak

I'm looking forward to going home.  It's the city of my birth, where I spent my misplaced youth.  The waters of the three rivers run through my veins deep and thick.  "Yinzers," as Pittsburgh's natives are likely to call them themselves, have a saying..."You can leave the burgh, but the burgh never leaves you."  It has something to do of course with our storied sports teams.  But it's more than that.  The neighborhoods of Pittsburgh are a little microcosm of the American experience.

Bloomfield is "Little Italy."  Polish Hill lives up to it's name.  People party and dance the night away in the South Side, but the natives will tell you that the "slopes" are where you want to live.   Within walking distance of the nightlife, yet offering views of the city like no other.  All the little funky shops and restaurants crammed into to "Strip".  Little cites in a larger city brought about by geology and topography.

Yea, I'm a little homesick.

Lately I've been thinking about family.  About friends.  About those I've loved and lost.  About how the "Capital of Appalachia", a city of over 306 thousand people can maintain a small town feel.  How we invented the Zombie.

Somewhere there is a photo of my family, I'm in my hockey uniform.  It was taken at the Monroeville mall which is also where they shot Dawn of the Dead.  I don't know how many times my dad got up at 4 AM in the morning so I could dream of following my hero's at the time.  He must of known his kid stunk.

I remember catching fireflies out on the lawn on warm endless summer nights, the stars were different then.  More numerous.  More Luminous.  I remember riding my bike, my bicycle, up and down the street for thousands of miles.

I remember soccer games in the backyard.  Hitting golf balls at the neighbors house, and no, I never broke a window.  Drinking my dad's beer in the basement.  

One of my fondest memories was seeing my Dad, drunk on the euphoria of the Penguins first Stanley Cup win.  He had been a fan from the very beginning, and this was a sweet victory for him.  This was Pittsburgh, fans in the street yet no violence...no fires and only a few arrests.  My friends, musicians all, blowing trumpets at the airport to triumph the conquering heroes.  

This was home.  

I am going home for several reasons.  It's been over a year since I touch Pennsylvania soil.  I have a new niece that is celebrating her first birthday, and is my parents first grandchild.  Like my father, who fell in love with the Pens from the very beginning...I fell in love with the Riverhounds.  They have a new stadium that was a long time coming and I feel the need to see a game there, considering that I wrote their match reports for a bit at the turn of the century.  It seems a lifetime ago.  


I've celebrated a birthday, my father celebrated his eighty-second birthday a month before.  My mother is ten years younger and celebrated hers a few days later.  Time is running out.  So why not go home and celebrate my being an uncle?  Why not get a family photo?  Why not create memories?  

Home is where the heart is they say...but it's also where the memories are.  My heart, my soul is in Pittsburgh.  I am going home to connect with old friends.  To re-establish ties and to make sure that the people I love are cared for.  

I am going home.