So, it's only March of the next year, and I'm getting around to blogging part 3 of our SUMMER (yes, 2012)trip to Pennsylvania. Things haven't been one bit busy around our house. Anywho, after the wondrous adventures in Pittsburgh, we headed to the coal mining hills of Cambria County to visit my maternal kin -- Grandma Miller, Aunt Sue and several of her girls, Aunt Jane, Uncle Bill and Aunt Camilla and several of their children. And in addition to having a bit of time with lots of my cousins, there were their spouses, and their kiddos -- all at one ginormous, fabulous cookout. There was so much catching up to do, and the time was racing like I don't even know what, aaannnndddd I failed to take hardly any photos at all. Bum-mer! As in big fat bummer of bummers. Except that what I did was enjoy the moments. I knew the short amount of time we had available for our Carrolltown and St. Benedict visits was going to feel like not quite enough, and boy was I ever right! 
We were in the land of my mother's birth, and that of her mother, and where we, cousins, became sisters for a couple of weeks every summer of our childhood -- our parents and theirs at any particular moment uncertain as to precisely where we were, but knowing we slapped down cards or raced in the yard somewhere within the large Miller clan of kids and parents. We slumbered and played kickball and "colored eggs" (long story -- a strange running-tag sort of game). We cooked "mountain pies" on the gas stove, picked wild strawberries at the fair grounds, and made up games out of nothing more than a coveted pair of high heels, newspaper parade pom poms, and a few baby dolls. We stayed up far too late, giggled and bickered plenty, and were delighted beyond measure with what could be bought for twenty-five cents at the old candy shop uptown. 
Very late in the evening after at least half the party-goers had departed, Bay reminded me of my camera with her request for snapshots of her with those who remained at the gathering of her "new cousins" (second cousins, but she didn't want that qualifier of perceived distance). As Alyssa (my cousin Chrissie's daughter) and my Baylor cuddled up on their sleep-over bedding and showed to each other their school websites I realized how very many years really had passed since it was I and my cousins preparing for bed on a blanketed floor. We had only large, heavy scrapbooks of whatever seemingly relevant photos we'd managed to capture during the year between visits. Our worlds seemed further apart, more different, then than do those of these girls now.
(Starting top-left is Debbie's Miranda, and following clockwise are Pam's Kelly,
then Chrissie's Alyssa, & my Baylor.)
(My Anna tending to Chrissie's Carly.)
The visit with Grandma at the nursing home and our venture up the gravel-dirt "road" to St. Joseph's Mission Church were points in time far slower in pace, and thus, captured in images. St. Joe's is where my mom attended mass as a child, and the cemetary in the front seems to me the most peaceful resting place I can imagine -- surrounded by hills of wildflowers and trees. It's an out-of-the-way spot on a hilltop where I can hear myself think, and it's easy to breathe. Climb the hill and then turn to stand with your back to the church; the lookout is amazing. It's not dramatic in a Grand Canyon sort of way, but calming in a vein of simplicity, quiet, and humility. Breath-taking in its own right.
The kids wanted to stop at the display of military vehicles now installed on the very fair grounds where years ago a younger me had hunted for an hour to fill a plastic drinking cup of tiny, flavorful wild strawberries. (Aunt Sue made them into strawberry shortcakes for us that night three decades ago.)
Fast forward to Friday, February 8th, 2013, and look what arrived in the mail -- a card from Aunt Sue with a picture enclosed. In our busy lives correspondence is a rare treat, and so, this note from my beloved aunt was a delight: Sherry, I stopped in a local pub and to my surprise they had this painting hanging on the wall. It was hand painted. Why they chose to paint your favorite candy store is beyond me. I guess it was a famous place for someone else besides you. It is a perfect image of the store. Look and see the candy in the window! You can even see the man who owned the store inside through the window. His name was Merle Kirsch. He has passed away now. I just had to take a picture of the picture so you could see it. The pub is in the town of Patton; about six miles from here. Love, Aunt Sue Of course, Patton -- the cousins always talked about "Patton Pool" (as in swimming). I framed that picture right away and set it on a shelf in my office where I can look up and see it easily when I break from typing. As I want for you to see it, too, I took a picture of the picture of the painting (giggle).
Seriously -- THIS is exactly what it still looked like when I shopped there in the 1980s. I'm sure my kids think, "Wow, Mom, I didn't know you were THAT old!" When I was a kid, I imagined I was on "Little House on the Prairie." It was one of the coolest places on Earth. The building is still there . . . an interesting history project to be had . . .
Cousins Cathy, Tony, Pam, Deb, and Chrissie and your spouses and kiddos -- thanks for a fun visit. Aunts Sue, Aunt Jane and Uncle Bill and Aunt Camilla -- thank you for a wonderful time together. I shall remember sooner my camera next time! To all the cousins and aunts and uncles who reside outside of PA, imagine yourself hugged, also. It felt admittedly odd, and sad, that out of necessity for her well-being, my time with Grandma was limited to her new residence at the senior center and that when we left, she had to stay. Yet, in her commentary to us concerning the on-goings of the other residents in the visiting lounge, I was strangely reassured that some things don't change. She may not remember that I was ever there for the visit, but at the time, in the moment, she was attuned critically (ahem) to all that transpired. Oh, family is just a hoot.
And an anchor and a buoy all at once.
