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This photo evokes so many memories. I can picture Mom sitting on the couch, trying to hear the television while we all gabbed sitting around the old living room. I can picture Dad in his favorite chair telling a story about some infraction that happened on one of his bills, or a high-priced grocery item he found for less elsewhere. Many laughs were shared in this room, and a few tears were shed. Lessons were learned, and love surrounded those who entered.

This is the home of part of my youth where we moved when I was about twelve. We left old memories--ghosts if you will--and began a new life in the home on Highland.

Mom became well and strong in this place putting behind the sadness she had carried for so long. There were woods behind the house and all sorts of new creatures: raccoons, chipmunks, rabbits, squirrels and deer. For my mother, someone who adored animals, it was a Disney dream-come-true.

I can see countless beloved cats and dogs lined before my mother; each with adoration in their eyes vying for her attention. And I can see Mom stroking each one, talking to them in that special way she reserved for her dear animals as if they understood every word.

This home holds a place of peace and solitude in my heart. It carries memories of holidays, birthdays, and wonderful meals cooked. It welcomed friends and relatives old and new. It became a steadfast rock of Gibraltar to us all. It welcomed the birth of my dear brother.

In later years, my son would come to know and love this house. He would learn that his grandparent's stories were special and to be treasured. That their legacy was something to keep alive long after they were gone.

There's a golden glow to this photo, as if the Lord placed a blessing over this precious room, this house so dear to me. I would come to know God as true Love while living there. My parents had a simple faith, a quiet faith. But their lessons came from how they treated each other and everyone they knew. My mother said that everyone has a story and I learned that they did.

Home in a small town. A place where simplicity thrived. A time when goodness was in the very fiber of lives well-lived. Let me visit there for a moment, but let me not tarry too long. For sadness may begin to creep in as I walk the path of memory lane. And at least for today, I'd like the memories to be ones filled with nothing but happiness.

The Eighth Street Dairy

Newspaper clipping of when my parents took over the store. It says: An old fashioned store with a new old fashioned look.


A tiny corner Mom and Pop grocery store seemed like a magical place to my brother and I in the early 1980's. Especially since it was so out of character that our parents would decide to purchase the little business. Dad thought it would be a good venture for our mom to run. And even though he had a full time job at the local post office, he seemed happy to help her out during any time he had off from work.

First glance inside the old place, our family realized that it was in dire need of fresh new paint and many upgrades. Also, the flooring was bad and the look overall was outdated. Our parents put their creative thinking caps on, and purchased multi-color remnants of carpeting from a rug store in town. The end result was an adorable patchwork-type splash of color for the floor. Shelves were painted, plumbing restored, new fun items were purchased to add to the theme of a fun place to visit and set a spell.

With the help of several others, the new look of the store came together in an old-fashioned way. A glass case sat off to the left when you walked through the door; an old-fashioned tinkling bell announcing your presence. Within the case was an assortment of the magic of childhood. Penny candy sat in colorful cardboard boxes. Gum, candy cigarettes, chewy taffy, and those flying saucers that had an outer shell which reminded us of communion wafers and tiny little candy beads on the inside. Red Swedish fish, gummy bears (Mom swore we were the first to get them in the area!).

Because the store was situated across the street from our town high school, we pre-counted bags of one hundred with the most popular penny candy. After the last bell rang, the kids would flock to the store, and we tried to keep up with them as their fingers pointed out what they wanted as they clutched a wrinkled dollar bill in their hands.

We had the usual staples: bread, milk, pop, a few canned goods and cereals. Mom made fresh daily coffee behind the counter where a few stools stood sentinel. An antique game called "Kicker/Catcher" sat at the edge of the counter where we amused ourselves for long periods of time.

Nothing was as wonderful as the video games near the back of the store. One game in particular stands out in my mind. This was the time of the big standing arcade games. It was called "Super Astro Fighter" and it quickly became the major competition for me and my brother and all the kids who lived nearby. We would try to beat one another's scores. We would proudly place our initials at the end of each game, hoping to 'one up' the previous person's score.

The aroma of simmering sloppy joe greeted everyone who walked through the door. For Mom cooked the meat at home, and then placed it into a crock pot which she brought to the store daily. In a crude handmade sign, she cartoonishly drew a picture of a bun with meat inside, steam rising from the top. For some reason, this drew truckers and many others into the store for a quick lunch of one of her tasty sandwiches, a small bag of potato chips, and a pop.

The memory that is most vivid to me though, is the outpouring of good conversation with the folks that walked through the door. My mother loved people, was a good listener, and a great one to give advice. She had several friends that would stop daily for laughter and a good cup of coffee. Some of the warmest memories are of seeing my mother's beautiful face light up when a favorite friend or special young person walked through the door. She knew when they were having a bad day. She knew the right words to say, or promises of prayers for some of their situations.

I feel for the young people of today. For this bygone era of old-fashioned values is headed by the wayside. With the fast-paced world, electronic devices in front of our faces, we are losing something very precious. We are losing the ability to be kind to one another, to listen, learn and be in the moment. My mother had the right idea. She made everyone feel as if they were the only person that mattered in the time she had with them.

I miss the dairy. I miss the people we all grew so close with at that time. My brother and I were fortunate to make lasting friendships with some of them. And yet there are others that we know we will never see again. Perhaps they've moved on with their lives. Perhaps they, too, knew there was once a place where everyone truly did know your name.

On a corner of Duss Avenue and Eighth street in the small steel town of Ambridge, there once was a place of magic. A place that many could come and share their cares, dreams, hopes and troubles. And there once was a woman and man who made the magic happen. Eighth Street Dairy, I will always remember our time. Thank you for being more than just a building, an establishment. Thank you for being a home, a safe haven for many.

One of the only photos we have of the inside of the dairy during our time there. Our dear old friend, Albert Jones.

God Bless America

My husband and I sat in the town diamond of Ligonier, Pennsylvania as it was set up for a brass band concert. Along with all the others, we carried our lawn chairs to be set up all over the sidewalks and streets near the town hall. I observed people talking and laughing with one another. I observed camaraderie and pleasantries being exchanged. As I looked around to all the quaint, charming shops nearby, I thought, this is what bliss is for me. An old-fashioned setting, and old-fashioned ways.

What really caught my attention, is the fact that nobody was on a cell phone. Nobody ignored another by being coldly impersonal with an electronic gadget attached to their ear, or their fingers furiously working the screen of the newest I-phone or gadget. It struck me in its simplicity that this is the very thing we lack nowadays. And this is the very reason I'm writing my futuristic tale about a society where we no longer communicate by speech.

The brass band began practicing their notes, warming up for the patriotic Fourth of July weekend concert. Smiles emanated from every member of their team. You could tell they loved what they were doing. Local cops came by and closed off the road from the rest of the world, and I felt like we were in a cozy cocoon of peacefulness.

Right before the concert, a pastor approached the microphone. A handsome, older gentleman with twinkling blue eyes. I could see by his face that he loved a good laugh. I could see by his demeanor, he had something important to say. He began by telling us all that he was there to give the invocation. He explained that prayer is so necessary in our "new world." God has been taken out of the equation all over our country. And he, the pastor, is one man that is not ashamed to stand up for his beliefs and not afraid to speak the name of God out loud in our society. He prayed for us all, and for our world. He spoke bravely from the heart and you could have heard a pin drop. Applause resounded all over when the man was finished, and as he walked back to where he was going to sit for the concert, many of us wanted to reach out, shake his hand, and tell him just what his words meant to us. I couldn't help but think once again of the dystopian world I'm writing about. How one brave man isn't afraid to speak out in a society which has outlawed words, privacy, and even religion.

I sat in awe as the band played marching tunes, patriotism abounding. Songs with God's name proudly uttered, and a feeling of pride in who we all were at that moment. It is an evening I will not soon forget. Let's be so brave. Let's not allow today's society to take away all that we hold dear. Let's continue to fellowship with one another, boldly proclaiming the name of God. Let's put aside the latest gadgets in hope of reaching out to another human being. What if we change the world one person at a time?

 Yes, God bless America! Please...