Greetings to one and all…and welcome to another edition of The Bridge! This issue is dedicated to Bridgewater BookFest – an exciting new event that will take place on Saturday, June 21, on the historic main street of Bridgewater. BookFest will feature dozens of authors, booksellers, libraries, speakers and more…all gathered together in a festive literary celebration. The festival will also feature a special Children’s Section with plenty of activities for the little readers in your family.
Bridgewater BookFest’s featured authors are Nancy Martin and Mark Levine. Nancy, a Pittsburgh native, is the author of the popular Blackbird Sisters Mystery Series. Mark is the author of The Fine Print of Self-Publishing and Saturn Return. Following his afternoon talk, Mark will be holding a reservation-only seminar on self-publishing. If you’ve written a book or always wanted to, you won’t want to miss out on this exciting opportunity. Sign up for the seminar on the website today at www.BridgewaterBookFest.com.
In this issue of The Bridge, we’ve compiled writings from some of the talented authors who will be appearing at Bridgewater BookFest. Make sure to stop down on Saturday, June 21, to meet these authors in person and purchase signed copies of their books.
For more information, visit: www.BridgewaterBookFest.com
Can We Raise Kind and Loving Children in the World as We Know It?
Sally Dubel
When my daughter was 19, we were invited to a high-risk high school, in Houston, Texas, to talk about the Loving Things Journal©. It was quite intimidating with guards at the door, an electronic screening device and monitors in each classroom. At first, the kids seemed a little suspicious, and as we were by no means experts, we were pretty nervous. We soon discovered that the majority of these children had never thought of doing something loving for themselves or others.
The school had decided to make our project a contest for the children, and they were to design their own Journals and write in them for one week. As the kids began opening up and talking about the loving things they had been doing, one young man described his home life to us. His Mom was raising four children by herself, while she worked two jobs. He was the oldest, attending school during the day, going home to help his younger siblings with homework, and prepare supper. When his Mom arrived home from her jobs, he would go to work for the evening.
After attending the first class with us, he told his brothers and sisters about the experiment and they all sat down and discussed what they could do for their Mom. They decided to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before she arrived. He said they all had so much fun doing it, with everyone joining in to do something loving for his Mom. When she walked through the door, everyone was so excited at the look on her face, as she broke down crying for what they had done for her. As she kept thanking them, he suddenly realized how one small loving act could have so much joy and appreciation in it, and how good it made him feel.
Through this one small experiment, I have realized that not only can we raise kind and loving children; it may be something that is easily achievable, even in this seemingly chaotic and ever-increasing violent world. With the training the children receive by actively working with the Loving Things Journal© each day, these ideas become a lifelong habit.
Sally MacKenzie Dubel currently lives in Beaver, Pennsylvania. Mom to three loving children, a great marriage to one of the “good guys”, author, and one of the proud owners of Fairy Godmothers Enchanted Catering. The physical version of the Loving Things Journal© is available for 16.95, plus shipping and handling at www.lovingthingsjournal.com, or by calling 866-647-3687. You may also order a PDF version for only $9.95, and begin working with it immediately.
Excerpt from:
Emma McDougal and the Quest For Father Time
Matthew Cowden
It was dim and cold. The jail cells were cut into the walls of what seemed like caves in a great mountain. Eve and Morton were now inside Delirium, Grissel’s castle within this cavernous rock. Torches on sconces lit the way as their fires flickered from the draft that blew along the vast corridor.
Two pumas on chains growled at Eve and Morton as they were lead to their cells by the warlock’s house guards, which were nasty creatures dressed in chain mail armor and solid metallic helmets. Underneath this armor stood lizard-like creatures that walked upright and slithered their tongues. They were vile, and they were extremely strong warriors. They were Grissel’s prize warriors and protectors, the Malicians, and they now led two terrified children, restrained in chains, to their prison cells.
Clang! The iron door opened. Eve and Morton were thrown into their cell of rock and dirt, and nothing more. There were no windows or water, and the only light there crept between the iron bars of the door from the torches on the wall that were opposite of them. The door banged shut again, and the lizard soldiers hissed and laughed as they crept away into the shadows.
Eve cried as Morton held her tightly to his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” he said to her. “I promise I will get you out of here. Please trust me in that.”
Eve lifted her head and looked into Morton’s eyes. She wiped her tears and a mustered a bit of a smile. “I do trust you, Morton. I know you will get us out of here.”
(C) 2007 His Work Publishing
www.mattcowden.net
www.emmamcdougal.com
A Little Bit of Bridgewater History
Trudy Gray
In case you didn't know, Bridgewater, Beaver County, is not the only “Bridgewater” in these United States – not even in Pennsylvania. In fact, there is one in Bucks County and one in Susquehanna County. In addition, there are at least 17 other Bridgewaters in other states.
I did not know this myself until, back in 1996, I met British historian Rodger Evans of Somerset County, England. Evans came to visit Bridgewater, Pa., to give a lecture and present a slideshow about his hometown of Bridgwater (without an e), England.
Evans said that most if not all the Bridgewaters in the United States take their name from his hometown, which dates back 1200 years and features the world's largest illuminated night-time carnival, held in November. He explained that the emigrants who left England long ago were often undereducated agricultural workers, who started new towns in the New World, but sometimes misspelled their names. Evans started his research when he discovered that not much had been written about his hometown, and he worried that the town's history would be lost if somebody didn't record it.
At the time of his visit, Evans was trying to visit as many Bridgewaters as time permitted and planned to include the others on the next trip. He wrote a book about Bridgwater, England, titled Bridgwater – With and Without an e, which was published in 1994.
What Happens When you Always Say, “But I Might Need it Someday”?
Patty Kreamer
You get buried in stuff...that’s what happens. If this is why you keep so much stuff, it may make you feel better to know that you are not alone. Beliefs create your behavior. Ergo, if you always say, “But I Might Need It Someday”, you will begin to believe it and then you will keep everything because of it. Naturally, this excuse is going to hinder your success to simplicity.
If you keep something because you believe that you MIGHT need it someday, then ask yourself: “If ‘someday’ arrives and it’s not there, what will I do?” The answer usually is “I’ll go get another one” OR “I’ll make do without it.” Many of the items that you keep you don’t even know that you have. If you do know that you have them, you likely won’t know where they are among the clutter when you need them! Why bother keeping an item for someday if, when “someday” gets here, you’ll end up having to get a new one anyway? “But I might need it someday” is a common yet flimsy excuse for hanging on to things. Keeping too much stuff causes you unnecessary stress every time you look at the clutter while wishing it wasn’t there. And the real kicker is that when you go to use something that you’ve been saving, it’s probably too tattered to use and you will want a NEW one anyhow.
Solution: stop saying “BUT I MIGHT NEED IT SOMEDAY!”
Patty Kreamer, CPO® is a Certified Professional Organizer®, speaker, and President of Kreamer Connect, Inc. She is the author of ...But I Might Need It Someday, The Power of Simplicity and the soon to be released Clutter Rescue Course online program and workbook available at www.ByeByeClutter.com. You can reach Patty at patty@ByeByeClutter.com or 412-344-3252.
No Lies
Judith R. Robinson
The truth Tom Coleman knew was in bricks and dirt, the brick storefront building where he lived, and the weedy patch of dirt behind it.
Someone else grew up under a luminous sky, or by the sea, or breathing blossoms tossed by spring winds. Other children may have played under trees dappled gold with sunshine; Tom’s trees were telephone poles gouged with nails or stripped of bark by kids in the neighborhood.
In all extremes of weather, the freezing days of winter, or rain that seemed constant the rest of the time, Tom climbed a steep hill to a hundred year old school building that overlooked a belching steel mill.
The creatures his old maid teacher praised in rhyme and song did not dwell along Butler, his broken, pot-holed street. Tom never saw a dragon or a unicorn, except in a picture book. Animal friends were cats, bugs, mice, and worms; interesting, maybe, in a puddle after a downpour, but never magical. He grew up happy enough: eating soup out of cans, learning what to do about rust, the value of a dollar and how to fix his own car.
Just out of high school when his country called, Tom became a soldier, and found out about the hellhole called Korea; then husband to Mary, a foreman at USSteel’s open hearth in Rankin, Pa. He joined the Steelworker’s Union and voted Democratic all his life. After Jack Kennedy, who someone once said he resembled, was assassinated, he was often heard to say, nothing else would surprise him.
Someone he knew once told him about the human need for myths, but he rejected that. From the very start, the bad and the good about what a kid like Tom understood was the lack of soothing lies.
My Innocence
Amanda Morelli-Blanda
She's everything to me and barely two feet tall,
She's my innocence . . . what's left of it all.
Tiny little hands, rosy little cheeks,
A heavenly little spirit, going on twelve weeks.
Upon my softened heart has been left a lasting imprint
With a gentle little tiptoe and a tiny little footprint.
She looks into my eyes, gives me her precious smile,
Makes me understand why everything's worthwhile.
She's everything that's real . . . pure, honest and true.
Has me wrapped around her finger-- arms and ankles too!
Every moment, every minute,
Is priceless when she's in it.
Every second she's away leaves a feeling of dismay.
That's my little girl . . .
She's my heart, my soul . . . my world.
From the very first time I saw her
And every moment ever since,
My life has been forever changed
By the angel of innocence.
Embracing Adversity and Change
Nancy Stampahar
Change and adversity happen to all people. How we react and adapt to our challenging times; and more importantly, how we bounce back afterwards will determine our future. When we stay worried, confused and afraid of the unknowns for too long, we will remain paralyzed, complacent and accepting of the status quo. When we learn and apply effective coping techniques, we can bounce back stronger with greater hope.
Many of the circumstances you experience can be tough, but they almost always lead to opportunities for some form of greater growth. For example, my mother wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. This would have been wonderful for her if her circumstances had been better; however, they weren’t. She saw no choice but to improve her single-parent situation. She persevered in starting a long journey for herself and her two children, from welfare to earning her law degree. With each step of courage and determination, she reached another height of achievement. With each setback and achievement, she had more strength and hope.
When you embrace difficult times and tragedies, you can become more resilient, more empathic and eventually, more likely to be happy. Through your hurts and disappointments, you can discover the preciousness of life. You can stop taking people and life for granted. You can also discover the magic of living generously by sharing your compassion and hope. You can give your strength, wisdom and lessons learned to others so they too can get through their hard times. People will benefit tremendously from your kindness and compassion. The abundant cycle of people helping people continues.
Written by Nancy Stampahar the author of "peace love and lemonade: a recipe to make your life sweeter." Visit peaceloveandlemonade.com.
Inside the Storm Sewer
Nathan Peluso
Inside the storm sewer, I peeped aloud at the passing footsteps. Voices too I heard, again, again and gone. These voices too began to fade, but suddenly I heard them return.
Through the grate I peered upward, chirping with all my dearest effort. The night had cooled and light was fading. When the footsteps neared and the careful eyes looked down upon me, I nearly cried with desperation, for they were not the first. But I knew, very well, that they may be the last.
Just two weeks ago I was borne, just two days ago I was imprisoned here. Against my will, though I have fought and struggled gravely. The floodwaters pushed my frail but fuzzy body with force greater than I could endure. They washed me through the dark tunnel, black with mud and fierce in fury.
Withstand the force, breathe, look up and breathe.
When the waters subsided I found my cell to be a two-by-two cement encasing. Above, the cast iron grate of which I now peered. Could I fly, were my wings not an infants, I could still not have fit between their narrow bars. At my feet, oiled water, but an island had formed about a tree branch and mud. The waters were polluted, I could not retreat up the tunnel behind for it was blocked. So I stood upon the island and at each passing sound, or even between them, I called out. I cried and called to my mother, and I could hear her calling me. But here, she could not save me. My hope was that of a miracle, that it, somehow, would set me free.
When they saw me I knew that things were bad. They looked and pulled that metal grate and shook their heads and thought many things. They thought of the terracotta pipe and how this had come to be. They thought, How long has he been here and without food? How long would still he be?
I was fuzzy and cute, I had the voice and chirp that gave me hope. I called out to them, jumped vigilantly and looked up with my desperate, shining eyes. Still, I realized that this was nature, that the coldness was near at hand, and imminent. And that I, as a common bird, was limited to its mighty bounds. But I was so young, with the world, the future, and the sun and clouds’ dream burning in my soul. All was such a shame and I still hadn’t even learnt to fly.
They couldn’t lift the grate. So they put in the stick, the long branch and flitted it about. Their thinking was that I would jump upon it and be pulled out through the grate. I knew that I could not fit though the space between these iron bars. Besides, this stick seemed threatening. So I dodged it, at times on, but fell quickly off again. Each time I was upon it, the guiding hands would pull up and you could feel their joy. But, my youthful legs and mind could not stay perched…to at least give for them, the opportunity, the hope
Then, they were gone.
When I thought it over, the metal bar hit the grate with fury! It wedged and hit the side and the grate budged. They had found it! Soon the grate lifted, and though they tried again with the stick to no avail, when the shovel came, and scooped me out of my concrete grave, I rejoiced!
Beside the tree I was placed, it was the tree in which I was born. The careful hands and helper did not know this. They also did not know that my mother awaited halfway across the yard. But I did know. And reluctantly, they left me here, fearing my immediate death by cat. Or they thought too of the sadness of me not being able to make it, somehow. So I moved, jumped, chirped, and jumped again. I looked over my shoulder and bid them adieu.
They left me here, but as they walked away, these figures with no wings, no feathers. As they walked through the graying night, they peered back. What they saw then, they could never believe. For they saw the miracle that had been given us all. My mother awaited in the yard and I jumped towards her, a chirp and a jump at a time. She would call to me, to lead me. I would respond and follow. That night she led me home, my family awaiting.
In the town along the river, through the grass and by the tree. I was given life and granted once more, the chance to fly.
[Haiku]
like grass through concrete
and rain soaked through the ceiling
nature's resilience
Bridget B.
the Famous Barista
Heartburn
Sloan Pellegrini
The heartburn wakes me in the night,
scorching my insides, making me nauseous.
I've ingested too much of something, or not enough medicine.
It's funny how life revolves around around
that balance the Daoists celebrate.
Too much of this is bad. A little of that is good.
Occasionally, rarely, you get it just right.
Sometimes, I receive a text message while talking on
the phone while reading an e-mail on my computer, and
my doorbell will ring.
Not once, maybe 7 to 10 times.
It's my twelve year old neighbor, Simaran.
He calls himself George. Simaran is just too much!
He is from an old country with too many people.
"Let's play," he says
"I'm too tired George," I tell him. "Maybe tomorrow."
"Liar!" he yells and walks away with his arms folded.
At night, the moonlight is so bright and pale.
It reflects off of the lake and into my windows.
I rise like the tide.
The water twinkles and begins to speak to me, but a
jet flies overhead stifling it's message.
Laying back down, I prop up my pillow so the burn wont
get me, won't damage my cells.
I want to heal, but the sun comes too soon.
At school, my Lebanese student tells me he misses his country.
"Beiruts been bombed again," he says, shaking his head.
He runs off to his next to do and returns a minute later, frantic.
He picks up his things apologetically.
"I'm forgeting Everything! I'm becoming an American!"
Broken Man
Michael Merck
Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringirngringring
broken, tired, desperate and busted
in God, we trusted
Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringringringring
the low lights in the carpet maze of green and red felt
the heavy head weighed with alcohol,
and the blackjack hand dealt
Ringringringringringringringringringringringringringringringring
Broken man stands in the only position
Broken man with pockets full of pity.
lets get drunk and make the worst decision
amidst the lost souls of Atlantic City.
Shadow People Workers
Nate Peluso
Shadow people workers
Don’t work with the people, know who they are people-
Friends that when you knew it all like kids, kids
Duck, duck, ducky, ducky, ducked back,
Under under, took it all in, to the
Gave to the
To, to, to, til the next phase
Walled, wall wall of the sanctuary wall, will
Spelled, inside outside
Spelled S.A.F.E.T.Y.
Why oh why is Y spelled, hiding
In the only place that grown-ups go go
Go to know it soundly,
Like kids that know it soundly
Like the colors, like the colors
Looking colors, so firm to the colors of the world… whirl, wa,
When, the super duper rainbow rainin’ high stars stayed at home, after
They, THEY, didn’t want to go to
Grow to… go to, where we see it this way now
To, where to, where to, see it to the outside inside
And know, and WE know
That we’re shadow people workers too,
Even maybe moreso
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Issue 4 - February/March 2008
Welcome back everybody! We hope you’ve been hoping we return…And we have! So please enjoy our fourth edition. Some changes have taken place with the formatting, but for the most part, The Bridge is the same: good times, good writing, good ‘ol something to keep you pondering life over that steaming brew of coffee.
And yes, it’s true…www.BridgeOnline.info—our online edition—is in its first phase. Check us out, but come with a kind heart, as lots of work remains on the site still. We wanted to give you the opportunity to read all of our fine contributors between printings, and to give you more of our writings, the ones we couldn’t fit in the print edition.
As always, please send us your thoughts, comments, reflections, poems, stories, happy news, and all the rest. Thank you for supporting us throughout the year. We look forward to keeping up the The Bridge!
Knowledge is Power
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In Town—The End of The Monkey
Valentine Brkich
The Monkey is no more.
Just a year and a half after its grand opening, The Celestial Monkey Coffee and Tea Café closed its doors for good recently. If you’ve never heard of it (and chances are you haven’t, since they decided to close), the Monkey was a delightful little coffee shop on the corner of Bridge and Market Streets in my town of Bridgewater.
My wife, Cassie, and I were both giddy when we first learned that a coffee shop was planning on opening in our town. I’m a coffee addict, and she too enjoys a cup every now and then. But we were most excited about having a trendy new gathering place to walk to everyday. And that’s just what we did.
Since we were both working from home at the time, Cassie and I had the freedom to go for leisurely walks around town everyday. Of course, we always ended up at The Celestial Monkey, or “The Monkey” as we soon came to call it. It was so nice to have a place to go to for a hot cup of joe and a freshly made panini sandwich. I’d always grab a paper and read and gaze out the front window to watch the daily traffic pass by. We both enjoyed socializing with the people in the café, telling stories and spreading gossip—typical dialogue for a small-town setting.
For a while, The Monkey welcomed a steady stream of customers. Many had seen it from the road and had come in to investigate. What they found was an eclectic café that pleased the senses with delicious aromas filling the air and works of local artists adorning the multi-colored walls. It was a cozy place, a welcoming place. Most of all it was a unique place. It had a distinctiveness you just don’t find at those other Big Chain coffee shops. It was a charming type of place that you’d expect to find in a charming little town like Bridgewater.
For a while, The Monkey was home to Acoustic Jam Saturdays—a little monthly gathering I put together that featured some of our area’s most talented musicians in an acoustic-only format.
It was great fun while it lasted. Several times we had a packed house as people stopped in to relax on a Saturday evening with some great coffee, great food and great music. It was the kind of weekly event you want to see in a small town—a family-friendly event that showcases local talent and promotes community pride.
But now it’s all gone—the Acoustic Jams, the coffee, the local art, the cozy recliners and the funky atmosphere. The Monkey and all its wonderful small-town charm has gone the way of the dodo, so to speak.
But why? Who’s to blame for its closing?
Well, to be honest, we all are.
Sorry to break it to you, but we’re all to blame for losing this delightful little coffee bar. We were all just too comfortable at home, plopped on our sofas in front of our TVs watching “The Biggest Loser” and “Deal or No Deal” and “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Desperate Housewives” and “ER” and “House” and “CSI: (insert any city)” and the hundreds of other “must watch” shows. We were all driving through the local McDonalds to get a large coffee and an apple pie as we raced to our next meeting or appointment. We were all too tired after work to stop in for a cup of joe and some good conversation. We all had to run to Wal-Mart or Target or The Mall or Rite Aid or Walgreens or Staples or Best Buy, just so we could buy that thing that we just had to have.
It’s sad, but this is the way it is nowadays. We’re just too busy or too tired or too lazy to get out and enjoy all the wonderful, unique places that we’re fortunate enough to have here in Beaver County. I’m sure that, even after a year and a half, most people never even knew about The Celestial Monkey. Heck, I’ve met people who were unaware that there was anything at all open on Bridge Street. (There is. In fact, there’s close to 40 businesses on Bridge Street alone, many of them retail.)
We are so fortunate to have so many distinctive, historic main streets in our area. Bridgewater’s Bridge Street is just one of them. What about Brighton Ave. (Rochester), Duss Ave. and Merchant Streets (Ambridge), 3rd Ave. (New Brighton), Pennsylvania Ave. (Monaca), 7th Ave. (Beaver Falls), Franklin Ave. (Aliquippa), Midland Ave. (Midland), 3rd Ave. (Freedom), and 3rd Street (Beaver). Each one of these streets has something unique to offer—something you just won’t find at that Big Box Store or at the local mall. And if we don’t visit these main streets, if we don’t patronize their stores and restaurants and coffee shops, one day they may not be there anymore. Instead, they’ll be bulldozed and replaced by massive parking lots and cookie-cutter super drugstores.
Don’t believe me?
Once, back in the early 1970s, Bridgewater was slated to be bulldozed to make way for a new supermarket and several parking lots. Council had approved it as a last-stitch effort to “save” the town, which had basically become a ghost town after Route 51 was put in. People no longer needed Bridgewater. They could now zip past it on the brand-new highway on their way to the mall.
Fortunately for Bridgewater, cooler heads prevailed, the supermarket plans were ditched, and the historic buildings along Bridge Street were saved. Since then, the town has experienced a renaissance of sorts, with the arrival of charming retail shops, distinctive eateries and, yes, coffee shops.
Unfortunately, some businesses just don’t attract enough customers to survive. Even when they advertise and have sales and special events, sometimes there’s nothing you can do to pull people away from their TVs or to stop them from going to the local superstore instead. Just know this: unless we continue to support the independent businesses in our hometowns, they’re all doomed to the same fate as The Monkey.
So farewell to you, Celestial Monkey and Tea Café. I hardly knew ye.
The Missing Person was Gone
Nathan Peluso
The missing person was gone. No one knew where they went. They were gone now for some time. It was impossible to determine where they went, or why. Everyone first wondered where, then why. Both were important questions. At first the missing person’s absence was noted as a grave loss. People visualized this person next to them, in full color, smell, and nuance. They could see clearly everything about them. Even their voice was an unmistakable echo. Their smile arched and teeth glistened. This memory stood as more than a memory. It was the feeling and knowing of someone closely. Just yesterday, it seemed, they were here. But not today.
The rumor said that the person had left. They had gone. For the people, they felt as if there should be a reason. If someone were to leave, then they would do so for a reason. And it went by logic, they must have gone somewhere.
It was pointless searching. No one had any idea in which direction to look. They didn’t know where to look, for example at the restaurant or bar, or in the person’s room, or behind the couch. Perhaps in the woods or somewhere in the city. There wasn’t a place they could think of to find them. Instead of looking, the people went about their business. The people carried on with life as usual, with all things the same, except one thing. Only the missing person was different.
The people felt sad. Inside their stomach was an emptiness. There was an unmistakable longing. Inside they felt wounded deeply. On the outside things were the same. Life went on as usual. Birds flew, the trees leaves were green and changing towards fall. Cars drove past. Some days were good and bad, some gray. The river took its turn at being calm and winded, brown and a cool gray-green.
The missing person, they said, had gone. Somewhere they must be doing something. If they were not somewhere, then where were they? If they had gone for no reason, then what was the reason? No sensible person ever went nowhere for no reason.
This logic proved fateful for the people. Each day the longing in their stomach felt more empty and painful. Their pain wasn’t sharp, it was just an empty pain. It was a feeling only of loss. Soon, everyone was noticeably darker in spirit.
Although the missing person weighed deeply on their minds and souls, these feelings could not continue. Each day was misery.
Soon, the missing person was spoken of as the missing person. Soon thereafter, the people stopped talking about the missing person. Everyone still knew and remembered, but they didn’t speak of their loss.
Nothing was gone.
Life continued.
The Sand Pits
By Sloan Pellegrini
I remember when we had a country all our own,
We would visit in the heat of summer or the cold of snow,
The borders were trees and municipal roads,
The check points bon fires while the fireflies glowed
Prom queens, jocks, nerds, and hoods,
Stood under the stars in the shadows of woods,
While time stood still and the future was far,
And the honeydew air was light and charmed
An old steel town with old war stories,
A sand box of souls who dreamt of glory,
But the impermanent moon had cast its spell,
Father Time has bid the citizens farewell.
Captive
Her eyes find me
Big and bright
Hey, I know you
And then that smile
Oh, that smile
It pulls me in
And I’m hers
— VJB
At Mario’s Woodfired Pizzeria...life is good.
Stephanie Higgins
Suddenly, the cold night turns beautiful.
I watch as the flurries grow thicker and start melting on the glass.
Where I sit, on the inside of the window, is warm and comforting.
The sounds of laughter consume me as I pull my eyes away from the first signs of winter.
The restaurant itself is small and it forces me to be close to everyone in the room.
That’s part of the charm.
Glancing around my table, I smile.
Does it get any better?
Friends from a neighboring table hurry over offering a glass of their favorite wine and to share a slice of birthday cake.
The room grows louder as it erupts in singing.
The owner comes out of the kitchen,
wiping his hands on his apron.
Once they’re clean, he places one on my shoulder and asks
“What’s new?”
I look up from my chair with a kind glance
And then direct my eyes back to the outdoors.
I understand that the whole world isn’t always this happy
But you can’t help but feel hope
when you realize that you’re exactly where you belong in this moment.
Allow every new moment to be familiar,
every stranger to be a friend
and every sound a song.
THE UGLY DUCK
Don Bemis
Once upon a time there was an egg. It lay in a forgotten nest near the edge of a stream. A pile of feathers nearby may help explain why the nest was forgotten. If that is not enough of a clue, I will tell you that a fox was moping in the woods. There is a natural depressant in the flesh of fowl. Studies have shown that animals which eat birds get down in the mouth.
But enough of science. Back to our egg. A pair of passing mallards spied the nest. “Look, dear! I’d love to have that home!” The hen batted her ducky eyes at her mate and tried to frame her bill into a winsome smile.
“I’m not too sure,” he replied. “What about that pile of feathers?”
“Oh, pooh! You’re always looking at the dark side of things.” She tried to pout, but it looked pretty much like her smile. “That means the fox isn’t hungry. I’ll bet he’s off moping.” She batted her beady eyes again. “Puleeeeze? With cracked corn on top?”
“Puleeeeze” sounds pretty awful when said by a duck, unless the listener is another duck. The drake could not resist. “Well, okay.”
“Goody!” She pecked him on the cheek and waddled up the bank to inspect her new home.
“Ow!” he quacked.
She peered into the nest. “Ooh, look! A poor little baby, all alone in the world!” She felt the egg. “And it’s still a little warm!” Her maternal hormones kicked in, and she sat. The hen had several maternal hormones. Enough, in fact, that the egg was soon surrounded by six others. It was the largest, though. Eventually they all hatched. There were six fuzzy little ducklings with little yellow bills. And there was one other baby, slightly larger, with a mottled bill and a wrinkled face. It was a face only a mother could love, and even she cringed a bit.
The ducklings would walk together behind their mother to the water. Mostly together, that is. Six fuzzy mallards would march in line, singing insulting songs about their ugly brother. He would waddle along behind. The mother would pretend not to hear because, “Well, ducklings will be ducklings.” It was worse in the stream. Other families would be there so thirty or forty ducklings could torment the ugly one together. They would swim under water and nip his feet. It was fun for most of them.
Eventually all of the ducklings reached the half-grown stage somewhere between cute and sleek, where no adjective can describe their homeliness. However, they remained beautiful to their mothers and to each other. Except for the ugly one. His face grew more and more wrinkled. He grew more quickly than the rest, providing even more reason to taunt him. “Hey, Fatso!” they quacked one day. “Big as a goose and walks like a chicken!”
“Aw, leave me alone!” His voice was changing, and a peep crept into what he had intended to be a menacing quack. The other ducks laughed at him, then coalesced into a gangly mass and chased him off. The ugly duckling clambered ashore and waddled away. Eventually he passed a glassy pool and looked in. What he saw amazed him. He was no longer an ugly duckling. He was a Muscovy duck. And they are even uglier.
Now you know why Muscovy ducks have such rotten dispositions.
Tuesday morning Mexico
Nathan Peluso
Sinking into the sand, sinking into several days in a beach bungalow and ocean breeze, birds chirp and squawk, hippy’s music beat beat beat, hippies themselves reveling in the sun, the sun, the blue horizon at sunset and pink upon the billowing clouds, the Mayan stone temple perched upon the clifftop, the history clashing with modern tourists, modern Mayans, modern trash, boats with lofty hulls and red stripes, bugs of different sorts, mosquitoes at dusk, mosquitoes on your feet beneath the table, bamboo, palm trees, stray dogs with saltwater hair, fierce sunrise, a slow start to the day, nothing to do, three swims a day, rough November currents, local Mexican Baywatch guys peering off the distant shore, figures of people on the beach, hippies beating bongos bom bom bom, a drunk singing rapturously in the night “la!”, hammocks tied on trees, sagging in rooms, a sideways door that opens to the sea, a small mound of sand, the smell of grilled fish, the smell of raw fish, a French woman hanging clothes in your room, and rustling plastic bags, wearing a sunset blue blouse and thinking pensively, a man beneath the mosquito net, still in bed, red skin, tired natural bodies, sunglasses, wandering, scattering birds at the tidepool looking for dinner, scatter scatter, a funny waiter, pesos collected from the ATM machine, sombreros, vendors, cheesy busses, a long straight road with jungle on both sides, thoughts of future development, a deep breath and appreciation for what is now.
Now, a foot in the sand.
A body touched by one million pieces of sand.
Sand.
A sand floor.
I want to write a poem first
Francesco
I want to write a poem first
Before I get started
Because when I was driving
A thought struck me as poetic and meaningful
It was a thought of life
And a deep meaning
But I can’t remember the damn thought now
I can only remember driving
And thinking that I had one
In that thought, I became aware of my own previous ignorance
Suddenly that flash gave me an insight
Casting off all old feelings and ways of being
It allowed me to be free
If only for this thought
What was it? I can’t remember
How frustrating it is to type a poem
Like this, when you can’t even remember what it’s about
Only to know that it’s about a profundity
But I don’t know which one or why it mattered
Maybe I should get back in my car
Then I should drive backwards
Or I should go all the way back to where I came from
That way, there’s a good chance that the poetic realization will re-emerge
It will come back and strike me and this time I’ll be ready
But what if it doesn’t
What if I leave the coffee shop without ordering
Packed with all my things
And start that damned car again wasting all that fuel
Only to drive, and drive two and three times over
Hmm, I think that there’s a chance it will return on its own
With time, when I’m not trying
Very subtly, like a cool wind in Spring
Again that very important wisdom will return
No doubt
And with pen, and paper, I’ll trap it
Thursday, night
Punta Allen
Nathan Peluso
The roars of the village are still strong, you can hear them in the ecstatic cheer of the evening teenage girls soccer match, at each “boomp, boomp,” the booting of the ghostly white ball acrost lumpy beige sand, the jousting “raw-raw” of the player’s truest fans, the teenage boys, and the children gather atop a stand, a concreted fountain in disrepair or
behind a wind-torn fence, as streetlights lend sparingly to the scene.
“Boomp!” and the ball careens a post, “Aah!” screams and hoots the active crowd, participants no less than the players themselves. For in this town of several hundred amidst a jungle reserve, at the bottom of a winded peninsula, between sea and majestic lagoon, and not far away from its next Cat 5 storm, there is a life that is free as nature. And in the air, like the night, is a tranquility that only belies its remoteness, its fragility, and its temporality. This small refuge, an oasis of light in a world full of black, begs no more. Its sincerity of place can be found at a sunset or dawn.
Blink once in between and it’s gone.
ALIQUIPPA - A Brief Town History
Aliquippa, the county's most populous borough, seemingly grew overnight from the merger of three small villages, each with a history of its own.
While a relatively new community compared to others in the county, Aliquippa's traditions go back to the very beginning of colonial habitation in Beaver County. In the years before the Revolution, two Indian traders, successively, chose the fertile fields across the river from the old Indian village of Logstown to make a home. Alexander McKee, the first resident, built a cabin around 1769, but evidently did not stay too long. In 1771, John Gibson surveyed 300 acres, built a cabin, and planted crops, becoming the first colonial farmer in the county, although the same land along the river had been farmed by the Indians for many years.
Logstown, the Delaware Indian village, was across the river in Baden, but somehow the name was transferred to the stream on the west side of the Ohio. In turn, the small village near the stream mouth became known as Logstown Bottom.
The Reverend Andrew McDonald lived here when he became pastor of White Oak Flats Church in 1810. White Oak Flats was a large level area in the hills west of Logstown, and the site of an early Presbyterian Church, which for a long time was known by the same name. (It was later called Mt. Carmel.)
The Flats were bisected by Brodhead's Road in 1778, when the supply trail from Pittsburgh to Fort McIntosh (Beaver) was cut through the wilderness. Later, a road from the fertile Raccoon Creek valley to the Ohio River intersected the military trail, and a village grew up at the crossroads. In time the village became known as New Sheffield.
In 1877, while the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad was laying track through Logstown Bottom, a post office was established in the village. A new name, Woodlawn, was suggested by Mattie McDonald and adopted. The P. & L.E. built an amusement area north of Woodlawn, and named it Aliquippa Park. Soon an adjacent village had its own station, called Aliquippa. A shovel factory and other manufacturers located here and a townsite was laid out, incorporated in 1894 as Aliquippa Borough.
In the next decade or so, Aliquippa developed into a fair sized industrial town, while Woodlawn village, a few miles to the south, languished as a rural community, although the Woodlawn Academy and a Presbyterian church had been established near the station.
Everything changed, however, in 1906, when construction began for the huge Aliquippa works of the Jones and Laughlin Steel Company. Old Logstown disappeared while a new business district was constructed in the valley and plans of houses sprung up on every surrounding hill.
In 1926, Woodlawn, already the largest community in Beaver County, annexed New Sheffield from Hopewell Township, along with the land in between. In 1928, a merger was effected by a referendum of the voters with Aliquippa Borough, and the new borough retained the name of the smaller partner to better identify with the name of the steel works. (There is no historical evidence connecting the Indian Queen Aliquippa with the location of the borough. This was one of several Indian names selected arbitrarily by the P. & L.E. Railroad in 1878 for stations along the route. Others were Shannopin, now South Heights, and Monaca.)
Aliquippa's leaders were perplexed by the problems created by the automobile and the mobility it gave to people. The younger generations have chosen to build homes in neighboring suburban townships. The Franklin Avenue business district declined as shoppers found it more convenient to drive to the outlying shopping centers than to cope with traffic and parking problems downtown.
The old borough of Aliquippa became known as West Aliquippa (the second time it was named by the railroad.) In the 1960's J. & L. filled in Crow's Island, on the river side of town, and constructed a huge new steel producing facility there. The old town seems destined to be completely swallowed up by the mill, as many houses and buildings have been demolished.
New Sheffield has become the center of the community as many churches and businesses have relocated there, and also contains the borough's only elementary school.
In the last 15 years, most of the J. & L. Steel works has been shut down or demolished in along the Ohio in Aliquippa. The commissioners of Beaver County plan to use a large portion of that site to relocate the county jail. The Franklin Avenue business district is basically non-existent today. Its main purpose now is a throughway for Aliquippa residents to route 51, leading to Ambridge, South Heights, or Monaca.
Courtesy of Beaver County Bicentennial Atlas
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Good News!
Two Ambridge natives, Dominic Mecchia and Cristina Aloe, who have spent much time working in other parts of the country, have returned to their hometown to work on a major feature film being distributed by Miramax, set to be released in 2009. Both are 1998 graduates of Ambridge Area High School.
Another 1998 Ambridge Graduate, John Homich, has made a huge stride as the contracted photographer for Bishop Zubik's recent installation. John is extremely talented and is proud to be carrying on the legacy of Sam Pelaia.
If you would like more information on either of these positive stories, please contact Cristina Aloe at 724-513-5052.
Thank you.
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Knowledge is Power
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A Home Performance Test is a diagnostic evaluation of your home. It is also the first step in making your home more comfortable and energy efficient. Once we understand how much energy your home uses, we can determine the necessary measures to improve its efficiency. A Home Performance Test takes approximately two hours, depending upon house size and accessibility. For a home 2,000 square-feet or less, the cost is $200. See "Performance Test Estimate" box on our website for additional pricing.
Home Performance Tests are becoming increasingly popular - not only among homeowners, but with prospective homebuyers too. A home with great energy marks may even add to its value.
Our Home Performance Test covers:
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In Town—The End of The Monkey
Valentine Brkich
The Monkey is no more.
Just a year and a half after its grand opening, The Celestial Monkey Coffee and Tea Café closed its doors for good recently. If you’ve never heard of it (and chances are you haven’t, since they decided to close), the Monkey was a delightful little coffee shop on the corner of Bridge and Market Streets in my town of Bridgewater.
My wife, Cassie, and I were both giddy when we first learned that a coffee shop was planning on opening in our town. I’m a coffee addict, and she too enjoys a cup every now and then. But we were most excited about having a trendy new gathering place to walk to everyday. And that’s just what we did.
Since we were both working from home at the time, Cassie and I had the freedom to go for leisurely walks around town everyday. Of course, we always ended up at The Celestial Monkey, or “The Monkey” as we soon came to call it. It was so nice to have a place to go to for a hot cup of joe and a freshly made panini sandwich. I’d always grab a paper and read and gaze out the front window to watch the daily traffic pass by. We both enjoyed socializing with the people in the café, telling stories and spreading gossip—typical dialogue for a small-town setting.
For a while, The Monkey welcomed a steady stream of customers. Many had seen it from the road and had come in to investigate. What they found was an eclectic café that pleased the senses with delicious aromas filling the air and works of local artists adorning the multi-colored walls. It was a cozy place, a welcoming place. Most of all it was a unique place. It had a distinctiveness you just don’t find at those other Big Chain coffee shops. It was a charming type of place that you’d expect to find in a charming little town like Bridgewater.
For a while, The Monkey was home to Acoustic Jam Saturdays—a little monthly gathering I put together that featured some of our area’s most talented musicians in an acoustic-only format.
It was great fun while it lasted. Several times we had a packed house as people stopped in to relax on a Saturday evening with some great coffee, great food and great music. It was the kind of weekly event you want to see in a small town—a family-friendly event that showcases local talent and promotes community pride.
But now it’s all gone—the Acoustic Jams, the coffee, the local art, the cozy recliners and the funky atmosphere. The Monkey and all its wonderful small-town charm has gone the way of the dodo, so to speak.
But why? Who’s to blame for its closing?
Well, to be honest, we all are.
Sorry to break it to you, but we’re all to blame for losing this delightful little coffee bar. We were all just too comfortable at home, plopped on our sofas in front of our TVs watching “The Biggest Loser” and “Deal or No Deal” and “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Desperate Housewives” and “ER” and “House” and “CSI: (insert any city)” and the hundreds of other “must watch” shows. We were all driving through the local McDonalds to get a large coffee and an apple pie as we raced to our next meeting or appointment. We were all too tired after work to stop in for a cup of joe and some good conversation. We all had to run to Wal-Mart or Target or The Mall or Rite Aid or Walgreens or Staples or Best Buy, just so we could buy that thing that we just had to have.
It’s sad, but this is the way it is nowadays. We’re just too busy or too tired or too lazy to get out and enjoy all the wonderful, unique places that we’re fortunate enough to have here in Beaver County. I’m sure that, even after a year and a half, most people never even knew about The Celestial Monkey. Heck, I’ve met people who were unaware that there was anything at all open on Bridge Street. (There is. In fact, there’s close to 40 businesses on Bridge Street alone, many of them retail.)
We are so fortunate to have so many distinctive, historic main streets in our area. Bridgewater’s Bridge Street is just one of them. What about Brighton Ave. (Rochester), Duss Ave. and Merchant Streets (Ambridge), 3rd Ave. (New Brighton), Pennsylvania Ave. (Monaca), 7th Ave. (Beaver Falls), Franklin Ave. (Aliquippa), Midland Ave. (Midland), 3rd Ave. (Freedom), and 3rd Street (Beaver). Each one of these streets has something unique to offer—something you just won’t find at that Big Box Store or at the local mall. And if we don’t visit these main streets, if we don’t patronize their stores and restaurants and coffee shops, one day they may not be there anymore. Instead, they’ll be bulldozed and replaced by massive parking lots and cookie-cutter super drugstores.
Don’t believe me?
Once, back in the early 1970s, Bridgewater was slated to be bulldozed to make way for a new supermarket and several parking lots. Council had approved it as a last-stitch effort to “save” the town, which had basically become a ghost town after Route 51 was put in. People no longer needed Bridgewater. They could now zip past it on the brand-new highway on their way to the mall.
Fortunately for Bridgewater, cooler heads prevailed, the supermarket plans were ditched, and the historic buildings along Bridge Street were saved. Since then, the town has experienced a renaissance of sorts, with the arrival of charming retail shops, distinctive eateries and, yes, coffee shops.
Unfortunately, some businesses just don’t attract enough customers to survive. Even when they advertise and have sales and special events, sometimes there’s nothing you can do to pull people away from their TVs or to stop them from going to the local superstore instead. Just know this: unless we continue to support the independent businesses in our hometowns, they’re all doomed to the same fate as The Monkey.
So farewell to you, Celestial Monkey and Tea Café. I hardly knew ye.
The Missing Person was Gone
Nathan Peluso
The missing person was gone. No one knew where they went. They were gone now for some time. It was impossible to determine where they went, or why. Everyone first wondered where, then why. Both were important questions. At first the missing person’s absence was noted as a grave loss. People visualized this person next to them, in full color, smell, and nuance. They could see clearly everything about them. Even their voice was an unmistakable echo. Their smile arched and teeth glistened. This memory stood as more than a memory. It was the feeling and knowing of someone closely. Just yesterday, it seemed, they were here. But not today.
The rumor said that the person had left. They had gone. For the people, they felt as if there should be a reason. If someone were to leave, then they would do so for a reason. And it went by logic, they must have gone somewhere.
It was pointless searching. No one had any idea in which direction to look. They didn’t know where to look, for example at the restaurant or bar, or in the person’s room, or behind the couch. Perhaps in the woods or somewhere in the city. There wasn’t a place they could think of to find them. Instead of looking, the people went about their business. The people carried on with life as usual, with all things the same, except one thing. Only the missing person was different.
The people felt sad. Inside their stomach was an emptiness. There was an unmistakable longing. Inside they felt wounded deeply. On the outside things were the same. Life went on as usual. Birds flew, the trees leaves were green and changing towards fall. Cars drove past. Some days were good and bad, some gray. The river took its turn at being calm and winded, brown and a cool gray-green.
The missing person, they said, had gone. Somewhere they must be doing something. If they were not somewhere, then where were they? If they had gone for no reason, then what was the reason? No sensible person ever went nowhere for no reason.
This logic proved fateful for the people. Each day the longing in their stomach felt more empty and painful. Their pain wasn’t sharp, it was just an empty pain. It was a feeling only of loss. Soon, everyone was noticeably darker in spirit.
Although the missing person weighed deeply on their minds and souls, these feelings could not continue. Each day was misery.
Soon, the missing person was spoken of as the missing person. Soon thereafter, the people stopped talking about the missing person. Everyone still knew and remembered, but they didn’t speak of their loss.
Nothing was gone.
Life continued.
The Sand Pits
By Sloan Pellegrini
I remember when we had a country all our own,
We would visit in the heat of summer or the cold of snow,
The borders were trees and municipal roads,
The check points bon fires while the fireflies glowed
Prom queens, jocks, nerds, and hoods,
Stood under the stars in the shadows of woods,
While time stood still and the future was far,
And the honeydew air was light and charmed
An old steel town with old war stories,
A sand box of souls who dreamt of glory,
But the impermanent moon had cast its spell,
Father Time has bid the citizens farewell.
Captive
Her eyes find me
Big and bright
Hey, I know you
And then that smile
Oh, that smile
It pulls me in
And I’m hers
— VJB
At Mario’s Woodfired Pizzeria...life is good.
Stephanie Higgins
Suddenly, the cold night turns beautiful.
I watch as the flurries grow thicker and start melting on the glass.
Where I sit, on the inside of the window, is warm and comforting.
The sounds of laughter consume me as I pull my eyes away from the first signs of winter.
The restaurant itself is small and it forces me to be close to everyone in the room.
That’s part of the charm.
Glancing around my table, I smile.
Does it get any better?
Friends from a neighboring table hurry over offering a glass of their favorite wine and to share a slice of birthday cake.
The room grows louder as it erupts in singing.
The owner comes out of the kitchen,
wiping his hands on his apron.
Once they’re clean, he places one on my shoulder and asks
“What’s new?”
I look up from my chair with a kind glance
And then direct my eyes back to the outdoors.
I understand that the whole world isn’t always this happy
But you can’t help but feel hope
when you realize that you’re exactly where you belong in this moment.
Allow every new moment to be familiar,
every stranger to be a friend
and every sound a song.
THE UGLY DUCK
Don Bemis
Once upon a time there was an egg. It lay in a forgotten nest near the edge of a stream. A pile of feathers nearby may help explain why the nest was forgotten. If that is not enough of a clue, I will tell you that a fox was moping in the woods. There is a natural depressant in the flesh of fowl. Studies have shown that animals which eat birds get down in the mouth.
But enough of science. Back to our egg. A pair of passing mallards spied the nest. “Look, dear! I’d love to have that home!” The hen batted her ducky eyes at her mate and tried to frame her bill into a winsome smile.
“I’m not too sure,” he replied. “What about that pile of feathers?”
“Oh, pooh! You’re always looking at the dark side of things.” She tried to pout, but it looked pretty much like her smile. “That means the fox isn’t hungry. I’ll bet he’s off moping.” She batted her beady eyes again. “Puleeeeze? With cracked corn on top?”
“Puleeeeze” sounds pretty awful when said by a duck, unless the listener is another duck. The drake could not resist. “Well, okay.”
“Goody!” She pecked him on the cheek and waddled up the bank to inspect her new home.
“Ow!” he quacked.
She peered into the nest. “Ooh, look! A poor little baby, all alone in the world!” She felt the egg. “And it’s still a little warm!” Her maternal hormones kicked in, and she sat. The hen had several maternal hormones. Enough, in fact, that the egg was soon surrounded by six others. It was the largest, though. Eventually they all hatched. There were six fuzzy little ducklings with little yellow bills. And there was one other baby, slightly larger, with a mottled bill and a wrinkled face. It was a face only a mother could love, and even she cringed a bit.
The ducklings would walk together behind their mother to the water. Mostly together, that is. Six fuzzy mallards would march in line, singing insulting songs about their ugly brother. He would waddle along behind. The mother would pretend not to hear because, “Well, ducklings will be ducklings.” It was worse in the stream. Other families would be there so thirty or forty ducklings could torment the ugly one together. They would swim under water and nip his feet. It was fun for most of them.
Eventually all of the ducklings reached the half-grown stage somewhere between cute and sleek, where no adjective can describe their homeliness. However, they remained beautiful to their mothers and to each other. Except for the ugly one. His face grew more and more wrinkled. He grew more quickly than the rest, providing even more reason to taunt him. “Hey, Fatso!” they quacked one day. “Big as a goose and walks like a chicken!”
“Aw, leave me alone!” His voice was changing, and a peep crept into what he had intended to be a menacing quack. The other ducks laughed at him, then coalesced into a gangly mass and chased him off. The ugly duckling clambered ashore and waddled away. Eventually he passed a glassy pool and looked in. What he saw amazed him. He was no longer an ugly duckling. He was a Muscovy duck. And they are even uglier.
Now you know why Muscovy ducks have such rotten dispositions.
Tuesday morning Mexico
Nathan Peluso
Sinking into the sand, sinking into several days in a beach bungalow and ocean breeze, birds chirp and squawk, hippy’s music beat beat beat, hippies themselves reveling in the sun, the sun, the blue horizon at sunset and pink upon the billowing clouds, the Mayan stone temple perched upon the clifftop, the history clashing with modern tourists, modern Mayans, modern trash, boats with lofty hulls and red stripes, bugs of different sorts, mosquitoes at dusk, mosquitoes on your feet beneath the table, bamboo, palm trees, stray dogs with saltwater hair, fierce sunrise, a slow start to the day, nothing to do, three swims a day, rough November currents, local Mexican Baywatch guys peering off the distant shore, figures of people on the beach, hippies beating bongos bom bom bom, a drunk singing rapturously in the night “la!”, hammocks tied on trees, sagging in rooms, a sideways door that opens to the sea, a small mound of sand, the smell of grilled fish, the smell of raw fish, a French woman hanging clothes in your room, and rustling plastic bags, wearing a sunset blue blouse and thinking pensively, a man beneath the mosquito net, still in bed, red skin, tired natural bodies, sunglasses, wandering, scattering birds at the tidepool looking for dinner, scatter scatter, a funny waiter, pesos collected from the ATM machine, sombreros, vendors, cheesy busses, a long straight road with jungle on both sides, thoughts of future development, a deep breath and appreciation for what is now.
Now, a foot in the sand.
A body touched by one million pieces of sand.
Sand.
A sand floor.
I want to write a poem first
Francesco
I want to write a poem first
Before I get started
Because when I was driving
A thought struck me as poetic and meaningful
It was a thought of life
And a deep meaning
But I can’t remember the damn thought now
I can only remember driving
And thinking that I had one
In that thought, I became aware of my own previous ignorance
Suddenly that flash gave me an insight
Casting off all old feelings and ways of being
It allowed me to be free
If only for this thought
What was it? I can’t remember
How frustrating it is to type a poem
Like this, when you can’t even remember what it’s about
Only to know that it’s about a profundity
But I don’t know which one or why it mattered
Maybe I should get back in my car
Then I should drive backwards
Or I should go all the way back to where I came from
That way, there’s a good chance that the poetic realization will re-emerge
It will come back and strike me and this time I’ll be ready
But what if it doesn’t
What if I leave the coffee shop without ordering
Packed with all my things
And start that damned car again wasting all that fuel
Only to drive, and drive two and three times over
Hmm, I think that there’s a chance it will return on its own
With time, when I’m not trying
Very subtly, like a cool wind in Spring
Again that very important wisdom will return
No doubt
And with pen, and paper, I’ll trap it
Thursday, night
Punta Allen
Nathan Peluso
The roars of the village are still strong, you can hear them in the ecstatic cheer of the evening teenage girls soccer match, at each “boomp, boomp,” the booting of the ghostly white ball acrost lumpy beige sand, the jousting “raw-raw” of the player’s truest fans, the teenage boys, and the children gather atop a stand, a concreted fountain in disrepair or
behind a wind-torn fence, as streetlights lend sparingly to the scene.
“Boomp!” and the ball careens a post, “Aah!” screams and hoots the active crowd, participants no less than the players themselves. For in this town of several hundred amidst a jungle reserve, at the bottom of a winded peninsula, between sea and majestic lagoon, and not far away from its next Cat 5 storm, there is a life that is free as nature. And in the air, like the night, is a tranquility that only belies its remoteness, its fragility, and its temporality. This small refuge, an oasis of light in a world full of black, begs no more. Its sincerity of place can be found at a sunset or dawn.
Blink once in between and it’s gone.
ALIQUIPPA - A Brief Town History
Aliquippa, the county's most populous borough, seemingly grew overnight from the merger of three small villages, each with a history of its own.
While a relatively new community compared to others in the county, Aliquippa's traditions go back to the very beginning of colonial habitation in Beaver County. In the years before the Revolution, two Indian traders, successively, chose the fertile fields across the river from the old Indian village of Logstown to make a home. Alexander McKee, the first resident, built a cabin around 1769, but evidently did not stay too long. In 1771, John Gibson surveyed 300 acres, built a cabin, and planted crops, becoming the first colonial farmer in the county, although the same land along the river had been farmed by the Indians for many years.
Logstown, the Delaware Indian village, was across the river in Baden, but somehow the name was transferred to the stream on the west side of the Ohio. In turn, the small village near the stream mouth became known as Logstown Bottom.
The Reverend Andrew McDonald lived here when he became pastor of White Oak Flats Church in 1810. White Oak Flats was a large level area in the hills west of Logstown, and the site of an early Presbyterian Church, which for a long time was known by the same name. (It was later called Mt. Carmel.)
The Flats were bisected by Brodhead's Road in 1778, when the supply trail from Pittsburgh to Fort McIntosh (Beaver) was cut through the wilderness. Later, a road from the fertile Raccoon Creek valley to the Ohio River intersected the military trail, and a village grew up at the crossroads. In time the village became known as New Sheffield.
In 1877, while the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad was laying track through Logstown Bottom, a post office was established in the village. A new name, Woodlawn, was suggested by Mattie McDonald and adopted. The P. & L.E. built an amusement area north of Woodlawn, and named it Aliquippa Park. Soon an adjacent village had its own station, called Aliquippa. A shovel factory and other manufacturers located here and a townsite was laid out, incorporated in 1894 as Aliquippa Borough.
In the next decade or so, Aliquippa developed into a fair sized industrial town, while Woodlawn village, a few miles to the south, languished as a rural community, although the Woodlawn Academy and a Presbyterian church had been established near the station.
Everything changed, however, in 1906, when construction began for the huge Aliquippa works of the Jones and Laughlin Steel Company. Old Logstown disappeared while a new business district was constructed in the valley and plans of houses sprung up on every surrounding hill.
In 1926, Woodlawn, already the largest community in Beaver County, annexed New Sheffield from Hopewell Township, along with the land in between. In 1928, a merger was effected by a referendum of the voters with Aliquippa Borough, and the new borough retained the name of the smaller partner to better identify with the name of the steel works. (There is no historical evidence connecting the Indian Queen Aliquippa with the location of the borough. This was one of several Indian names selected arbitrarily by the P. & L.E. Railroad in 1878 for stations along the route. Others were Shannopin, now South Heights, and Monaca.)
Aliquippa's leaders were perplexed by the problems created by the automobile and the mobility it gave to people. The younger generations have chosen to build homes in neighboring suburban townships. The Franklin Avenue business district declined as shoppers found it more convenient to drive to the outlying shopping centers than to cope with traffic and parking problems downtown.
The old borough of Aliquippa became known as West Aliquippa (the second time it was named by the railroad.) In the 1960's J. & L. filled in Crow's Island, on the river side of town, and constructed a huge new steel producing facility there. The old town seems destined to be completely swallowed up by the mill, as many houses and buildings have been demolished.
New Sheffield has become the center of the community as many churches and businesses have relocated there, and also contains the borough's only elementary school.
In the last 15 years, most of the J. & L. Steel works has been shut down or demolished in along the Ohio in Aliquippa. The commissioners of Beaver County plan to use a large portion of that site to relocate the county jail. The Franklin Avenue business district is basically non-existent today. Its main purpose now is a throughway for Aliquippa residents to route 51, leading to Ambridge, South Heights, or Monaca.
Courtesy of Beaver County Bicentennial Atlas
WRITERS WELCOME!
Your stories, poems, and other musings are welcome
for publication in next edition of The Bridge.
Please send 500 words or less to:
ContactTheBridge@gmail.com
Or send a print copy to:
The Bridge
223 Washington Street
W. Bridgewater, PA 15009
We look forward to hearing from you!
Good News!
Two Ambridge natives, Dominic Mecchia and Cristina Aloe, who have spent much time working in other parts of the country, have returned to their hometown to work on a major feature film being distributed by Miramax, set to be released in 2009. Both are 1998 graduates of Ambridge Area High School.
Another 1998 Ambridge Graduate, John Homich, has made a huge stride as the contracted photographer for Bishop Zubik's recent installation. John is extremely talented and is proud to be carrying on the legacy of Sam Pelaia.
If you would like more information on either of these positive stories, please contact Cristina Aloe at 724-513-5052.
Thank you.
Like to Advertise in The Bridge?
The Bridge is accepting advertisements for its next issue. All proceeds will go towards the printing costs associated with the journal. We are a non-profit. The more advertising revenue we can bring in, the more copies of the newsletter we will be able to print and distribute.
Please send your completed ad (JPG or GIF format) to:
ContactTheBridge@gmail.com
Include any instructions, questions, or comments you may have along with the email. If you have trouble getting your advertisement into a computer format, please write to us and we will be glad to help.
For the next issue, business-card-size ads will run $35. Quarter-page ads are $75. The next issue of The Bridge will print approximately 400 issues (minimum), and it will be distributed to many Beaver County libraries, coffee shops, and places of business.
Thank you for your support!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Issue 3 - Summer/Fall 2007
Putting a Positive Spin on Things
Valentine J. Brkich
Well, it’s been a while since you’ve last heard from us at The Bridge. Sorry. I guess we’ve been a little busy this summer.
I’ve been working on a nursery for our first child who is due in late September. Since I’m a writer and not a carpenter, you can see why this would be a time-consuming task. Luckily my father-in-law—who, unlike me, knows what a router is—has been generously donating much of his valuable time to the project.
My partner in crime and co-editor of The Bridge, Nate (a.k.a Raphael, a.k.a. Pete Striker, a.k.a. F. Nathan) has been busy this summer as well, but it has nothing to due with a nursery. He’s been overseas teaching English to students in Austria, a noble and exhausting undertaking.
So you can see why we haven’t had time to pump out a new issue in some time. But we finally found some time to get something down on paper—hence the latest issue, which now rests in your hands.
I’ve been feeling a little grumpy lately and was planning on using this issue as a soapbox, if you will, to air my grievances. You see, I’ve been listening to way too much talk radio lately. Especially during the afternoon from 12-3 p.m. on our beloved KDKA. This has proven to be a grave mistake on my part. It has done nothing but get my blood boiling and fill my mind with a boatload of negativity. This is never a good thing. Although I always strive to be positive, more than not I find myself focusing on the negative. This can be an extremely unhealthy practice, not just for myself but for those around me as well.
In light of this enlightenment, I’ve decided to change course and not use this issue as my own personal rant. Instead, I’d like to reiterate the purpose of The Bridge to the Beaver County community.
The Bridge is intended to be a positive, enlightening, informative, creative resource for the people of our communities. Today’s media is too focused on shock value and negative stories. Our local newspapers are filled with way too much negative news and way too little positive news. If you have something good to say, something that will be beneficial to the community, it seems impossible to get anyone to listen.
But not here.
The Bridge is your community journal. It is a place for the people of Beaver County to share their creative talents. It is both a literary journal and a community newsletter. It is a place to share your stories, your poems, your memories, your musings. It is also your platform for sharing good, positive news about your community. If you have some information you think would be of value to the rest of Beaver County, this is your tool for getting it out there. And we won’t charge you to print it like some other so-called “local” publications do.
For example, just a few weeks ago, from August 17 through August 19, my town of Bridgewater held the annual Beaver County River Regatta, which last year came back home to where it all started back in the 1970s. If you weren’t able to make it down to the event, it was a wonderful celebration. With the help of some beautiful, sunny summer weather, this year’s Regatta was even better than the last, with so much to see and do. It was the perfect example of the kind of family-oriented events that make this county so special. Thank you to all who participated in the Regatta and to all who helped to put it all together.
Also, on October 13, Bridgewater will be holding its annual Fall Festival from 10 a.m. - 6 p.m. on Bridge Street. The main street will be closed to allow for vendors and fun activities for the whole family. There will also be great live music all day long, including a performance by the talented singer/songwriter Joel Lindsay, a native of London, England. You really won’t want to miss it.
If you have similar good news about your community or school or organization, this is the place to publicize it. And again, we won’t charge you a penny to do it. Just send it along in an email to ContactTheBridge@gmail.com.
If you’d like to advertise in The Bridge, we can help you out there, too. Just send us an email today, or give me a call at 724.775.9815. We distribute The Bridge to all local cafes, coffee shops, public libraries and other places where people gather together. We can help you get the word out.
Once again I’d like to reiterate that The Bridge is here for you. We want to know about your positive, informative, beneficial good news. I’m going to do my part to be more positive by stopping listening to so much negative talk radio and by stopping reading all the negative news printed in the newspapers. It’s just no good for me, and I’m sure my wife will appreciate it. Now we just need you to do your part and share your good news with the rest of the Beaver County community.
The Bridge is your vehicle for spreading good news. Take advantage of it today.
ContactTheBridge@gmail.com
In Town
by Valentine J. Brkich
I see a lot of strange and remarkable things when I’m walking around Beaver and Bridgewater.
For example, a couple weeks ago I was walking in Bridgewater with my wife when we saw a man pushing a baby in a stroller. Nothing strange about that. What was strange was that the man was wearing a gasmask and had an air tank strapped to his back. Usually, such a sight would have alarmed me. But since the baby was sans mask, we figured the air was safe to breathe. I can’t explain what the man was doing. My guess is that he was acting on some sort of dare.
Then in Beaver the other day I witnessed a battle between a rabbit and a crow. I was running along River Road when I noticed the courageous hare fending off the rather large black bird. I assume the rabbit was protecting its young, which were probably nearby somewhere. It was quite a show of bravery on the rabbit’s part. The crow was twice its size. I did my part by chasing the bird a few blocks down the street, hopefully driving it away for good.
I feel very fortunate to live in such a walk-able community that allows for these types of bizarre and exciting encounters. We’re lucky to have so many safe, scenic, tree-lined streets and sidewalks to stroll along. Most people don’t have this.
I was in Fayetteville, NC, visiting a relative a couple months ago. The weather was nice, but there was no town. There were no shady streets and historic neighborhoods. There weren’t any parks with kids and dogs jumping around either. Neighborhoods were tucked away off the four-lane highway that seemed to stretch on forever. Every mile or so there was a strip mall or a fast-food joint and then another strip mall and another fast-food joint. And if you drove long enough, you’d see the same stores and restaurant chains again and again. It wasn’t a town. It wasn’t a community. It was just a place. A place without an identity.
Fayetteville reminded me of a similar “town” in Pennsylvania about 20 minutes northeast of here—a “town” that always talks of growth and progress. But is it really a town at all when you can go to the same stores, day after day, year after year, and not see a familiar face? I don’t think so.
Our towns aren’t perfect. We’ve seen some rough times, economically, and the population is a fraction of what it used to be. But we’ve persevered, nonetheless. We still have our downtowns and our historic neighborhoods and our brick streets and our community parks and our rivers and friendly people and so much more. And we are seeing changes every day as our towns evolve and become new again. In Aliquippa, Ambridge, Beaver, Beaver Falls, Bridgewater, Freedom, Midland, Monaca, New Brighton and Rochester, I see new stores and new life and new possibilities. What do you see?
When’s the last time you took a walk in your town? Put down the remote. Step away from the computer. Wash the car tomorrow. Put on your sneakers, head out the door and see what you discover. Keep your eyes open and take it all in. Take advantage of your town and all it has to offer. And when you see a man in a gasmask pushing a stroller, or a struggle for life between predator and prey, or anything else of note for that matter, write it down and send it to us. We’d love to hear about it. And so would your neighbors.
Feels Like Fall
Wind is blowing
Leaves are falling
Squirrels are hording
School bus rolling
Footballs flying
Towels a’swirling
Pumpkins growing
Lawnmowers slowing
Days are shortening
Nights are cooling
Pools are closing
Pace is slowing
Summer’s fading
Fall is knocking
Winter’s coming
Wind is blowing
—Valentine J. Brkich
Good News!
By Staff Writers
Jim Johnson of Beaver rides his bike to Giant Eagle for groceries with saddle bags.......now he's super happy! The new mayor of Beaver County (as yet to be determined) decides that connecting all of the towns with bike paths and walking trails is the best thing to do...and everyone unanimously agrees, and that’s how he becomes the new mayor of beaver county... Mary and Tom Hanover decide to stop shopping at all fake pharmacies like Right Aid, Eckurd, CeeVeeS, and instead get all their things either from their garden, local stores such as Giant Eagle or their hometown pharmacy, and by making it "Like it should be," says Tom. "I always felt like those weird box drug stores were trying to take over the town...like Aliens!" Big Gary Wendt of Center says he's had enough of driving and only will get by on his bike, walking, or taking the bus. Since he started three weeks ago, he's much happier now. Tracy Jones of Bridgewater has banned all strip malls from her shopping experience. In fact, she now only goes places with nice architecture. Val Brier-patch, also of Bridgewater, says now that he's "stopped listening to such fools as Honsman and K-Mill, and other right wing propogandists", his doctor says not only has Val’s blood-pressure dropped and he's lost ten pounds, but his rosy complexion can mean nothing less than he and his wife will have a baby soon, and everybody's happy! Nate Erikson and Dave McD of Beaver and Center respectively, decide to go out for drinks on their bikes. "Cops actually waved to us and gave us the Mentos smile" said Nate. Also, they got compliments from random passerby's; and three different chicks said that "That's cool, we dig bikes!", and "So do we!" added dave. The Women’s Federation of Beaver County, the FBC, decides unanimously last week to “only shop on Main Street”, or so it says in their new constitution, and this makes not only them happy, but their husbands too, so now, everybody’s happy!
GEOGRAPHY LESSON
By Don Bemis
We are on the bank of the Beaver River, more or less in the town of Beaver, in the county of Beaver, in the valley of Beaver, eight miles south of Beaver Falls where they built a dam (but not a beaver dam due to a beaver shortage) so there aren't any falls any more, about fifteen miles south of New Beaver which was new a long time ago, and sort of southwest of Big Beaver which isn't very big and isn't on the Beaver River. An Indian chief named King Beaver lived here more than two hundred years ago. When these folks find a name they like, they stick with it. We have a Beaver zip code but really live in Bridgewater, population 780, four streets wide, squeezed between the railroad and the river. It used to be called West Bridgewater to avoid confusion with another Bridgewater outside of Philadelphia. Now it's just called Bridgewater, and confusion reigns. Yahoo will tell you we live 321.4 miles from here. We don't.
In our Bridgewater, Bridge Street crosses Beaver River water via the Bridgewater-Rochester Bridge to get to Rochester on the opposite bank, where Bridge Street changes its name to Madison. Many Rochester streets are named after deceased Presidents who probably never made it to Rochester. There is no street named for President Garfield, who nearly drowned nearby. He was eventually assassinated instead, but not in Rochester.
The Bridgewater-Rochester Bridge is not to be confused with the Beaver-Rochester Bridge a block further south, where Highway 68 changes its name to Highways 68, 65, and 18 just in case somebody isn't lost yet. If you're in the wrong lane, you may find yourself on the Rochester-Monaca Bridge across the Ohio River. Meanwhile, back in Bridgewater, a block south of the Beaver-Rochester Bridge, a railroad bridge crosses Beaver River water right where it becomes Ohio River water. A different railroad bridge on a different railroad crosses Ohio River water - including former Beaver River water - on the line that separates Beaver from Bridgewater. Trains can't get from one train bridge to the other.
So Beaver isn't actually on the Beaver. Bridgewater is. The Beaver Valley nuclear plant isn't in the Beaver Valley. It's ten miles down the Ohio Valley, on the south bank in Shippingport, where they mostly ship electricity. If the plant were three miles further west, it would be in Chester, West Virginia (not to be confused with Rochester, Pennsylvania), within a stone's throw of the World's Largest Teapot, and across the water from East Liverpool, Ohio, which is a long way west of the more famous Liverpool. If the power plant were on the north side of the Ohio, it would be in Midland, Pennsylvania, which is about as far from the middle of the state as you can get without changing license plates. Midland is south of Ohioville, Pennsylvania. The World's Largest Teapot, by the way, was an ice cream stand. They didn't sell tea.
the re-integration project
by nathan peluso
a re-constitutional rough draft this fall, the reintegration project is going to focus primarily on one thing, a constitution – maybe even a ten commandment of sorts. this constitution/ten commandments is to re-outline, in no uncertain terms, the reintegration project theme which is, as you know: back to nature, back to the basics, back to a better understanding, and connection, for us all ................ thus... walk if thou can if thou cannot walk, bike if thou cannot bike, walk if thou must drive, do it sparingly if thou must purchase fuel, do it scornfully if thou sees a road, see it better as a field or forest if thou sees a field or forest, think of it as nature, not a road plant trees if thou can if thou cannot plant trees, plant shrubs and flowers plant shrubs or flowers even if thou can plant a tree cut down a tree only to plant three plant three only to plant three more breathe in clean air, from the tree remember that the tree, and the shrub, and the flower give back think of progress as more trees, not less think of development as planting trees, not cutting them away if thou sees a field, leave it that way if thou sees an old building, use it and make it better and if thou sees a field, again, plant a tree, or lay there and look at the sky think of trees as better left that way, or as friends if thou can plant a tree, do it and do it again think about what you need, if anything buy nothing, if you can buy local if thou must buy something buy from main street if thou can, and put food in the saddlebags of your bike buy from giant eagle if thou must, or because it’s from pittsburgh buy from the mall if you have to, or if your niece works there, if at all buy from cvs, rite aid, eckerd, & walmart, only if you hate yourself, and your town buy nothing and things might actually be better buy absolutely nothing, be happy with what you have, better yet think of buying as supplying only your wants think of not buying as supplying your needs buy nothing if thou can need much less if thou can too eat food that’s good, if thou can know what’s in it if it’s possible know what’s in everything, if possible at least care, if thou can if thou can read this far, then thou gets the point if thou can read history, think of it as a tree cut down plant another, walk, ride, eat good, buy local, be happy, be nice read the reintegration project, if thou really cares key: thou=you you=thou
bikingboyfrombeaver
by nathan peluso
there was a boy from beaver and he rode his bike so far one day that after a while he became tired but it didn’t really matter because he liked the river and he liked his neighbors and every now and then someone would wave and this made him happy at each peddle round and round and round and his skin could feel the cool breeze and the wind in his hair was refreshing and all around he saw goodness and beautiful things that reminded him of childhood and all the memories of growing up and of today because he was still just a boy and all the world was ahead of him even though today the sun was casting its last golden rays and falling slowly beyond the nice green hill which meant surely it was time to go home and so he turned the last bend towards that direction through the hills and past the farms and back again to the quaint village houses and all the people from his town and soon he could smell the bakery up ahead and he knew that his mom was so lucky to have such a good biking boy to pick up the bread and bring it home for dinner
Valentine J. Brkich
Well, it’s been a while since you’ve last heard from us at The Bridge. Sorry. I guess we’ve been a little busy this summer.
I’ve been working on a nursery for our first child who is due in late September. Since I’m a writer and not a carpenter, you can see why this would be a time-consuming task. Luckily my father-in-law—who, unlike me, knows what a router is—has been generously donating much of his valuable time to the project.
My partner in crime and co-editor of The Bridge, Nate (a.k.a Raphael, a.k.a. Pete Striker, a.k.a. F. Nathan) has been busy this summer as well, but it has nothing to due with a nursery. He’s been overseas teaching English to students in Austria, a noble and exhausting undertaking.
So you can see why we haven’t had time to pump out a new issue in some time. But we finally found some time to get something down on paper—hence the latest issue, which now rests in your hands.
I’ve been feeling a little grumpy lately and was planning on using this issue as a soapbox, if you will, to air my grievances. You see, I’ve been listening to way too much talk radio lately. Especially during the afternoon from 12-3 p.m. on our beloved KDKA. This has proven to be a grave mistake on my part. It has done nothing but get my blood boiling and fill my mind with a boatload of negativity. This is never a good thing. Although I always strive to be positive, more than not I find myself focusing on the negative. This can be an extremely unhealthy practice, not just for myself but for those around me as well.
In light of this enlightenment, I’ve decided to change course and not use this issue as my own personal rant. Instead, I’d like to reiterate the purpose of The Bridge to the Beaver County community.
The Bridge is intended to be a positive, enlightening, informative, creative resource for the people of our communities. Today’s media is too focused on shock value and negative stories. Our local newspapers are filled with way too much negative news and way too little positive news. If you have something good to say, something that will be beneficial to the community, it seems impossible to get anyone to listen.
But not here.
The Bridge is your community journal. It is a place for the people of Beaver County to share their creative talents. It is both a literary journal and a community newsletter. It is a place to share your stories, your poems, your memories, your musings. It is also your platform for sharing good, positive news about your community. If you have some information you think would be of value to the rest of Beaver County, this is your tool for getting it out there. And we won’t charge you to print it like some other so-called “local” publications do.
For example, just a few weeks ago, from August 17 through August 19, my town of Bridgewater held the annual Beaver County River Regatta, which last year came back home to where it all started back in the 1970s. If you weren’t able to make it down to the event, it was a wonderful celebration. With the help of some beautiful, sunny summer weather, this year’s Regatta was even better than the last, with so much to see and do. It was the perfect example of the kind of family-oriented events that make this county so special. Thank you to all who participated in the Regatta and to all who helped to put it all together.
Also, on October 13, Bridgewater will be holding its annual Fall Festival from 10 a.m. - 6 p.m. on Bridge Street. The main street will be closed to allow for vendors and fun activities for the whole family. There will also be great live music all day long, including a performance by the talented singer/songwriter Joel Lindsay, a native of London, England. You really won’t want to miss it.
If you have similar good news about your community or school or organization, this is the place to publicize it. And again, we won’t charge you a penny to do it. Just send it along in an email to ContactTheBridge@gmail.com.
If you’d like to advertise in The Bridge, we can help you out there, too. Just send us an email today, or give me a call at 724.775.9815. We distribute The Bridge to all local cafes, coffee shops, public libraries and other places where people gather together. We can help you get the word out.
Once again I’d like to reiterate that The Bridge is here for you. We want to know about your positive, informative, beneficial good news. I’m going to do my part to be more positive by stopping listening to so much negative talk radio and by stopping reading all the negative news printed in the newspapers. It’s just no good for me, and I’m sure my wife will appreciate it. Now we just need you to do your part and share your good news with the rest of the Beaver County community.
The Bridge is your vehicle for spreading good news. Take advantage of it today.
ContactTheBridge@gmail.com
In Town
by Valentine J. Brkich
I see a lot of strange and remarkable things when I’m walking around Beaver and Bridgewater.
For example, a couple weeks ago I was walking in Bridgewater with my wife when we saw a man pushing a baby in a stroller. Nothing strange about that. What was strange was that the man was wearing a gasmask and had an air tank strapped to his back. Usually, such a sight would have alarmed me. But since the baby was sans mask, we figured the air was safe to breathe. I can’t explain what the man was doing. My guess is that he was acting on some sort of dare.
Then in Beaver the other day I witnessed a battle between a rabbit and a crow. I was running along River Road when I noticed the courageous hare fending off the rather large black bird. I assume the rabbit was protecting its young, which were probably nearby somewhere. It was quite a show of bravery on the rabbit’s part. The crow was twice its size. I did my part by chasing the bird a few blocks down the street, hopefully driving it away for good.
I feel very fortunate to live in such a walk-able community that allows for these types of bizarre and exciting encounters. We’re lucky to have so many safe, scenic, tree-lined streets and sidewalks to stroll along. Most people don’t have this.
I was in Fayetteville, NC, visiting a relative a couple months ago. The weather was nice, but there was no town. There were no shady streets and historic neighborhoods. There weren’t any parks with kids and dogs jumping around either. Neighborhoods were tucked away off the four-lane highway that seemed to stretch on forever. Every mile or so there was a strip mall or a fast-food joint and then another strip mall and another fast-food joint. And if you drove long enough, you’d see the same stores and restaurant chains again and again. It wasn’t a town. It wasn’t a community. It was just a place. A place without an identity.
Fayetteville reminded me of a similar “town” in Pennsylvania about 20 minutes northeast of here—a “town” that always talks of growth and progress. But is it really a town at all when you can go to the same stores, day after day, year after year, and not see a familiar face? I don’t think so.
Our towns aren’t perfect. We’ve seen some rough times, economically, and the population is a fraction of what it used to be. But we’ve persevered, nonetheless. We still have our downtowns and our historic neighborhoods and our brick streets and our community parks and our rivers and friendly people and so much more. And we are seeing changes every day as our towns evolve and become new again. In Aliquippa, Ambridge, Beaver, Beaver Falls, Bridgewater, Freedom, Midland, Monaca, New Brighton and Rochester, I see new stores and new life and new possibilities. What do you see?
When’s the last time you took a walk in your town? Put down the remote. Step away from the computer. Wash the car tomorrow. Put on your sneakers, head out the door and see what you discover. Keep your eyes open and take it all in. Take advantage of your town and all it has to offer. And when you see a man in a gasmask pushing a stroller, or a struggle for life between predator and prey, or anything else of note for that matter, write it down and send it to us. We’d love to hear about it. And so would your neighbors.
Feels Like Fall
Wind is blowing
Leaves are falling
Squirrels are hording
School bus rolling
Footballs flying
Towels a’swirling
Pumpkins growing
Lawnmowers slowing
Days are shortening
Nights are cooling
Pools are closing
Pace is slowing
Summer’s fading
Fall is knocking
Winter’s coming
Wind is blowing
—Valentine J. Brkich
Good News!
By Staff Writers
Jim Johnson of Beaver rides his bike to Giant Eagle for groceries with saddle bags.......now he's super happy! The new mayor of Beaver County (as yet to be determined) decides that connecting all of the towns with bike paths and walking trails is the best thing to do...and everyone unanimously agrees, and that’s how he becomes the new mayor of beaver county... Mary and Tom Hanover decide to stop shopping at all fake pharmacies like Right Aid, Eckurd, CeeVeeS, and instead get all their things either from their garden, local stores such as Giant Eagle or their hometown pharmacy, and by making it "Like it should be," says Tom. "I always felt like those weird box drug stores were trying to take over the town...like Aliens!" Big Gary Wendt of Center says he's had enough of driving and only will get by on his bike, walking, or taking the bus. Since he started three weeks ago, he's much happier now. Tracy Jones of Bridgewater has banned all strip malls from her shopping experience. In fact, she now only goes places with nice architecture. Val Brier-patch, also of Bridgewater, says now that he's "stopped listening to such fools as Honsman and K-Mill, and other right wing propogandists", his doctor says not only has Val’s blood-pressure dropped and he's lost ten pounds, but his rosy complexion can mean nothing less than he and his wife will have a baby soon, and everybody's happy! Nate Erikson and Dave McD of Beaver and Center respectively, decide to go out for drinks on their bikes. "Cops actually waved to us and gave us the Mentos smile" said Nate. Also, they got compliments from random passerby's; and three different chicks said that "That's cool, we dig bikes!", and "So do we!" added dave. The Women’s Federation of Beaver County, the FBC, decides unanimously last week to “only shop on Main Street”, or so it says in their new constitution, and this makes not only them happy, but their husbands too, so now, everybody’s happy!
GEOGRAPHY LESSON
By Don Bemis
We are on the bank of the Beaver River, more or less in the town of Beaver, in the county of Beaver, in the valley of Beaver, eight miles south of Beaver Falls where they built a dam (but not a beaver dam due to a beaver shortage) so there aren't any falls any more, about fifteen miles south of New Beaver which was new a long time ago, and sort of southwest of Big Beaver which isn't very big and isn't on the Beaver River. An Indian chief named King Beaver lived here more than two hundred years ago. When these folks find a name they like, they stick with it. We have a Beaver zip code but really live in Bridgewater, population 780, four streets wide, squeezed between the railroad and the river. It used to be called West Bridgewater to avoid confusion with another Bridgewater outside of Philadelphia. Now it's just called Bridgewater, and confusion reigns. Yahoo will tell you we live 321.4 miles from here. We don't.
In our Bridgewater, Bridge Street crosses Beaver River water via the Bridgewater-Rochester Bridge to get to Rochester on the opposite bank, where Bridge Street changes its name to Madison. Many Rochester streets are named after deceased Presidents who probably never made it to Rochester. There is no street named for President Garfield, who nearly drowned nearby. He was eventually assassinated instead, but not in Rochester.
The Bridgewater-Rochester Bridge is not to be confused with the Beaver-Rochester Bridge a block further south, where Highway 68 changes its name to Highways 68, 65, and 18 just in case somebody isn't lost yet. If you're in the wrong lane, you may find yourself on the Rochester-Monaca Bridge across the Ohio River. Meanwhile, back in Bridgewater, a block south of the Beaver-Rochester Bridge, a railroad bridge crosses Beaver River water right where it becomes Ohio River water. A different railroad bridge on a different railroad crosses Ohio River water - including former Beaver River water - on the line that separates Beaver from Bridgewater. Trains can't get from one train bridge to the other.
So Beaver isn't actually on the Beaver. Bridgewater is. The Beaver Valley nuclear plant isn't in the Beaver Valley. It's ten miles down the Ohio Valley, on the south bank in Shippingport, where they mostly ship electricity. If the plant were three miles further west, it would be in Chester, West Virginia (not to be confused with Rochester, Pennsylvania), within a stone's throw of the World's Largest Teapot, and across the water from East Liverpool, Ohio, which is a long way west of the more famous Liverpool. If the power plant were on the north side of the Ohio, it would be in Midland, Pennsylvania, which is about as far from the middle of the state as you can get without changing license plates. Midland is south of Ohioville, Pennsylvania. The World's Largest Teapot, by the way, was an ice cream stand. They didn't sell tea.
the re-integration project
by nathan peluso
a re-constitutional rough draft this fall, the reintegration project is going to focus primarily on one thing, a constitution – maybe even a ten commandment of sorts. this constitution/ten commandments is to re-outline, in no uncertain terms, the reintegration project theme which is, as you know: back to nature, back to the basics, back to a better understanding, and connection, for us all ................ thus... walk if thou can if thou cannot walk, bike if thou cannot bike, walk if thou must drive, do it sparingly if thou must purchase fuel, do it scornfully if thou sees a road, see it better as a field or forest if thou sees a field or forest, think of it as nature, not a road plant trees if thou can if thou cannot plant trees, plant shrubs and flowers plant shrubs or flowers even if thou can plant a tree cut down a tree only to plant three plant three only to plant three more breathe in clean air, from the tree remember that the tree, and the shrub, and the flower give back think of progress as more trees, not less think of development as planting trees, not cutting them away if thou sees a field, leave it that way if thou sees an old building, use it and make it better and if thou sees a field, again, plant a tree, or lay there and look at the sky think of trees as better left that way, or as friends if thou can plant a tree, do it and do it again think about what you need, if anything buy nothing, if you can buy local if thou must buy something buy from main street if thou can, and put food in the saddlebags of your bike buy from giant eagle if thou must, or because it’s from pittsburgh buy from the mall if you have to, or if your niece works there, if at all buy from cvs, rite aid, eckerd, & walmart, only if you hate yourself, and your town buy nothing and things might actually be better buy absolutely nothing, be happy with what you have, better yet think of buying as supplying only your wants think of not buying as supplying your needs buy nothing if thou can need much less if thou can too eat food that’s good, if thou can know what’s in it if it’s possible know what’s in everything, if possible at least care, if thou can if thou can read this far, then thou gets the point if thou can read history, think of it as a tree cut down plant another, walk, ride, eat good, buy local, be happy, be nice read the reintegration project, if thou really cares key: thou=you you=thou
bikingboyfrombeaver
by nathan peluso
there was a boy from beaver and he rode his bike so far one day that after a while he became tired but it didn’t really matter because he liked the river and he liked his neighbors and every now and then someone would wave and this made him happy at each peddle round and round and round and his skin could feel the cool breeze and the wind in his hair was refreshing and all around he saw goodness and beautiful things that reminded him of childhood and all the memories of growing up and of today because he was still just a boy and all the world was ahead of him even though today the sun was casting its last golden rays and falling slowly beyond the nice green hill which meant surely it was time to go home and so he turned the last bend towards that direction through the hills and past the farms and back again to the quaint village houses and all the people from his town and soon he could smell the bakery up ahead and he knew that his mom was so lucky to have such a good biking boy to pick up the bread and bring it home for dinner
Issue 2 - Spring 2007
(first published March 2007)
MYTHS OF OUR TIME
Intro
In this issue of The Bridge, we wanted to focus on various myths of our time. Myths have been used for thousands of years to explain things. The Greeks and Romans, for instance, used myths to explain just about everything in the universe. Myths, however, can also come about from fear and misinformation. Over time, myths can have a negative effect on a community by halting growth and progress. Throughout this issue you will find various myths that we’d like bust. We hope that by doing so we can help to improve the quality of life for everyone in our community. If you have any other myths you’d like to bust, we’d love to hear about them. Please drop us an email at ContactTheBridge@gmail.com.
the republican
myth
any invented story, idea, or concept: his account of the event is pure myth.
an imaginary or fictitious thing or person.
an unproved or false collective belief that is used to justify a social institution
a fiction or half-truth, especially one that forms part of an ideology
-the reintegration project-
breathe deeply, think about it, and pause
pause, while the reintegration project takes a minor breath too, realizing that the word is not written in vain – for you are reading it now – and the two have come together… by a leap you say, to the age still of the black and white page, the times of thought and mind and the unbegotten word, and where language – the communication which entails bridges and spaces and understanding and unity and the medium which makes them possible – still thrives, and still, you would think, have value.
are we getting closer to the one word, the one sound of the universe, the mighty OM…? ….i beg to answer NO… at least not in spirit.
so then are we getting farther?
pause, breathe deeply, and think about it
re-integration, coming back, a unity – as in a book, a dictionary per se, two covers of one magical fantastic book
or a coin, two sides, each bestowing worth and contribution, to the one unanimous circle
not (if i may digress)… like today’s America… not like here, not like us, not like now. not like the supposed proud contributors to this fine nation. and not, especially, like the republicans and democrats. no! not at all.
for what should be the supporting bounded covers or the symbolic guilded sides, is instead two duplicated covers and two lonely books, two fascist sides and two strange coins. and the math no longer works. it’s a zero sum game, each taking all and giving nothing. the equation has been ruined. and each making different meaning from the same single word. the words mean nothing. why speak then, or write, when it means only one separate thing? why only detract, eliminate, and divide? as it’s the people, so divided. those utilizing their vicious words, so wrong. even the fundamental principles, or first sacred allegiances, have failed to mean anything: the republic
tell me dear reader, from ye deepest political soul, what is the bother? why not bring the words together? pray tell what is a republican and how that may differ from a democrat…
well, a democrat with an elected representative is indeed what? you guessed… a republican. for a republican is a person who values the idea of republic, a government system of elected representatives, where the people in equal measure, vote for this role. and a democrat, in the modern age of nondirect, parliamentary democracy, is entirely, exactly the same.
and if you’re bored, look at the thesaurus under republic and what might you see? the word democracy… and vice versa. in the modern these terms are but the same, interchangeable.
logic 101: if a democrat is one who supports democracy and a republican is one who supports a republic, and if democracy equals republic, then a democrat equals a republican – by definition.
maybe that’s ok.
so tell me then, what’s indeed the fuss? if so similar, why then the need for riotous loudmouth propagandists?
for these names are as equal as a singular orb, in reality. in the common day, where town meetings (as in direct democracy) aren’t so practical, both republican and democrat stand for the same thing. they consist of systems of government where representatives carry on the will of the people, where each person has equal turn to vote, for in each of us lies the whole of everything.
accepted.
now what? what then of today’s conservatives and liberals? in the great book these are two words, again, under one cover. certainly not one word. but in america today, they are two words of two books, each denying the other, between it’s covers. ‘you don’t belong in my book” said the conservative… “nor you mine” said the liberal.
so you see - this is only a farce, and certainly something’s wrong. how can two words hate each other you may say? they are just in one book. then take these words from the ring, dear reader. eliminate these words from the political process to help us see the true words, the true meaning, and how they are not diametrically opposed opposites. don’t shift all life into one of these categories as if these are life and death. instead look squarely as things come along. instead of calling a spade a liberal, call a spade a spade. and while you’re at it, call an oil hungry war mongerer a oil hungry war mongerer. call the decline of the world environment, our fault, cause at least to some degree it is. call social inequity and weakening of the middle class just that. forget a label that has no real bearing on the idea it’s attached to. leave these words in the book. don’t call ice cream a republican pig. rather, call halliburton the company that took all your hard-earned tax money and ran.
but first, while the book is still open, (keep it open!) call a liberal someone who is open minded, someone with a ‘live and let live’ attitude. and call a conservative someone who is just fine the way things are, one who holds value to tradition and seeks solace in unchanging times..
and for the future of humanity, if you feel estranged, call forth the yin of your yang, and:
debate
- consider something; deliberate
- engage in argument by discussing opposing points
discuss
- to not be a blabbering self righteous idiot
compromise
- something that combines qualities or elements of different things
think about how you align yourselves, ye political souls. think about your soul and your home. think about the reintegration project. two words or three: one entailing a beginning, one entailing bringing things together, and one implying an end. make this project of yours to understand, again, just like your grandparents and even those before. come back to the value and the meaning! come back to two sides of one debate! come back to two sides of one fine land!
the reintegration project thus asks again: bring it all together, not apart! let words and meaning be uniting, not divisive, right, not wrong.
pause, breathe deeply, think about it
your lungs, dear reader, there are two of them… aren’t there
“In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.” –Guiding principle of the Iroquois Confederacy
MYTH: One Person Can’t Make a Difference
If you’ve been paying attention to the news in last couple months, you’ve no doubt heard how the major scientists and leaders of the world have finally decided to accept that global warming is indeed happening and that the planetary clock is ticking. DUH! I mean, thanks for the newsflash, guys, but people like Al Gore (the former next President of the U.S.) have been trying to tell us this for over 30 years. If we would’ve listened back then, maybe we wouldn’t be in the mess we are today. And we are in quite a mess.
But all blame aside, it’s time to stop pointing fingers and time to start doing something about this problem that is threatening our very existence. But what can one person do? I hear this all the time. What difference does it make if I recycle? What difference does it make if I drive less? Honestly, it makes all the difference in the world.
The myth is that the actions of one of two people can’t prevent the harmful effects of global warming. But this couldn’t be more untrue. The little things you do can make a huge impact on the health of the planet and, more importantly, your actions will inspire others to do the same. Once people see how easy it is to make a difference, they’ll be more inclined to make the necessary changes to their lifestyle.
So what can you do? Plenty. For starters, pick up a copy of Living Green by Greg Horn and read it from cover to cover. (WARNING: This may require you to turn off the television for a while!) You can get a copy at www.Wellbeing.com, an invaluable site on the “green” lifestyle.
In the meantime, here’s a few facts to show you how the little things you do can really make a difference:
• Properly insulating your home can save tons of energy and it can save you money too.
• If every American replaced just three regular lightbulbs with energy-saving fluorescent ones, it would be the same as taking three million cars off of the road.
• Using recycled papers (facial tissues, toilet paper, paper towels, etc.) can save millions of trees each year (Remember: trees remove carbon dioxide from the environment.)
• Buy reusable products! Eighty percent (80%) of all products we buy are thrown away after one use.
• Bring your own reusable grocery bags to the supermarket. Collectively we use over 1 trillion (1,000,000,000,000) plastic bags each year!
• Offset your entire yearly carbon footprint by donating just $99 to www.carbonfund.org.
• Plant a tree. One tree will absorb one ton of carbon dioxide over its lifetime.
(Source: Living Green, by Greg Horn (Freedom Press, 2006))
An Open Letter to Fred
Fred,
Why are you so against environmentalism? Why are you so defensive when someone brings up global warming? Al Gore has been studying global warming for over 30 years; how long have you been studying it? You call him a "loon" and a “green weinie”, I assume because you don't agree with him politically. But this is not a political issue, Fred; it's a global issue that affects us all.
Let's just say there is no proof that humans are negatively affecting the environment by raising the carbon levels (even though there is boatloads of it). Even if there's just a tiny chance that we are, don't you think it's irresponsible to flatly deny the validity of the global warming claims? Yes the earth's temperatures have gone up and down over the life of the planet, but never to this extreme.
I just don't understand why anyone would not want to do whatever he or she could to lessen the human impact on the environment. There are only two reasons why anyone can be against the environmental movement: 1) They are being paid off by Big Business, which doesn't want to decrease emissions or pay the money to switch to more environment-friendly fuel sources; or 2) they are lazy and selfish and they don't want to recycle, or use a rake instead of a leaf-blower, or drive a high-efficiency vehicle instead of their beloved SUV.
I would just like to know why you’re so set on denying the global warming theory? Because from out here, it sounds like you just refuse to accept that a Democrat (gasp!) like Al Gore could possibly be right on anything.
MYTH: Non-Smoking Will Hurt My Business
This is one of those myths that really makes me nuts. I hear it all the time: Non-smoking laws may work in big cities like New York or L.A., but here in Beaver County, non-smoking legislation will put our small bars and restaurants out of business.
Baloney.
In fact, the effect will be the exact opposite. Take me, for example. I rarely go out to bars or nightclubs or anywhere else where smoking is permitted. Although I’d like to, I just can’t stand breathing in second-hand smoke all night long. And I hate coming home reeking of smoke. It gets in your clothes and your hair and makes everything stink.
Now, if they made it illegal to smoke in public places, I would go out much more often. And I’m not alone. There are many more of us non-smokers than there are smokers. And many of these, just like me, refuse to patronize any bar or restaurant that permits smoking.
Of course you have the people that argue that many of these “mom and pop” establishments are traditionally “shot and a beer” locations where 99 percent of the clientele are smokers. Although this may be true, it doesn’t mean that these establishments won’t be able to transform their image and welcome an entirely new base of customers.
And to all the smokers out there, please don’t tell me that a smoking ban would infringe upon your rights. Let’s be honest here. We all know that second-hand smoke is hazardous to your health. Smokers do not have a right to put the health of others in jeopardy just because they don’t care about theirs. I’ve heard the argument too many times: “If you don’t like the smoke, go somewhere else.” We all know this is backwards logic. There are many more non-smokers than smokers out there. The majority of people do not smoke. Therefore, the majority should be able to work or dine in a smoke-free environment.
I walked into my local borough building the other day and was stunned to find the entire building filled with smoke. It was almost unbearable. I shouldn’t have to walk into a public office and put my health at risk simply because someone else is addicted to cigarettes.
Look…the purpose of this article isn’t to bash the smokers out there. It’s to debunk the myth that Beaver County is too set in it’s ways to transition to a non-smoking attitude. It’s not. It’s working in cities all over the world, big and small. Restaurants and bars aren’t going out of business; they’re thriving. Sure, sometimes it takes time for people to adjust. But isn’t that true with any type of change?
One last thing: It was once believed that a good “bleeding” could cure just about any illness out there. For thousands of years, people thought the world was flat. Not too long ago, Vanilla Ice was cool. Don’t fear new ideas. Embrace them. You just may find the world a better place.
MYTH: Living Green is Hard
The biggest complaint I hear about “green” living or environmentally friendly living is that it’s difficult. It’s too much work, they say. Who has time to separate recyclables and then haul them off somewhere? My neighbor waters his lawn everyday; why shouldn’t I be able to do the same? I don’t even know where to buy environment-friendly cleaning products for my house.
Have you ever heard of a whinier bunch of excuses? Sure, living in-tune with the planet isn’t always easy. But when you think of the alternative—global warming, worldwide flooding, polluted water reservoirs, species extinction, an inhabitable planet—living green doesn’t sound that hard after all.
When I talk about “living green” I mean living in harmony with the planet and making responsible choices to help preserve the earth for future generations. Too many of us are living in the “now,” and this is causing great harm to the planet. If we continue this lifestyle of waste and carelessness, our future generations—our children and theirs—won’t have much of a planet left to live on.
In order to get you started on the path to a more environment-friendly lifestyle, I’ve put together a list of a few simple things you can do right away with little or no effort.
1. Americans produce over 1,600 lbs. of garbage per person, per year. If you don’t already, START RECYCLING—even if it’s not mandated in your area. It’s really not that difficult. First, pick up three garbage cans at your local store and label them for “Glass”, “Plastic” and “Aluminum.” Put them in the garage or outside somewhere where they’ll be easy to access. Once they’re filled, take them to your local recycling center for processing. You can find your recycling locations online at www.dep.state.pa.us/dep/deputate/airwaste/wm/RECYCLE/Recycle.htm.
2. Use fluorescent bulbs. Yes they’re a little more expensive than normal lightbulbs, but fluorescent bulbs use much less energy and can last up to 10,000 hours longer! In time, you’ll make all your money back and then some.
3. Take a walk. Need to go to the bank or to the corner store? Leave the car in the garage and take a walk. It’s not only good for the environment; it’s good for you too!
4. Buy a water filter. Americans drink billions of gallons of bottled water every year. Worldwide, we create 1.5 billions of plastic garbage annually, all of which either ends up in landfills or on the side of the road. Forget the bottled water and buy yourself a water filter and a nice, glass-lined travel mug. You’ll not only cut down on plastic waste, but you’ll also protect yourself from the dangerous chemicals that can leach out of plastic water bottles.
5. It’s just grass—get over it! Why in the world do we water our lawns and spray them with hazardous chemicals to make them grow, only to then go and cut it once or sometimes twice a week? It’s insane. Furthermore, it’s terrible for the environment. Did you know that running a standard lawnmower for just one half hour produces more exhaust than driving a care 187 miles? Let’s stop the insanity. Having a greener lawn than your neighbor doesn’t make you special; it just makes you tired. Instead, let nature handle the watering and forget all those nasty chemicals. Use various landscaping options to replace grass like mulch, stone or even a wildflower garden.
6. Did you know that we wash over 32 million pounds of toxic chemicals down our drains each year, most of which are from household cleaning products. Instead of spending a ton of money on these toxic cleaning supplies, why not use safe ingredients like baking soda, white vinegar, lemon juice, borax, vegetable-based liquid soap, and washing soda to do your cleaning? They work just as well as those fancy brand names and they won’t harm the environment.
Of course, these are just a few simple ways you can start living a better, more earth-friendly lifestyle. For more great tips, visit www.wellbuilding.com or any number of great “green” sites out on the Web.
(Source: Living Green, by Greg Horn (Freedom Press, 2006))
Recycling Location
Beaver County Department of Waste Management Recycling Center
Route 51
BEAVER, PA 15009
Phone: (724) 843-2868
Days/Hours: This site is open on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday 9am to 4pm and on the first and third Saturday of each month 9am to 1pm.
Web Link: http://www.co.beaver.pa.us/
For other recycling options, check your local fire department or municipal authority.
Travelogue (Mine)
By Valentine Brkich
Trepidation and uncertainty
But good intentions
The same path
But always new
Crumbling concrete of past lives
And a prayer
Thoughts race
Thoughts erase
As heart pounds
And legs ache
A remnant
Of a past journey
The climb
And the bricks
The bricks
Wishes and wondering
A certain goal
Uncertain
Alabaster spires
And faded stones
Lives lived
And lost
Too soon
Sudden hope
An old memory
Best forgotten
Is that all she wants?
Almost home
Hope and strength
Falling free
Down the slope
Past love and memory
And history
Marked for obliteration
Something new
Brings to mind
The winter cold
Soon to come
Sudden rebirth
Only to die again
But still live on
Until the end
And back
To the beginning
Again.
One Man’s First Crack at Motherhood
by Valentine J. Brkich
Recently I became a mother for the first time. Let me preface this by saying that I am a 31-year-old man.
It all started when I returned home to find three baby birds on my driveway. One was deceased; the other two were alive but obviously shaken. There’s a nest in the awning above my front porch and I assume they attempted to fly before their time. Kids.
After a brief funeral service for the deceased bird involving a shovel and a garbage can, I turned my attention to the two newest additions to my family. My in-laws are always hinting that they’d like some grandchildren. I guess beggars can’t be choosy.
First I carefully placed the birds on an old sweatshirt, which I then placed inside an empty planter. Then, with the birds resting comfortably, I grabbed my spade and set out to find them some proper nourishment, i.e., worms and other slimy things.
A few minutes later I returned to the nest for my first official bird feeding. This was sure to be a daunting task considering I still have some trouble feeding myself (just ask my wife). Lacking a beak, I was forced to think of another way to feed the birds. In a moment of inspiration, I went to the garage and retrieved a pair of needle-nose pliers, which sort of resembled a beak. Most importantly, they enabled me to feed the birds without actually touching the slimy worms. Ugh.
When I returned to the “nest,” I found that the birds had buried themselves within the folds of my sweatshirt. I was stumped. I remind you: I am not a bird. How could I get these baby birds to come out and eat? Of course I did the first thing that came to mind: I chirped.
To my surprise the two birds emerged from underneath the shirt and opened their mouths in anticipation. One by one, I lowered each slimy, squirming worm into the mouths of the hungry birds, one of which nearly swallowed the pliers whole. Next I fed each bird one or two of these beetle-type things that I found under a rock. The sparrows inhaled them like chocolate cheesecake.
It was an amazing moment. Here I was, a 31-year-old collector of Star Wars memorabilia, successfully feeding and caring for a pair of orphaned sparrows. It was a proud moment.
I haven’t figured out what to name the two birds just yet. I read somewhere that “Jacob” and “Emily” are the two most popular names for babies nowadays. Then again, why bother naming them when they’re just going to fly away someday and leave me forever. How’s that for gratitude!
A Website a Day
ClimateCrisis.net
CarbonFund.org
18seconds.org
SeventhGeneration.com
NaturalHomeandGarden.com
AHappyPlanet.com
NextGenerationEarth.org
GlobalResourceOptions.com
Nontoxic.com
EERE.gov
Organic.org
Healthyhome.com
Greenfeet.com
Natureworks.com
SolarEnergy.com
3Phases.com
RenewableChoice.com
WorldwideViewofGlobalWarming.com
SafeClimate.net/calculator
Dep.state.pa.us
I’m Gone Now
by Jessica K. Freed (May 25, 1987 – November 2, 2004)
So my angel has come for me, to bring me to heaven.
Cry for me not, my loved ones. I’ll be watching over you
Until we meet again in Heaven, where there is peace, love and not hate.
Don’t be angry with Him, for He has called for me
To join Him in Heaven with the rest of the angels.
Rejoice in life, remember the good times when I was with you,
The laughter and all of the fun we had together.
The way I was, dream of me.
Remember me, not sick, but in good health.
Remember my face, voice, and tell people about me,
What I was like, the things I loved and things I hated.
How much I loved you without any questions.
Maybe one day I’ll be the angel reaching out my hand to you
To come with me to Heaven.
I will always be with you in your hearts,
So love me when I’m gone.
In Town
Lent is one of my favorite times of year. This is a 40-day period, excluding Sundays, between Ash Wednesday (Feb. 21) to Easter Sunday (April 8). For Catholics, it’s a time of reflection, repentance and sacrifice. You’re supposed to deprive yourself of something in order to better understand Jesus’ 40 days in the desert when he was presented various temptations by Satan.
This year for Lent I gave up French fries. This not might seem like much, considering Jesus fasted for the full 40 days. But then again, I really like French fries. And I mean really. When I go out to dinner, I’ll order just about anything as long as it comes with fries. When the food comes, I always eat the fries first. If I have any room left over, I may have a little of the main course. But I always make sure to eat the fries.
Actually, I gave up all fried food, but the fries are what really hurt. The only fried food I allow myself is fish. Catholics are supposed to abstain from meat and eat only fish on Fridays. And of course, since this is Beaver County, just about all the fish is battered and deep-fried. Therefore, I really look forward to Friday and my weekly trip to Micky D’s!
Some people would say a great meal is “surf and turf.” Others relish the upscale taste of escargot or caviar. For me few meals are as satisfying as two McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish sandwiches and a large Shamrock Shake. The Shamrock Shake is a special treat because it’s available for a limited time only—during Lent. Therefore every Friday at lunch you can find me heading for the “Golden Arches” for my favorite Lenten delicacy.
Now, I don’t know the exact nutritional value of this meal, but I think I can safely assume that it’s about as healthy as a bowl of Crisco. Therefore, in order to defeat the guilt (a common struggle with Catholics) I decided to walk to McDonald’s with my wife in order to cancel out the high caloric value of my favorite meal. I live in Bridgewater and the closest McDonald’s is approximately 2.5 miles away. I figured a nice five-mile jaunt would cancel out the negative effects of my indulgence.
By the time we made it to Micky D’s, I had built up quite an appetite. I devoured those two sandwiches in mere seconds. Then I sucked down that minty green milkshake so fast that I got a brainfreeze. It was definitely worth the pain, though. The only problem was that I was now pretty tired and had another 2.5 miles to walk back home. On the way to the restaurant I had the proper motivation. But now the carrot was no longer dangling in front of me.
Of course my wife and I finally made it back to Bridgewater. It took us a little while longer with our stomachs full of fish (supposedly) and mine also filled with liquid shamrock.
And in case you’re wondering, yes, it was extremely difficult to go to McDonald’s and not get any French fries. But I’m a good Catholic boy and I had to stick to my pledge. Now I’m just looking forward to Easter Sunday when I plan to eat French fries for breakfast lunch and dinner. After that I’ll head up to the Medical Center for an angioplasty.
A complex relation was established between three men:
GeeBuboo, a firecracker… red and feisty
…He would snap right in your face
SahDemko Iljanirou Muestashia, a full-bodied dictator
…He would hold you down with his careful eyes, while his people did the rest
And Ooomi Benigma, one might call him the raccoon of the East
…He was the first in the trash, and the first to put it on the ground
In addition to these three men, there was also a fourth man:
Unanimous Nahtanio, a Spanish Warlord with a utilitarian bent
…He was the first to say Yah, and the last to say Pah
They became acquainted with one another…
During the fiscal year Aught One
High upon the Solar System Atom, named after the smallest particle, a long time ago
And far beyond the reach of the Ordinary Man, another creature,
And outside the Quadrispecs, one of Time Motion Space and Typical Living
These four men came together by forming each other into a full complex being
And then, they thought about one another complexly,
Each one’s internal characteristics grew alongside the blossoming outer
Each could see the other in full color: RED, BROWN, BLUE, GREEN, YELLOW
Those were the colors; WHITE was saved for the contrast within the eye
BLACK, for the scourge upon the soul and hinterland which WHITE would not converge
Everybody ran around these men, Rumpfinder McDonyaldi was the foremost
…He would kill anybody in his path, that’s what he told the rest;
Once he said, “Stand Back, lest you be Killed!”
What would you do? But, nonetheless, the little gray figures ran around upon the set
Fires were set, monumental crowds formed, dust and sands flew and muddled the scene
The crowd of Ordinary Men stood and watched these little figurines,
In fact they were the crowd, or this was just a mirror;
Even the Quadrispecs were on the inside,
Only they weren’t aware of the attention and they continued in their blindish fashion
Like goldfish in a bowl dreaming of the ocean but knowing only the comforts of bowl;
They took the color ORANGE all to themselves
One day, all four of these men died… They were killed as Rumpfinder had foretold
Rumpfinder was dead too… he too had been killed.
And the gray figurines turned on the set and waited for forms to arise from the rubble
-Mepanbahoo-
I feel there is a figure
By the name Mepanbahoo
He is famous and has powers
And he is from a different country asides from our own
From here
This man resides, or looks out
To America
Like an Indian, but not
Like an African, but not
Nebulous
Enigmatic
But not really, because we know him
Not me, though someone does
For I feel as if his name were mentioned
On the news, television
Or National Public Radio, stating
“Our prominent leader today met with Mepanbahoo”
As I heard this once, and many times
Also, other countries know of him too
They also meet with him
For diplomacy, for consultation, for empathy
For at times,
Maybe this is what you do
When you get older, or have a country
Then, you meet with Mepanbahoo
Though no one really listens
Or heeds his humble thoughts and wisdom
I really don’t know why
Or really, if this is so
by Nathan Peluso
MYTHS OF OUR TIME
Intro
In this issue of The Bridge, we wanted to focus on various myths of our time. Myths have been used for thousands of years to explain things. The Greeks and Romans, for instance, used myths to explain just about everything in the universe. Myths, however, can also come about from fear and misinformation. Over time, myths can have a negative effect on a community by halting growth and progress. Throughout this issue you will find various myths that we’d like bust. We hope that by doing so we can help to improve the quality of life for everyone in our community. If you have any other myths you’d like to bust, we’d love to hear about them. Please drop us an email at ContactTheBridge@gmail.com.
the republican
myth
any invented story, idea, or concept: his account of the event is pure myth.
an imaginary or fictitious thing or person.
an unproved or false collective belief that is used to justify a social institution
a fiction or half-truth, especially one that forms part of an ideology
-the reintegration project-
breathe deeply, think about it, and pause
pause, while the reintegration project takes a minor breath too, realizing that the word is not written in vain – for you are reading it now – and the two have come together… by a leap you say, to the age still of the black and white page, the times of thought and mind and the unbegotten word, and where language – the communication which entails bridges and spaces and understanding and unity and the medium which makes them possible – still thrives, and still, you would think, have value.
are we getting closer to the one word, the one sound of the universe, the mighty OM…? ….i beg to answer NO… at least not in spirit.
so then are we getting farther?
pause, breathe deeply, and think about it
re-integration, coming back, a unity – as in a book, a dictionary per se, two covers of one magical fantastic book
or a coin, two sides, each bestowing worth and contribution, to the one unanimous circle
not (if i may digress)… like today’s America… not like here, not like us, not like now. not like the supposed proud contributors to this fine nation. and not, especially, like the republicans and democrats. no! not at all.
for what should be the supporting bounded covers or the symbolic guilded sides, is instead two duplicated covers and two lonely books, two fascist sides and two strange coins. and the math no longer works. it’s a zero sum game, each taking all and giving nothing. the equation has been ruined. and each making different meaning from the same single word. the words mean nothing. why speak then, or write, when it means only one separate thing? why only detract, eliminate, and divide? as it’s the people, so divided. those utilizing their vicious words, so wrong. even the fundamental principles, or first sacred allegiances, have failed to mean anything: the republic
tell me dear reader, from ye deepest political soul, what is the bother? why not bring the words together? pray tell what is a republican and how that may differ from a democrat…
well, a democrat with an elected representative is indeed what? you guessed… a republican. for a republican is a person who values the idea of republic, a government system of elected representatives, where the people in equal measure, vote for this role. and a democrat, in the modern age of nondirect, parliamentary democracy, is entirely, exactly the same.
and if you’re bored, look at the thesaurus under republic and what might you see? the word democracy… and vice versa. in the modern these terms are but the same, interchangeable.
logic 101: if a democrat is one who supports democracy and a republican is one who supports a republic, and if democracy equals republic, then a democrat equals a republican – by definition.
maybe that’s ok.
so tell me then, what’s indeed the fuss? if so similar, why then the need for riotous loudmouth propagandists?
for these names are as equal as a singular orb, in reality. in the common day, where town meetings (as in direct democracy) aren’t so practical, both republican and democrat stand for the same thing. they consist of systems of government where representatives carry on the will of the people, where each person has equal turn to vote, for in each of us lies the whole of everything.
accepted.
now what? what then of today’s conservatives and liberals? in the great book these are two words, again, under one cover. certainly not one word. but in america today, they are two words of two books, each denying the other, between it’s covers. ‘you don’t belong in my book” said the conservative… “nor you mine” said the liberal.
so you see - this is only a farce, and certainly something’s wrong. how can two words hate each other you may say? they are just in one book. then take these words from the ring, dear reader. eliminate these words from the political process to help us see the true words, the true meaning, and how they are not diametrically opposed opposites. don’t shift all life into one of these categories as if these are life and death. instead look squarely as things come along. instead of calling a spade a liberal, call a spade a spade. and while you’re at it, call an oil hungry war mongerer a oil hungry war mongerer. call the decline of the world environment, our fault, cause at least to some degree it is. call social inequity and weakening of the middle class just that. forget a label that has no real bearing on the idea it’s attached to. leave these words in the book. don’t call ice cream a republican pig. rather, call halliburton the company that took all your hard-earned tax money and ran.
but first, while the book is still open, (keep it open!) call a liberal someone who is open minded, someone with a ‘live and let live’ attitude. and call a conservative someone who is just fine the way things are, one who holds value to tradition and seeks solace in unchanging times..
and for the future of humanity, if you feel estranged, call forth the yin of your yang, and:
debate
- consider something; deliberate
- engage in argument by discussing opposing points
discuss
- to not be a blabbering self righteous idiot
compromise
- something that combines qualities or elements of different things
think about how you align yourselves, ye political souls. think about your soul and your home. think about the reintegration project. two words or three: one entailing a beginning, one entailing bringing things together, and one implying an end. make this project of yours to understand, again, just like your grandparents and even those before. come back to the value and the meaning! come back to two sides of one debate! come back to two sides of one fine land!
the reintegration project thus asks again: bring it all together, not apart! let words and meaning be uniting, not divisive, right, not wrong.
pause, breathe deeply, think about it
your lungs, dear reader, there are two of them… aren’t there
“In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.” –Guiding principle of the Iroquois Confederacy
MYTH: One Person Can’t Make a Difference
If you’ve been paying attention to the news in last couple months, you’ve no doubt heard how the major scientists and leaders of the world have finally decided to accept that global warming is indeed happening and that the planetary clock is ticking. DUH! I mean, thanks for the newsflash, guys, but people like Al Gore (the former next President of the U.S.) have been trying to tell us this for over 30 years. If we would’ve listened back then, maybe we wouldn’t be in the mess we are today. And we are in quite a mess.
But all blame aside, it’s time to stop pointing fingers and time to start doing something about this problem that is threatening our very existence. But what can one person do? I hear this all the time. What difference does it make if I recycle? What difference does it make if I drive less? Honestly, it makes all the difference in the world.
The myth is that the actions of one of two people can’t prevent the harmful effects of global warming. But this couldn’t be more untrue. The little things you do can make a huge impact on the health of the planet and, more importantly, your actions will inspire others to do the same. Once people see how easy it is to make a difference, they’ll be more inclined to make the necessary changes to their lifestyle.
So what can you do? Plenty. For starters, pick up a copy of Living Green by Greg Horn and read it from cover to cover. (WARNING: This may require you to turn off the television for a while!) You can get a copy at www.Wellbeing.com, an invaluable site on the “green” lifestyle.
In the meantime, here’s a few facts to show you how the little things you do can really make a difference:
• Properly insulating your home can save tons of energy and it can save you money too.
• If every American replaced just three regular lightbulbs with energy-saving fluorescent ones, it would be the same as taking three million cars off of the road.
• Using recycled papers (facial tissues, toilet paper, paper towels, etc.) can save millions of trees each year (Remember: trees remove carbon dioxide from the environment.)
• Buy reusable products! Eighty percent (80%) of all products we buy are thrown away after one use.
• Bring your own reusable grocery bags to the supermarket. Collectively we use over 1 trillion (1,000,000,000,000) plastic bags each year!
• Offset your entire yearly carbon footprint by donating just $99 to www.carbonfund.org.
• Plant a tree. One tree will absorb one ton of carbon dioxide over its lifetime.
(Source: Living Green, by Greg Horn (Freedom Press, 2006))
An Open Letter to Fred
Fred,
Why are you so against environmentalism? Why are you so defensive when someone brings up global warming? Al Gore has been studying global warming for over 30 years; how long have you been studying it? You call him a "loon" and a “green weinie”, I assume because you don't agree with him politically. But this is not a political issue, Fred; it's a global issue that affects us all.
Let's just say there is no proof that humans are negatively affecting the environment by raising the carbon levels (even though there is boatloads of it). Even if there's just a tiny chance that we are, don't you think it's irresponsible to flatly deny the validity of the global warming claims? Yes the earth's temperatures have gone up and down over the life of the planet, but never to this extreme.
I just don't understand why anyone would not want to do whatever he or she could to lessen the human impact on the environment. There are only two reasons why anyone can be against the environmental movement: 1) They are being paid off by Big Business, which doesn't want to decrease emissions or pay the money to switch to more environment-friendly fuel sources; or 2) they are lazy and selfish and they don't want to recycle, or use a rake instead of a leaf-blower, or drive a high-efficiency vehicle instead of their beloved SUV.
I would just like to know why you’re so set on denying the global warming theory? Because from out here, it sounds like you just refuse to accept that a Democrat (gasp!) like Al Gore could possibly be right on anything.
MYTH: Non-Smoking Will Hurt My Business
This is one of those myths that really makes me nuts. I hear it all the time: Non-smoking laws may work in big cities like New York or L.A., but here in Beaver County, non-smoking legislation will put our small bars and restaurants out of business.
Baloney.
In fact, the effect will be the exact opposite. Take me, for example. I rarely go out to bars or nightclubs or anywhere else where smoking is permitted. Although I’d like to, I just can’t stand breathing in second-hand smoke all night long. And I hate coming home reeking of smoke. It gets in your clothes and your hair and makes everything stink.
Now, if they made it illegal to smoke in public places, I would go out much more often. And I’m not alone. There are many more of us non-smokers than there are smokers. And many of these, just like me, refuse to patronize any bar or restaurant that permits smoking.
Of course you have the people that argue that many of these “mom and pop” establishments are traditionally “shot and a beer” locations where 99 percent of the clientele are smokers. Although this may be true, it doesn’t mean that these establishments won’t be able to transform their image and welcome an entirely new base of customers.
And to all the smokers out there, please don’t tell me that a smoking ban would infringe upon your rights. Let’s be honest here. We all know that second-hand smoke is hazardous to your health. Smokers do not have a right to put the health of others in jeopardy just because they don’t care about theirs. I’ve heard the argument too many times: “If you don’t like the smoke, go somewhere else.” We all know this is backwards logic. There are many more non-smokers than smokers out there. The majority of people do not smoke. Therefore, the majority should be able to work or dine in a smoke-free environment.
I walked into my local borough building the other day and was stunned to find the entire building filled with smoke. It was almost unbearable. I shouldn’t have to walk into a public office and put my health at risk simply because someone else is addicted to cigarettes.
Look…the purpose of this article isn’t to bash the smokers out there. It’s to debunk the myth that Beaver County is too set in it’s ways to transition to a non-smoking attitude. It’s not. It’s working in cities all over the world, big and small. Restaurants and bars aren’t going out of business; they’re thriving. Sure, sometimes it takes time for people to adjust. But isn’t that true with any type of change?
One last thing: It was once believed that a good “bleeding” could cure just about any illness out there. For thousands of years, people thought the world was flat. Not too long ago, Vanilla Ice was cool. Don’t fear new ideas. Embrace them. You just may find the world a better place.
MYTH: Living Green is Hard
The biggest complaint I hear about “green” living or environmentally friendly living is that it’s difficult. It’s too much work, they say. Who has time to separate recyclables and then haul them off somewhere? My neighbor waters his lawn everyday; why shouldn’t I be able to do the same? I don’t even know where to buy environment-friendly cleaning products for my house.
Have you ever heard of a whinier bunch of excuses? Sure, living in-tune with the planet isn’t always easy. But when you think of the alternative—global warming, worldwide flooding, polluted water reservoirs, species extinction, an inhabitable planet—living green doesn’t sound that hard after all.
When I talk about “living green” I mean living in harmony with the planet and making responsible choices to help preserve the earth for future generations. Too many of us are living in the “now,” and this is causing great harm to the planet. If we continue this lifestyle of waste and carelessness, our future generations—our children and theirs—won’t have much of a planet left to live on.
In order to get you started on the path to a more environment-friendly lifestyle, I’ve put together a list of a few simple things you can do right away with little or no effort.
1. Americans produce over 1,600 lbs. of garbage per person, per year. If you don’t already, START RECYCLING—even if it’s not mandated in your area. It’s really not that difficult. First, pick up three garbage cans at your local store and label them for “Glass”, “Plastic” and “Aluminum.” Put them in the garage or outside somewhere where they’ll be easy to access. Once they’re filled, take them to your local recycling center for processing. You can find your recycling locations online at www.dep.state.pa.us/dep/deputate/airwaste/wm/RECYCLE/Recycle.htm.
2. Use fluorescent bulbs. Yes they’re a little more expensive than normal lightbulbs, but fluorescent bulbs use much less energy and can last up to 10,000 hours longer! In time, you’ll make all your money back and then some.
3. Take a walk. Need to go to the bank or to the corner store? Leave the car in the garage and take a walk. It’s not only good for the environment; it’s good for you too!
4. Buy a water filter. Americans drink billions of gallons of bottled water every year. Worldwide, we create 1.5 billions of plastic garbage annually, all of which either ends up in landfills or on the side of the road. Forget the bottled water and buy yourself a water filter and a nice, glass-lined travel mug. You’ll not only cut down on plastic waste, but you’ll also protect yourself from the dangerous chemicals that can leach out of plastic water bottles.
5. It’s just grass—get over it! Why in the world do we water our lawns and spray them with hazardous chemicals to make them grow, only to then go and cut it once or sometimes twice a week? It’s insane. Furthermore, it’s terrible for the environment. Did you know that running a standard lawnmower for just one half hour produces more exhaust than driving a care 187 miles? Let’s stop the insanity. Having a greener lawn than your neighbor doesn’t make you special; it just makes you tired. Instead, let nature handle the watering and forget all those nasty chemicals. Use various landscaping options to replace grass like mulch, stone or even a wildflower garden.
6. Did you know that we wash over 32 million pounds of toxic chemicals down our drains each year, most of which are from household cleaning products. Instead of spending a ton of money on these toxic cleaning supplies, why not use safe ingredients like baking soda, white vinegar, lemon juice, borax, vegetable-based liquid soap, and washing soda to do your cleaning? They work just as well as those fancy brand names and they won’t harm the environment.
Of course, these are just a few simple ways you can start living a better, more earth-friendly lifestyle. For more great tips, visit www.wellbuilding.com or any number of great “green” sites out on the Web.
(Source: Living Green, by Greg Horn (Freedom Press, 2006))
Recycling Location
Beaver County Department of Waste Management Recycling Center
Route 51
BEAVER, PA 15009
Phone: (724) 843-2868
Days/Hours: This site is open on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday 9am to 4pm and on the first and third Saturday of each month 9am to 1pm.
Web Link: http://www.co.beaver.pa.us/
For other recycling options, check your local fire department or municipal authority.
Travelogue (Mine)
By Valentine Brkich
Trepidation and uncertainty
But good intentions
The same path
But always new
Crumbling concrete of past lives
And a prayer
Thoughts race
Thoughts erase
As heart pounds
And legs ache
A remnant
Of a past journey
The climb
And the bricks
The bricks
Wishes and wondering
A certain goal
Uncertain
Alabaster spires
And faded stones
Lives lived
And lost
Too soon
Sudden hope
An old memory
Best forgotten
Is that all she wants?
Almost home
Hope and strength
Falling free
Down the slope
Past love and memory
And history
Marked for obliteration
Something new
Brings to mind
The winter cold
Soon to come
Sudden rebirth
Only to die again
But still live on
Until the end
And back
To the beginning
Again.
One Man’s First Crack at Motherhood
by Valentine J. Brkich
Recently I became a mother for the first time. Let me preface this by saying that I am a 31-year-old man.
It all started when I returned home to find three baby birds on my driveway. One was deceased; the other two were alive but obviously shaken. There’s a nest in the awning above my front porch and I assume they attempted to fly before their time. Kids.
After a brief funeral service for the deceased bird involving a shovel and a garbage can, I turned my attention to the two newest additions to my family. My in-laws are always hinting that they’d like some grandchildren. I guess beggars can’t be choosy.
First I carefully placed the birds on an old sweatshirt, which I then placed inside an empty planter. Then, with the birds resting comfortably, I grabbed my spade and set out to find them some proper nourishment, i.e., worms and other slimy things.
A few minutes later I returned to the nest for my first official bird feeding. This was sure to be a daunting task considering I still have some trouble feeding myself (just ask my wife). Lacking a beak, I was forced to think of another way to feed the birds. In a moment of inspiration, I went to the garage and retrieved a pair of needle-nose pliers, which sort of resembled a beak. Most importantly, they enabled me to feed the birds without actually touching the slimy worms. Ugh.
When I returned to the “nest,” I found that the birds had buried themselves within the folds of my sweatshirt. I was stumped. I remind you: I am not a bird. How could I get these baby birds to come out and eat? Of course I did the first thing that came to mind: I chirped.
To my surprise the two birds emerged from underneath the shirt and opened their mouths in anticipation. One by one, I lowered each slimy, squirming worm into the mouths of the hungry birds, one of which nearly swallowed the pliers whole. Next I fed each bird one or two of these beetle-type things that I found under a rock. The sparrows inhaled them like chocolate cheesecake.
It was an amazing moment. Here I was, a 31-year-old collector of Star Wars memorabilia, successfully feeding and caring for a pair of orphaned sparrows. It was a proud moment.
I haven’t figured out what to name the two birds just yet. I read somewhere that “Jacob” and “Emily” are the two most popular names for babies nowadays. Then again, why bother naming them when they’re just going to fly away someday and leave me forever. How’s that for gratitude!
A Website a Day
ClimateCrisis.net
CarbonFund.org
18seconds.org
SeventhGeneration.com
NaturalHomeandGarden.com
AHappyPlanet.com
NextGenerationEarth.org
GlobalResourceOptions.com
Nontoxic.com
EERE.gov
Organic.org
Healthyhome.com
Greenfeet.com
Natureworks.com
SolarEnergy.com
3Phases.com
RenewableChoice.com
WorldwideViewofGlobalWarming.com
SafeClimate.net/calculator
Dep.state.pa.us
I’m Gone Now
by Jessica K. Freed (May 25, 1987 – November 2, 2004)
So my angel has come for me, to bring me to heaven.
Cry for me not, my loved ones. I’ll be watching over you
Until we meet again in Heaven, where there is peace, love and not hate.
Don’t be angry with Him, for He has called for me
To join Him in Heaven with the rest of the angels.
Rejoice in life, remember the good times when I was with you,
The laughter and all of the fun we had together.
The way I was, dream of me.
Remember me, not sick, but in good health.
Remember my face, voice, and tell people about me,
What I was like, the things I loved and things I hated.
How much I loved you without any questions.
Maybe one day I’ll be the angel reaching out my hand to you
To come with me to Heaven.
I will always be with you in your hearts,
So love me when I’m gone.
In Town
Lent is one of my favorite times of year. This is a 40-day period, excluding Sundays, between Ash Wednesday (Feb. 21) to Easter Sunday (April 8). For Catholics, it’s a time of reflection, repentance and sacrifice. You’re supposed to deprive yourself of something in order to better understand Jesus’ 40 days in the desert when he was presented various temptations by Satan.
This year for Lent I gave up French fries. This not might seem like much, considering Jesus fasted for the full 40 days. But then again, I really like French fries. And I mean really. When I go out to dinner, I’ll order just about anything as long as it comes with fries. When the food comes, I always eat the fries first. If I have any room left over, I may have a little of the main course. But I always make sure to eat the fries.
Actually, I gave up all fried food, but the fries are what really hurt. The only fried food I allow myself is fish. Catholics are supposed to abstain from meat and eat only fish on Fridays. And of course, since this is Beaver County, just about all the fish is battered and deep-fried. Therefore, I really look forward to Friday and my weekly trip to Micky D’s!
Some people would say a great meal is “surf and turf.” Others relish the upscale taste of escargot or caviar. For me few meals are as satisfying as two McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish sandwiches and a large Shamrock Shake. The Shamrock Shake is a special treat because it’s available for a limited time only—during Lent. Therefore every Friday at lunch you can find me heading for the “Golden Arches” for my favorite Lenten delicacy.
Now, I don’t know the exact nutritional value of this meal, but I think I can safely assume that it’s about as healthy as a bowl of Crisco. Therefore, in order to defeat the guilt (a common struggle with Catholics) I decided to walk to McDonald’s with my wife in order to cancel out the high caloric value of my favorite meal. I live in Bridgewater and the closest McDonald’s is approximately 2.5 miles away. I figured a nice five-mile jaunt would cancel out the negative effects of my indulgence.
By the time we made it to Micky D’s, I had built up quite an appetite. I devoured those two sandwiches in mere seconds. Then I sucked down that minty green milkshake so fast that I got a brainfreeze. It was definitely worth the pain, though. The only problem was that I was now pretty tired and had another 2.5 miles to walk back home. On the way to the restaurant I had the proper motivation. But now the carrot was no longer dangling in front of me.
Of course my wife and I finally made it back to Bridgewater. It took us a little while longer with our stomachs full of fish (supposedly) and mine also filled with liquid shamrock.
And in case you’re wondering, yes, it was extremely difficult to go to McDonald’s and not get any French fries. But I’m a good Catholic boy and I had to stick to my pledge. Now I’m just looking forward to Easter Sunday when I plan to eat French fries for breakfast lunch and dinner. After that I’ll head up to the Medical Center for an angioplasty.
A complex relation was established between three men:
GeeBuboo, a firecracker… red and feisty
…He would snap right in your face
SahDemko Iljanirou Muestashia, a full-bodied dictator
…He would hold you down with his careful eyes, while his people did the rest
And Ooomi Benigma, one might call him the raccoon of the East
…He was the first in the trash, and the first to put it on the ground
In addition to these three men, there was also a fourth man:
Unanimous Nahtanio, a Spanish Warlord with a utilitarian bent
…He was the first to say Yah, and the last to say Pah
They became acquainted with one another…
During the fiscal year Aught One
High upon the Solar System Atom, named after the smallest particle, a long time ago
And far beyond the reach of the Ordinary Man, another creature,
And outside the Quadrispecs, one of Time Motion Space and Typical Living
These four men came together by forming each other into a full complex being
And then, they thought about one another complexly,
Each one’s internal characteristics grew alongside the blossoming outer
Each could see the other in full color: RED, BROWN, BLUE, GREEN, YELLOW
Those were the colors; WHITE was saved for the contrast within the eye
BLACK, for the scourge upon the soul and hinterland which WHITE would not converge
Everybody ran around these men, Rumpfinder McDonyaldi was the foremost
…He would kill anybody in his path, that’s what he told the rest;
Once he said, “Stand Back, lest you be Killed!”
What would you do? But, nonetheless, the little gray figures ran around upon the set
Fires were set, monumental crowds formed, dust and sands flew and muddled the scene
The crowd of Ordinary Men stood and watched these little figurines,
In fact they were the crowd, or this was just a mirror;
Even the Quadrispecs were on the inside,
Only they weren’t aware of the attention and they continued in their blindish fashion
Like goldfish in a bowl dreaming of the ocean but knowing only the comforts of bowl;
They took the color ORANGE all to themselves
One day, all four of these men died… They were killed as Rumpfinder had foretold
Rumpfinder was dead too… he too had been killed.
And the gray figurines turned on the set and waited for forms to arise from the rubble
-Mepanbahoo-
I feel there is a figure
By the name Mepanbahoo
He is famous and has powers
And he is from a different country asides from our own
From here
This man resides, or looks out
To America
Like an Indian, but not
Like an African, but not
Nebulous
Enigmatic
But not really, because we know him
Not me, though someone does
For I feel as if his name were mentioned
On the news, television
Or National Public Radio, stating
“Our prominent leader today met with Mepanbahoo”
As I heard this once, and many times
Also, other countries know of him too
They also meet with him
For diplomacy, for consultation, for empathy
For at times,
Maybe this is what you do
When you get older, or have a country
Then, you meet with Mepanbahoo
Though no one really listens
Or heeds his humble thoughts and wisdom
I really don’t know why
Or really, if this is so
by Nathan Peluso
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