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I like having guests and try to make their visit as comfortable and enjoyable as I can. Being able to offer a comfy chair when we settle down in the living room is about as basic as it gets. But we have a lack of seating at the moment. The two “what were we thinking?” too big, too awkward swivel-rocker-recliners we bought three years ago after we got tired looking have gone to live with Mike’s parents. I couldn’t be happier. (Mom & Dad seem to like them, too, so I hope it was a successful adoption all around.) And frankly, our living room has never looked better with its new, more open feel (with exactly 2 mismatched chairs around our very cool but giant round antique claw-footed quarter-sawn oak dining-table-cut-down-to-coffee-table that we inherited from Mike’s parents).

Now if anyone comes over, we’ll be bringing in chairs from the dining room for happy hour (or standing over them like Jeeves). Yes, we have a couch, but it’s on the other side of our long, narrow living room in front of the TV, not on the “social” side of the room. And we have a neat handmade rustic bench in front of the fireplace in the middle of the room — easily moveable and fine for plopping down to warm your toes at the stove; not fine for 2 hours of extended conviviality.

So, we’ve started the hunt for a couple new chairs. Must be small-scale. Must be comfortable. Must blend with what we already have. And, must not cost the anywhere from $600 to $2000 we’ve been seeing. For A CHAIR! When did chairs become as expensive as entire sofas? (And don’t get me started on the cost of ottomans — fortunately we have no room for one.)

Oh, we’ve found perfect chairs that we love here and here. Both costing about $1700 apiece. “It’s an investment,” said each saleswoman, in the understatement of the century. Enclosing half our porch for our sunroom will not cost as much as two of these chairs. Although, given the state of our investments, these may be a better way to go.

Oh, and we’ve looked at the discount options — all of which appear either ready to fall apart in about 2 months or are not the small size we need. (As Americans get fatter, so does their seating apparently. Ginormous furniture is the rule these days.)

I’ve checked Craig’s List (nothing at the moment) and eBay — some possibilities, but the sight-unseen aspect is a little disconcerting. We bought such a chair last year, drove 2-1/2 hours each way to pick it up, only to find that, while it was nice, it was also a bit wobbly and should really be reglued. And we needed to recover the seat (not an easy process). And we didn’t win the matching rocker.

So for now, we just admire that side of the room and the newly open view out the French doors. And we have a handle on a couple possibilities our friends know of at the antique store they frequent. Fingers crossed.

Oh for the days when floor pillows were all the rage…or beanbags, beanbags would work. We’ll just start off the visit with a few stretches or some yoga. Downward-facing dog anyone?

We dare not trust our wit for making our house
pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream.
                              ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Finding hope in “America’s County”

Mike and I had the opportunity to attend a local chamber of commerce dinner last night — for Somerset County, where Mike’s from. His boss treated us, wanting to attend and even sponsor the event because the firm often does work in the county (largely because of Mike’s connections there).

Somerset calls itself “America’s County®,” a moniker that I think gained momentum after 9/11 (due to Flight 93 crashing in Shanksville) and the Quecreek mine rescue — two huge national (even global) events that shook this small-town/rural area in the Laurel Highlands. I’ve always chuckled at this lofty claim. And I still might. But as the evening wore on, it started to make a little more sense. 

The venue, at Hidden Valley ski resort, was jam-packed with 270 people — more than originally planned and still some had to be turned away. This demand for a $50 a person dinner was pretty great in itself — the whole county only has ±80,000 people. Business was brisk for the 50-50 raffle, Chinese auction, and silent auction, which had to have generated thousands more in revenue for the Chamber.
Bing! People enthusiastically supporting their town in the name of commerce and despite the current economic troubles.

To set the mood, we were treated to a (loud but neat) performance by a local fife and drum corps before dinner. Very revolutionary and — as I contemplated the Founding Fathers and their intentions in light of the recent election and my own dismay about the future — very timely.
Bing! Remembering how and why this country started.

Just as we were settling down to dinner, someone told us to please stand for the National Anthem (what?). The speaker went on to explain that in earlier days, many events, not just ballgames, started by singing the Star-Spangled Banner, and not just the first verse we’re familiar with, but all four (one of the four, he said, was pretty derogatory of the British and not always sung). He then proceeded to say he wouldn’t ask us to do that, but he’d do it himself, so he did. Three verses: 1, 2, and 4. I didn’t even know there were other verses. It was enlightening. (You can read the other verses here.)
Bing! Singing the National Anthem with pride.

Dinner itself was delicious and featured all locally grown or produced products. A really nice touch.
Bing! Supporting the local economy and businesses. Honoring the good things the County produces.

The keynote speaker was Somerset County’s own contribution to the U.S. Olympic team in Beijing, Sam Sacksen, a young man (only 22) who competed in the curious sport of Pentathlon, an odd mix of shooting, fencing, swimming, horseback riding, and running. As he told of the events that led him to take up the sport, be chosen for the team, and ultimately end up in Beijing, I couldn’t help but think that this was what the Olympics were supposed to be about — not professional athletes adding medals to their megamillion-dollar salaries, but hard-working amateurs giving everything they have to fulfill their dream. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one feeling proud and a little misty at his story.
Bing! Hometown boy makes good. His message: Not lamenting that it can’t be done, but figuring out how to do it.

His talk was followed by the presentation of Chamber awards recognizing people who had done much to promote the County in 2008. One award went to the group of politicians responsible for finally securing state funding to complete a crucial section of highway, Rt. 219, a project that has languished for many years. The effort was heralded for the herculean 11th-hour “bipartisan” push that made it possible — more timely talk, given all the rhetoric about reaching across the aisle and such.
Bing! Elected officials actually doing what they were elected to do.

Another award went to Pittsburgh-based development company Buncher Group, the relatively new owners of Hidden Valley, who just in their short year of ownership have already made many welcome improvements. Their representative seemed really humbled by the honor and promised their continued commitment to the effort and to the area — a great example of how “big business” isn’t necessarily evil and can really turn things around for an entire community (and make a healthy profit too).
Bing! Business as an essential contributor to society, not the enemy of it.

As I pictured this same event playing out in town after town across the U.S., I had hope that our country will endure…despite the economy, despite the current political leanings, despite the world’s evils. It was the first time I’ve felt hopeful in a while, and it was nice.

So what did that make…seven “bings”? Seven reasons why maybe it’s not so silly that Somerset calls itself “America’s County.” Maybe it’s not meant to mean the only county or even the best county. Maybe it’s more like “everycounty” — a larger version of the common everyman. Not perfect, not without its struggles, not even with the same struggles as its rural or suburban or urban counterparts. But still full of good people who care, who are working hard to succeed, who are proud of their country and support their community.

It’s a nice thought, no?

license20plate

One is a member of a country, a profession,
a civilization, a religion. One is not just a man. 
                              ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

On the road to Oil City, via perdition

A few months back, we bought a GPS device for the car — one of the lesser-known, cheaper brands — because I can get lost going around the block, am forever printing off online directions, and wouldn’t it be nice to have that sense of know-where-you’re-going security at your fingertips? My sister had just gotten one, and friends of Mike’s parents swear by theirs, so we were intrigued.

It took about 15 minutes for me to learn to dislike Thomas (the British “navatar” we selected) on our very first outing. We wanted to travel from a store in Latrobe to a restaurant in Mt. Pleasant. Forty minutes and myriad winding back roads in the dark later, I was over him, sexy accent and all.

Still over him on our trip to North Carolina, where he once had us exit a major highway, tour through the center of a small town, and get back on the same highway at the next exit. (Presumably to save 1/10th mile or something.)

We’ve played around with all possible settings on the thing (fastest, least miles, most economical) and still he leads us astray.

Yesterday was the worst yet: a simple trip to my brother’s in Oil City to watch the Steelers and spend the night. Instead of going the “usual way,” I had found a shortcut last time by looking at a map (of all things, an actual map) and tricking MapBlast or MapQuest into giving me directions for that route (they both want to go the usual way). My way was faster and more direct — 2 hours door to door, instead of the 2 hours, 10 or 15 minutes their way takes.

But do you think I could find those directions yesterday? We were already late leaving, and didn’t have time to figure out the faster route again. So we decided to “trust Thomas.”

After ignoring his attempts to get us to go the usual way, we thought we had him on the right track. We remembered part of the way, but not a couple tricky turns. (No matter which way you turn, he recalculates the route. In theory, you can never get lost.) When he had us leave a major highway to get on a smaller one, my inner “danger, danger Will Robinson” kicked in. Soon the roads got progressively smaller — 2-lane country roads, to 2-lane dirt roads, to 1-lane muddy messes where the next stop surely involved overalls and banjo playing. At one point we had to pull over to let a kid on a dirtbike pass us (with Mike snapping at me to put down the PA map I was pouring over “so we don’t look like idiots”). And of course, instead of my sturdy all-wheel-drive Subaru, we had Mike’s sporty low-to-the-ground Dodge — mud flaps scraping at every bump.

Maybe you have one of those relationships where driving challenges are met calmly and rationally, with hmmm’s and oh honey’s and cheery we’ll get there’s. Considering one of us thinks being on time is almost being late and the other has no sense of what “on time” means, this would not be our relationship.

Two tense hours later, blood presssures somewhere between pulsating-temple-vein and burst-a-jugular, we finally got onto a real road again — near Emlenton — nowhere close to Oil City. I insisted we give up on Thomas (harboring fantasies of what it would feel like to hurl him to the ground and stomp him under my heel), followed the signs to I-80, back-tracked 16 miles or so, and proceeded to go “the usual way.”

We arrived 1 hour later than on time.

Thomas survived the trip better than I — Mike still likes him for some reason I can’t figure out (the accent?). But I’m back to never getting in the car for an unfamiliar trip without first printing off “real” directions from two different sources (so I can compare). Cheerio, Thomas.

Trust, but verify.
                                       ~ Ronald Reagan’s policy toward
                    the Soviet Union

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