After The Fog by Kathleen Shoop

After The Fog by Kathleen Shoop

After graduating from college, I moved to Pittsburgh for my first job at Gimbel's.  The first time someone asked me for a gum band, I had no idea what they wanted.  When a girlfriend said she needed to redd up the house because company was coming, I was just a clueless.  And the first time I hears the word 'yunz', I thought I'd moved to a foreign country.

After The Fog paints a picture of a steel town on the Monongahela River is western Pennsylvania in post WWII America.  The mills kept the towns alive, without them the people would have nothing.  They wrapped the workers and their families in the dirt, soot and fog sent into the air from the stacks.  The almighty paycheck from the mill kept their noses to the grindstone and their complaints silent.

Rose is a driven community nurse with a secret past.  She believes she has done everything right in keeping her marriage and family together.  When it all falls apart in the great fog, her soul searching begins.

The scenery and setting of this novel took me back to this part of the country I'd left behind years ago.  I breathed in the thick, gritty air.  I heard the rough guttural sounds of their speech. I walked through the crooked streets lined with rundown houses and broken stoops. The characters, Rose, her husband, Henry and her children lacked depth.  Many of Rose's actions didn't seem to fit her.  Her lazy sister-in-law, Sara Clara, appeared in an interesting scene early in the book, never came into the fullness I longed to see from her.  I felt the same about Father Tom.  These were the characters I wanted to see more from and never did.

After The Fog is based on an actual event.  If I had know that from the start I may have viewed this story with more credibility.  Some descriptions of the fog seemed unrealistic to me.  If I'd know they were based on historical descriptions I may have viewed them differently.  After The Fog may have more historical value even though it is a fictional account.  Otherwise, I wouldn't invest time in this story that lacked the depth of character I long for as a reader.

Happy Hurricane Birthday

There are quite a few perks to living in the State of Florida.  The sun shines nearly every day.  The sky is blue and the air is clean.  I don't own a winter coat or even a pair of boots.  Putting snow tires on a car every November is a thing of the past, as is scraping snow off the windshield.  I love my life here in Florida.  Except when it's my birthday.

I was born long ago in a northern spot known as Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  My life took me to Minnesota, Michigan and Ohio before it landed me back in Pittsburgh after graduating from college. I spent three more years there struggling to get up an down its hills in the middle of winter while trying to get to work on time.  During a fierce April snowstorm, I made the decision to head south.

I found a job, made friends, got married and became fully entrenched in my Florida life.   I knew when hurricane season was but never paid much attention to it.  Storms would brush by but we never lost power or suffered any damage.  I celebrated my August 26th birthday without interruption.

In 1992 Hurricane Andrew came through South Florida on August 24, a Sunday.  When my birthday fell during week, I'd celebrate over the weekend.  My birthday dinner was abruptly cancelled when the one and only named storm of the season approached us.  I probably made leftovers for dinner and I'm sure I didn't have any cake and ice cream in the house.  We lived far enough north of the storm that we didn't suffer much damage for which I'm grateful.  But using candles to light the house instead of blowing them out on a birthday cake really sucks. 

That was 20 years ago and thus my life without birthdays began.  The last week in August and the first week in September is the most active part of hurricane season.  And not every storm turns into a well known and named storm but many do.  Katrina made its first landfall in Florida on August 26 before picking up strength in the Gulf.  Irene came through last year dumping boatloads of rain, as did Fay and Debby in earlier years. 

This year we're watching Isaac.  Tomorrow is supposed to be a blustery, rainy and overall gloomy kind of day. Hurricanes can turn on a dime without notice so it's best to be prepared.  We never know when the roof might start shaking and the the sliding glass windows will begin to bow.  Once the power goes out, we'll have a mad scramble to eat all the food in the freezer before it spoils.  I'm heading out to the store to stock up on cake and ice cream and maybe a few candles too.  I'd rather eat cake than some old casserole that's been tucked away in the freezer unnoticed for years.  I'll have the bakery decorate it with a hurricane tracking map so I can follow Isaac's path as I un-celebrate another year.

The Weatherman is Always Right

I turned to my usual channel on the television the other day and saw newscasters I didn't recognize.    An art festival was happening at the Trolley Museum.  Seats from the old PNC Stadium were up for sale for four for $25.  I'd never heard of either of these places.  The weatherman stood in front of a picture of rows of old brick buildings with steep, pointed, roofs that reminded me of Harry Potter's Hogwarts. And the temperature was a pleasant 85 degrees.

"What's going on here?" I asked Richard.  "Are we getting a cold front?"

He grabbed the remote control from my hand and started surfing landing on Brighthouse channel 13.  The cable company has their own 24 hour news and weather channel. 

"Brighthouse and WESH  have not reached a contract.  Their current agreement expired at midnight and WESH has  pulled their broadcasting from Brighthouse.  We have been able to secure the NBC lineup from a station in Wilkes- Barre, Pennsylvania." 

She said Wilkes-Bar.  Any good Pennsylvanian knows, of which Richard and I both are, knows it's pronounced Wilkes-Barre, or like a berry.  It's French actually and long ago lost its accent mark to please the Americans who live there.   The people who live there are probably OK without the accent but not with being called a 'bar'. It's the same way in Pittsburgh.  They get a little cranky if the 'H' is left off the end.  The cable company must have had to scrambled to find a replacement.

"I kind of like this news." Richard commented.

"I do to.  It's very calm.  No drive by shootings."  I said. "And the weather is perfect."

"Let's move there.  I like these people."

"They feel like old friends already. But let's get to know them a little better before we do something drastic like move."  I'm the one who always errs on the side of caution.

It's been three days since we started watching the news from Wilkes-Barre, Scranton and the Poconos.   We still like it and don't miss the real news at all.  And I don't seem to mind the Florida summer heat because the weatherman says it's 85 with a low of 60.  And the weatherman is always right isn't he? With the push of a button on the remote control,  we moved to Wilkes-Barre.  Thank you Brighthouse Cable.  Or should I thank the local WESH news for being so stubborn?  I'm really enjoying summer for a change.