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Carrie's Furnace

We drove past the “Carrie Furnace” sign on our way to the Waterfront in Homestead, Pennsylvania.  I thought to my self, “Our youngest child is named Carrie.”  We tell her we named her that, because she is so good at carrying things.  In fact, for many years she and the neighbor girl would carry my groceries from the car into the house; with six kids there were a lot of groceries to carry.  Actually all six did their share of grocery carrying.  I don’t remember a time I had to do it all by myself.  Of course, they were always in a hurry to attack the food and look for hidden treats like those humungous muffins from Costco or Sam’s Club.  I miss those times.  I miss my kids. I miss my grandkids. I also miss being a kid and playing with my grandparents.

Although my grandma Katie passed in 1987, I still celebrate her life every year when her birthday rolls around.  She was a fabulous cook, so typically we prepare massive amounts of food using her recipes and gather together for a meal.  I have yet to master making apple strudel, but stuffed cabbage, breaded chicken, potato salad and banana bread are usually welcome additions to the menu. This party is a great excuse to get together, and it serves to bequeath her memory, her recipes and her traditions to the next generation.

Last year I wasn’t near my kids or their families, so my sister had a new idea – she suggested we tour Carrie Furnace in Homestead to celebrate Grandma’s birthday. Although it may sound unusual; it really isn’t.  My grandma operated a crane for the Carnegie Steel Company at the Duquesne Works during World War II.  Since the steel mills in Duquesne have long since been discarded, we toured Carrie Furnace led by volunteers from the Rivers of Steel National Heritage Area.  Our objective was to find out more about Grandma’s service in the mill.

We viewed the colossal dinosaur of the old furnace from many angles and from within.  Now cold and dead, this place was once teaming with life, generated by work and sweat and intense heat.  Cranes were used throughout all stages of the steel making process, so we never did figure out where it was that grandma sat high overhead.  I tried to envision her with a cold, damp rag upon her crown as she hoisted each load of ore and carried it to its destination.  It’s just as she often helped me carry my loads in life.

Which bring us back to Carrie. The furnaces were named for women due to the temperamental nature of the fires burning within them.  Gee, not so different than my Carrie, her sisters, sister-in-laws or me.  We have minds of our own coupled with a passion burning within us to set the world on fire.  We ignite our plans to alter the universe by doing what my grandma taught us -- we serve one another.  We listen, we support, we lend a helping hand.  We carry each others load, one grocery bag at a time.

Link:

Rivers of Steel National Heritage Area http://www.riversofsteel.com/

Let's Get Poppin' Again!

It may seem I have completely forgotten about this blog.  Not really.  I have been sitting on it, hiding it under a bushel, shoving it into the darkest recess of my mind’s closet.  It has had a long winter’s nap, but now it is time to pull it out, dust it off, and face it. Summer has bloomed, and now it’s time to plug in the popcorn popper!

To tell the truth I have not felt much like partying over the past year.  Living in humble circumstances away from my usual haunts, I have been honored to assist my parents through some difficult times by cooking, scrubbing, laundering and dealing – with hospitalizations, falls, chemo, eye drops, trips to radiation, and “Old Timer’s” dementia.  Fortunately we made it through this crisis period, and now we are in the eye of life’s hurricane for a season.

One day while drowning in a flood of my own tears, I came up for a breath of air.  What did I notice?  I noticed that my house is falling apart and my lawn is dying and my grandchildren miss having their grandmother around.  The time has come to go home and pick up the pieces.  It is time to start where I left off over a year ago.  It is time to return to my own life, full of youngsters scampering about and driving me absolutely crazy – with vitality and joy swirling around me.  Like Dorothy’s tornado, they capture me and take me on a journey along the yellow brick road to our own imaginary place where love abounds and everything, and everybody, lasts forever!   

Yes, it is time for the Popcorn Party to begin anew.  Reading, talking, swimming, shopping, and visits to the zoo!  Sprinkle on the cheddar, pour on the butter, and coat it with caramel.  It is time to dive into the popcorn bowl again! 

 

Mr. Red Wings

It was cold outside, and soft white snowflakes tumbled from the gray sky.  I was warm indoors and on my way to the kitchen to make some comfort food.  There he was, watching my every move through the window.  His brilliant red feathers caught me surprise, and I stopped what I was doing to look back at him.  There was a long pause as we gazed at one another.  Then I backed away and quickly tiptoed to the bedroom to grab my camera.  I wanted to digitally capture him, because I knew I would not be able to catch him with my outstretched hands.  I was relieved to discover he was still posing on the snow-laden branch when I returned. I was too eager, so he fluttered away.  No one wants to be a caged bird.

This seems to be a recurring theme for two days in a row.  Today the song is sung by a bird, and last evening “Laurie” warbled a similar tune from the stage at Carnegie Mellon University during a performance of Aaron Copland’s The Tender Land.  I felt very connected to her character, remembering a time I wanted nothing more than to leave this place and venture out into the world.  I couldn’t sprout wings of my own, so I borrow those of a plane and headed West.  I lived quite fully and found a life that I could love.  But that life is behind me now, and I am here – again. 

Confined in my apartment I stare out the window.  I lament the loss of my Barcelona Red Corolla and my desert home with terra cotta roof tiles.  At least my kids are using them now.  I glimpse the outside world through the internet with one eye on my crimson laptop, and the other eye straying toward the window pane.  From time to time, I sometimes escape to wondrous places through the paperless pages of my candy apple covered Kindle.  Is it any wonder why Mr. Red Wings caught my eye against the snow!  Red seems to be the color of my days, but no.  Yarn scraps of many hues are strewn across the table as I color my world with crochet projects for the grandkids, one by one.  I write them stories and letters to connect myself to them across the miles, while multi-colored pencils roll across blank pages of cartoons I forget to draw them.  The stew is bubbling on the burner of the stove and fills the room with tantalizing smells.  Blank canvases and tubes of paint wait their turn until the fresh days of spring and summer waft through the screen, bringing with them new possibilities of self expression.  I wait also, by the window, for the eyes of feathered friends to look inside my cage and see me soar.