Jessica always has ravioli for the holidays

The daily calendar that sits on my desk is getting thin. Another year is wrapping up. Jess suggested including our blog addresses in the Christmas letter and writing our own notes online. You must have liked the idea.

As I first starting writing this post, Jessica and I just finished making ravioli for Christmas Eve. You can see some of our results pre-clean-up. The homemade goods are a family tradition that we’ve kept up – along with my family’s meatballs when we put up the tree.

This past year has been one filled with hard work. I dove into the remaining coursework I had to do to complete my graduate degree – finishing almost 60 percent of my classes this year. I’m looking forward to reading for pleasure again – and tackling projects that aren’t due at the end of the semester.

We cut back on trips – visiting Washington, D.C. twice, Columbus once, and Atlantic City once. We also returned to St. Marys for Thanksgiving. Yes, that’s a light year of trips – only five states, counting the one where I live. This might be the fewest number of states I visited in a year since high school.

I completed my second term as president of the local chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution. My final meeting brought out the largest turnout of chapter members in the last decade. We elected a new slate of officers, and they’ll do a great job taking over the chapter. I’m glad that I was able to stablize the chapter’s finances, recruit a new team of officers (and provide them with all the relevant information about the duties of their office), and overhaul and update the chapter roster. I’ve also continued and expanded my work with the Lackawanna Historical Society. I produce the Society’s quarterly newsletter, and I helped organize a database of previous newsletters as well as preparing program brochures for several events this past year.

Want to see more of what we did this year? Check out Jessica’s holiday post.

On Thursday morning, they updated the forecast. This would be a decent storm. We’d be driving straight through the storm to get home on Friday night. Or we’d be driving across roads with as much as a foot of ice and snow that may or may not be plowed. I spent my lunch hour looking at weather projections and maps. We talked at 3:30 that afternoon – we’d leave town that night (pack quickly…) and drive south where the weather should be limited to rain.

I’d never had much success trying to outflank a weather pattern before. I’ve failed to outrun snow storms in the past. I’ve driven along the Texas countryside trying to get to a cross road and out of a tornado’s path. Last year, we were forced to land in Toledo and stuck overnight in Detroit while trying to get home after Christmas. But we pack and leave by 7 p.m.

We were most of the way to Harrisburg when we called Roger to ask about the forecast for Pittsburgh. Either we’d turn west on the Pennsylvania Turnpike or stay south and head for Hagerstown, Maryland depending on whether Pittsburgh would have freezing rain that night. The weather looked clear until 1 a.m. and would be just rain by 10 a.m. – easy set-up for crashing in a hotel room. We turned west on I-76 and set our sights on New Stanton – a place Franchise selected.

The road was pretty clear, the weather held, although I was tired and we pulled off one exit early – about 20 miles shy of our intended destination. I noticed the name of the county on the way in. A long time ago, a branch of my mom’s family lived in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. Most of the family moved out after about 20 years. Only a few brothers stayed behind. I didn’t have any graves to search for and doubted there would be much paper record because the family left about 200 years ago.

We found the hotel and crashed for the night. Neither of us had heard of our jobs being closed the next day so we’d have to wake early to learn about the cancellations through text message or call off for the day. Franchise’s phone alarm sounded at 6:15 a.m. Within a few minutes, she received her cancellation text and rolled back over. I wasn’t cancelled so I spent a few minutes surfing the web on my Blackberry – learning a bit about the county’s history. That’s when I heard the buzzing – a quiet alarm sounding from the hallway. I rolled over to look at the alarm clock – dark. I flipped the bed lamp switch – nothing.Franchise slept blissfully in the bed – completely unaware. But I sat there thinking about my situation.I had never expected to find myself in Westmoreland County with no powern while rain poured outside while I tried to outsmart the seasonal weather.

Power was still out when Franchise woke so we considered our options. Donuts in the lobby and a dark bathroom. I grabbed my phone and Franchise’s GPS to Google and map the county historical society. Then I proposed an option to Franchise. We drive 20 miles to the historical society. Enjoy light, power, running water. I’d search their records for 30 minutes to see if they have anything pertaining to my family – anything that might encourage or dissuade me from visiting again. Then we’d get back on the road. Sometimes, when an opportunity is presented, you can’t let it go – particularly if it’s something you really enjoy doing.

Franchise didn’t sign up to leave Thursday night. She didn’t want to scamper out of Scranton wondering whether she would need to call in a sub for the next day. She didn’t want to be in a powerless hotel in Southwestern Pennsylvania. And she certainly didn’t want to spend the day in the archives somewhere while I did research. I could see the thoughts form in her head: Can’t he go anywhere without having to do genealogy research? She was gracious though. If there’s power, OK, she said. We checked the front desk. The hotel expected to be without power for the next 20 hours. The county seat had power. We packed the car and left.

Sure, I remembered the family name that resided in the area for 20-25 years. Bennetts. William, the patriarch, fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill and Yorktown. Isaac, his youngest son, is my direct ancestor. No clue on the dates or years they lived there or who was born, died, and married where. Totally unprepared and not expecting to parachute in to do anything with this family – particularly in a county where they resided for only a portion of their movement through the fledgling United States.

I walked into the Westmoreland County Historical Society with my laptop – full of all the family history scans I’ve collected – my brains for the day because I haven’t looked at this family in at least a year. The staff was nice – really helpful in digging up books and talking about the history of the area. I found a copy of a land deed from April 6, 1795 and a couple of mentions of the families that remained behind. Franchise read To Kill a Mockingbird. We stuck around about 90 minutes before hitting up the hotdog eatery on the corner and heading to Ohio.

The trip’s started with a lot of potential for a great story. Franchise and I have already decided that the Christmases since the wedding have been particularly adventuresome. We’re not done yet, but we made the best of a surprise situation.

I enjoy watching big-time college football. I was in the Ohio State Marching Band in college, and we visited most of the Big Ten stadiums in my five years. We also saw the Superdome and Raymond James Stadium during bowl games, and I got a visit to the Rose Bowl before my final year of college. It’s been a few years since I spent fall Saturdays in football stadiums, but I miss that setting and was excited by the opportunity – and, yes, I know there’s no mistaking current Syracuse football with anything in the Top 25.

It was supposed to rain the whole day. My wife warned me not to get sick. Roger asked about the bad weather. Not to worry, I said, Syracuse play in a dome (that is surely more raucous for basketball games).

It poured the entire way there. Didn’t help that we left an hour after we planned. Avoided active construction zones, but the single lanes slowed us down. And I topped out at 48 while squinting through my windshield on I-81. Only saw one accident on the way up, parked (Syracuse has the goofiest way of getting you to their visitors’ parking lot), and took a university shuttle down to the Carrier Dome. One guy was amped up for the game, and he tried to get the full bus revved up. Nobody was interested. There was more response from the lady at the gate who took our tickets. “Those are nice seats,” she said.

The dome was half empty. I’ve never really been at a half-empty stadium for a college game before. My alma mater’s traveling fans would take any unused seats from whoever was the home team normally. Heck, it was easier to get a ticket to an away game than a home game for some people I knew. The folks around us said that the fans openly mocked the announcement that there were 35,000 people there the week before. Announcer listed 27,000 at our game.

We walked in about 4 minutes into the game just as an Orangeman was running into the end zone. Fans were ecstatic. Game continued that way. Syracuse continued to do well. I was underwhelmed by the band, and the food was adequate. The game and stadium developed an odd feel. It was reserved similar to a baseball game but with the action of football. Fans weren’t into big plays. Some of the times they were most passionate was when they wanted a penalty called (and there was obviously no penalty on the play). A couple years of mediocre football can dampen everyone’s edges – the fans, the band, the team. Everything became lackluster and missed the passion found on other college campuses.

Pittsburgh, the visitors, finally pulled even and took the lead as the game wound into the fourth quarter. As Syracuse turned the ball over and the game got out of reach, fans finally became vocal – in criticizing the coaches and players. (They’re college kids folks…) When they weren’t groaning and yelling at the coaching, they discussed options for a new coach next year. This guy has a tie to the team, this guy once lived in the area, that guy knows the university’s administration…

Everyone filed out grumbling about the game that got away. It was then that I heard somebody say something – one of the memorable items about the trip. A guy walking into the bathroom was trying to bolster the spirits of a stranger. “Faith, it’s called sticking with your team,” he said.

Hmm, no, that’s loyalty. I saw loyalty but not faith – the fans seemed surprised their team was leading for so much of the game. And when fans lack faith, their excitement and enthusiasm isn’t there. Without that, it really isn’t college football.

Jess and I spent Saturday (her birthday) at Weaver’s Orchard near Reading where we picked 40 pounds of apples. (We picked an extra 3/4 pound of raspberries for good measure.) You might think that’s a lot of apples. Jess thought so – and she was only carrying half of them. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir5GRuc5UZs]

We spent Sunday baking (and stretching back to my Pennsylvania Dutch roots – saucing). Very experimental, but fun time. We had six kinds of apples – Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Empire, Jonathan, Jonagold (a cross between GD and Jonathan), and Cortland – and we made five different kinds of applesauce by tinkering with the apples involved.

Jess also made an apple pie and raspberry cheesecake. The oven was on overload, but it was relaxing to step away from daily activities.

And we won’t need to buy fruit at the grocery for a few months. What do 40 pounds of apples look like? 86 apples that cover the whole kitchen table.

It’s always nice to get a few days at home to relax. This time was an experience. It had been years since I had been home for a birthday or visited the town’s summer carnival. We visited the Columbus Zoo for the birthday. The festival was packed with people, but I hadn’t realized it was so – compact. As a kid, it seemed a lot bigger than two blocks.

Work begins again tomorrow (Tuesday). Freshman begin move-in on Thursday. Classes start next week. I can’t believe summer’s coming to a close.

At least I got one good trip out of it.

View map of baseball stadiums visited.

Roger and I visited New York City yesterday to see the Yankees host the Red Sox in Yankees Stadium. It was the 14th Major League Baseball stadium I’ve visited. I’ll add some pictures shortly.

New York was fun. We ate at Druid’s at 50th and 10th. Neat pub. Very Irish – err Celtic. Enjoy the Irish Soda Bread. Roger recommends the curry. I’m still getting used to smoked salmon. Then we ventured to East 42nd. We saw the United Nations building just as it closed for the day. (The flags were all down already – no good picture.) Afterward, we walked up and down the side streets trying to recognize the flags that flew in front of consulates and permanent missions. (We did OK. Social Studies teachers taught us well.) Finally took the train up to Yankees Stadium walked around a bit and ventured inside.

There was a heckuva wait after the game. It took an hour or two for most of the 55,000-plus fans to clear the area, and we were happy to wait and avoid the crush on a muggy night. But by the time we got back to the parking garage in Hells Kitchen, the 24-hour parking garage had closed for the night. Attendant woke up, gave us the car, and we were on our way back to Scranton – arriving at 5:15 a.m. Work, and the morning alarm, came early this morning.

Oh, the game. Yankees-Red Sox was impressive. It’s not quite Ohio State-Michigan. The fans were happy to sit down most of the time. Friends who backed the rivals teased each other, but there wasn’t the vulgar hostility until late in the game when a couple Sox fans decided they had received their money’s worth and could afford to be thrown out. But the fans were loud and passionate – and it was odd to see a standing crowd cheering for a big pitch in the second inning. Alex Rodriguez hit his 536th home run – tying Mickey Mantle for 13th on the all-time list. Red Sox had the lead late before the Yankees rallied to force extra innings. Brett Gardner, who was called up from AAA Scranton/Wilkes-Barre about a week before, had the game-winning two-out up-the-middle single in the bottom of the 10th. Home team wins 5-4.

The channel almost immediately went live to its reporter covering Hurricane Dean hitting Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. Jim Cantore, the meteorologist whose appearance signals a hurricane as surely as 20-foot waves and 150-mile-per-hour winds, was broadcasting from Puerto Aventura. Interesting, I thought, that’s where I was one month ago today.

I told my wife to turn on her television. The more we watched, the more it looked as though The Weather Channel was broadcasting from the exact resort we stayed at during our honeymoon. The cameraman eventually pulled back and began to pan over the resort. We recognized it immediately. The Aventura Spa Palace was getting hammered by Hurricane Dean.

One month ago was the day we returned from our honeymoon. On the way to the airport, I asked our driver what happens when a storm hits the tourism-driven Riviera Maya. “If you have a cement house, you stay in your house,” he said. “If you do not have a cement house, you leave your home and look for a friend with a cement house.” People head inland, our driver said. The area averages a hurricane about every 5 years. The last time they were hit badly, he said, was four years ago. “The economy was very bad for six months then,” the driver said. “Nobody had jobs because nobody visited.”

I hope they finish the repairs quickly.

As we stood in the churchyard cemetery, we talked about the history of the area. During the Revolutionary War era, residents used the Blue Mountains as a barrier to escape attacks from hostile Native Americans. Tracking families through the years means searching in communities on both sides of the mountain.

I looked up at the mountain towering above us. Farms dotted the sides of the surrounding hillsides, and trees and fields covered most of the scenery. The church was at the end of the road leading out of town. I realized this was similar to the way the area appeared 220 years ago, as Conrad Solt began his life after the Revolution. In fact, this resembled most towns in the early United States.

I sometimes bemoan the fact that I’m not in a large metropolitan city. I see it as encouraging, and inhibiting, my travel. My trip today was a reminder that most of America both now, and throughout its history, is small towns. Many of us, and our families, end up in tiny churchyards. The vibrant cities, while exciting, aren’t solely America.