Brockway @ MindSay 
This entry is being composed at terminal D89 of the Pittsburgh International Airport, where I arrived 90 minutes early for my flight. Joy. Guess that's as good a time as any to write about my weekend.
The annual event in D.C. went quite well, I think. I know it certainly could've gone much worse, and Boss A was very happy with my part in things, at least. One of my City of Heroes friends picked me up at the airport and hung out with me last Saturday night and most of Sunday in D.C. before she needed to head back to Harrisburg. 'Twas very cool. And, naturally, the "diet" went completely to hell while in our nation's capital. But when presented with food of that quality, splurging is only natural.
I finished up Wednesday afternoon, and then my sister arrived from North Carolina. We kicked around for a while before heading to Baltimore to visit with my younger brother. We spent the night at his place, then headed up to Brockway on Thursday morning.
Not far outside of town is Laurel Mountain Winery. We stopped there so I could pick up a bottle of red wine for Boss A. Thought she'd get a kick out of tasting something from where I grew up. Of course, I also ended up buying some to have on hand for guests, and some fruit wine (cherry and spiced apple) for myself. In all, seven bottles. I should have shipped them home, but like a doofus, I packed them in my suitcase. So it has proved to be pretty expensive wine, since it put me over the weight allowance, and so I had to pay an extra fifty bucks for my bag, dammit. Ah, well.
So. Brockway. It's somewhat depressing, visiting there. It's never been (at least in my lifetime) an economically strong region. But over the past decades, it's become very bad. The street I grew up on is horrid. And the downtown area is just pathetic, even compared to how it was when I was a kid. It's weird how it can feel much the same, even though so much has changed.
The Peterson house... good lord. It's a charred shell. I stood there, behind the police tape, looking at the flowers and balloons and whatnot that people had left there. The smell of burnt wood still hung in the air, a week after the blaze. I visited with Tom & Lori, and they told me of some inaccuracies in the story the media spread around. Probably the biggest of which was that the Petersons had not had their gas "shut off." Doug had converted from gas to electric two years ago. There were other inaccuracies, some of which I knew even without talking with my old friends. Made me wonder how much we can really believe in even the most mundane stories reported by the media.
Friday night I visited with masivemaple and his mother and sister. We had dinner and talked for a while. And one thing Rich and I can do for hours and hours is just sit and talk. Afterward, I got together with Jonathan, whom I haven't seen since just after high school. We went out to Perkins and drank a couple pots of bad coffee and just talked until almost four in the morning.
After three hours of sleep, I got up and trekked down to State College. While my sister, brother, and brother's wife went shopping, I hung out with my dear friend and cover artist, Cyndi. Haven't seen her in probably five years, but it seems like just yesterday. We went downtown and hit some shops... some of which were around when I was a student there, and some of which weren't. Had a slice of awesome pizza at Brothers Pizza on College Avenue. Then we went to Zeno's, the only bar I ever went to during my years there, and only with her. Then it was back to my brother's house.
Sunday was his birthday. The big six-oh. We had a houseful... my oldest nephew, his wife, and their two kids... my youngest nephew... my sister-in-law's parents... The only real absence was my niece, who lives in Ohio. Didn't get to see her at all, unfortunately.
One thing that struck me as odd, this time. Typically, when I visit home, I'll bump into someone I know when walking around the mall. Not this time, though. Of course, maybe I did and just don't realize it. It's been a long time since I've lived there. None of us look like we did back then.
And, somehow, that area seems to have gotten stuck in the 80s. I couldn't believe how many women there still wore the same hair styles they had back then! It was freakishly disturbing. I mean, just because you work in a mall doesn't mean you need "mall hair," for crying out loud! And yet, so many did. Unreal.
Despite this bit of creepiness, it was a very good visit, and I'm glad I took extra time off to stay longer. I miss my family a lot, as well as my friends local to there. Still don't think I could ever move back, though.
My flight should start boarding pretty soon, and with any luck, I'll be airborne in about 45 minutes. I'll arrive in Sacramento around 5:30, California time, and shortly thereafter, ladyluck will pick me up. Just hoping the wine doesn't break...
That house is literally a stone's throw from the house I grew up in.
I went to school with the husband/father of that household, who was at work when his family died. I didn't know him well, but I'm sure I'd recognize him on the street.
The USA Today article even quotes a dear friend of mine in the first paragraph, a woman who has always been like a mother to me. Their house is even closer to the destroyed home than mine was. More like a stone's kick.
The magnitude of this kind of personal loss is... just beyond my ability to imagine.
I'm going to be in my home town next week. And to stand there in front of that charred husk will, I suspect, be a surreal moment.
