The Monster Hill, and Cow Pies

Sitting here looking at all of the girls gifts, I spy the sleds that Santa brought them. Starting to think about all of the times I went sledding, I start to chuckle to myself. I had some great times in the past with my friends and family. Flying down hills, wind and snow hitting your face, and the great thrill of the speed. Sledding was always one of my favorite wintertime activities.

There are two great moments in my sledding adventures though. Moments, that when I think back on them, remind me of the opening for ABC's "Wide World of Sports," where that poor long jump skier, comes off of the end of the long jump, and just cartwheels down the hill. I remember watching that, wincing, and just the word "ouch" comes to mind.

Both sledding events took place near my childhood home in Bentleyville. It was a monster hill, that sits right along Interstate 70, about 1/4 of a mile from my home. We would usually walk up our road to the hill, if I could not talk my dad into driving us up. It was a hill where you could only go down 3-4 times. It was just too steep to walk up. But, it was fast, dangerous, and full of land mines.

You see, in the summer, this field was used by the Metz family as a cow pasture. All through the summer, and most of the fall, you could see cows grazing in the field. When it started to get cold, the Metz family would bring the cows back over to their farm, through a tunnel that went under the interstate. What the cows would drop in the field, would eventually be the main culprit in these two stories.

The first story involves a childhood friend of mine. His name was Arnie, and he was one of the smallest kids in our class. (If you see him now, you would never know it!) Arnie and I took our "runner" sleds up to the hill. The runners on our sleds were all waxed up with candle wax, car polish, and Pledge. It was just like the secret silicone spray that Clark Grizwald uses on "Christmas Vacation." I was using the six foot runner sled, while Arnie was using the four foot runner sled. I told you he was small. We both did a couple of great runs, and were ready to call it a day, when we decided to take one more shot at the hill.

I went down first. About 3/4 of the way down, the steering on my sled snapped. I went off the trail, and of course, off my sled. So, as I wiped the snow from my snowsuit, I waited for Arnie to come down.

I noticed that Arnie, from the start, had a great deal of speed this time. He looked as if he was in the time trials for a runner sled competition at the Olympics. I could hear Arnie screaming as he thundered down the hill. Half-way down, Arnie's luck took a turn for the worse. As I said before, during the summer and fall, there were cows on this hill. Those cows of course ate a lot of grass, and made a lot of cow pies. In the winter, these smelly things would freeze as hard as rocks, and act just like them. Halfway down the hill, hidden under the snow, Arnie hit a monster cow pie, which caused a chain of events to happen that forever will be burned into my memory.

Once Arnie hit the cow pie, the front end of his sled started to rise. The jolt of the hit, also must of made Arnie's hands come loose. Now, the crucial part of this event was Arnie's speed. Because he was going so fast, air got under the front end of his sled and pushed it straight up into the air. It looked as if we were in Florida watching the Space Shuttle take off. That runner sled shot straight into the air at least 30 feet. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen!

Watching the sled soar upward, a thought crossed my mind. "Where's Arnie!" My eyes scanned the slope, and noticed Arnie, flat on his stomach, still roaring down the hill at the same speed. It was as if there was an invisible sled under his little body. His screams of elation, were now screams of terror. I, on the other hand, was laughing so hard that the tears that were forming in my eyes started to freeze on this cold winter's day.

Well, Arnie made it about 75 yards without his sled. He laid there, looking like someone trying to make snow angles on their stomach. Still laughing uncontrollably, I ran down to Arnie to check to see if he was fine. I rolled him over, to see his snow coat all ripped up, snow in his hair, and face completely red from the cold. His hat was missing, as well as one of his snow moon boots. Now, I was laughing so hard I had to sit down.

I explained to Arnie that was the greatest sled run I had ever seen! "Well, I wish I saw it!" Arnie said. "I had my eyes closed from the top of the hill!"

We noticed my dad coming down our road from work, and flagged him down. We went up the hill, found the lost boot, and the rocket runner sled. Laughing as we walked to the car, we made plans to come back to the hill the next day if we could. As we opened up the car door, my dad spotted Arnie's coat. The only thing that my dad asked was, "Cow pie?" The only thing that I could do was laugh again.

Part 2 later this week.

What A Merry Christmas It Was!

Santa came to the Lovett house on Christmas in a big way! The girls had their alarms set for 6:30, they wanted to set them at 4. They pulled our tired grown-up bodies down to the steps to see what awaited them. When they rounded the corner from our stairway, the shouts of "Wow!", and "I can't believe it!" filled our house. The presents from Santa covered half of the family room. It looked as if Toys R Us had opened up a new store in our little town of Cokeburg. With video camera rolling, and Dawn snapping stills, the girls ripped into their gifts. "Look what I got!", was uttered about every other second. The camcorder looked as if I was watching a tennis match. A shot of Syd opening up something, then across the room to Abbey, then back to Maddie, it was a frenzy of wrapping paper. I tried to keep them somewhat organized, with presents in one pile, and paper in another. But, after a few times of saying, "Paper in one pile, and stack your presents!", I could tell that it would be useless. The girls went through their presents like a fire through a dry forest. Sydney, at the peak of unwrapping, opened one present, and yelled "Cool, look what I got!" I then responded to her with a, "Well, what is it?" After sitting a few seconds she shot back, "I don't know, but it looks cool!" (It was a mini-portable mp3 player.)

Sitting there, watching the girls open their gifts from Santa, made me very thankful again. Thankful that I am sitting here, with my wife, daughters, and daughters to be. Thankful for the family, and the support that they have shown us over the past couple of months. Thankful for the many wonderful, and close friends that we have. (Santa would of never made it here without you!) And thankful for Him, born on Christmas! You see, God surrounded us with all of our family and friends for a reason. He knew what was ahead of us in October when we found out about the mass. He knew that we would need prayer and peace. Each one of our friends and family has given the Lovetts the best gifts of all. The gift, and power, of prayer. The gift, and tranquility, of peace. And the gift of the power of love.

There has been some amazing events that has happened because of the tumor. Family bonds have been mended, and strengthened. Friends have come together, and have been reunited after years. Friends who are always there have showed their love, and support, and have only made our love for them stronger. A community now looks different in our eyes when we drive through it. From our daily trips from Cokeburg, through Ellsworth, and into Bentleyville, we no longer see all the business that are no longer in business. We no longer see the sleepy, little streets. We see a community that is thriving. A community thriving on its commitment to the individuals who live in it. A community thriving to help a neighbor, and reach out a hand to one in need. If you have ever seen the movie "Pleasantville," you can imagine the Lovetts driving through our community, and seeing for the first time, the bright colors that these community members have washed our town with. The colors of love, kindness, compassion, and care.

Our Christmas festivities wrapped up around 11 P.M. last night. The girls all dressed in new pj's, went up to bed with no complaints. The family room still looked as if a toy bomb had exploded in it, and Dawn and I went to bed, leaving it until tomorrow, and thinking to ourselves that this will definitely be a Christmas that we will never forget.

Merry Christmas!

To all of you who have made this Christmas one that we will cherish for our entire lives, we wish you the most blessed Christmas, and the happiest of New Years.

We are so thankful for each one of you, and all that you have done. We are so lucky to have each one of you in our lives. This Christmas has been a MIRACLE for us in many ways, and each one of you are a part of that MIRACLE.

Love and Blessings,

The Lovetts

Fix You - Great Words

12 Fingers!?

Our youngest daughter was sitting doing some math homework the other night, and was experiencing some difficulty. She was trying to complete that pesky mathematical operation of subtraction. 10 - 5, 7 - 3, she was flying through, until she met up with 12 - 6. "How do I do that?" she asked. My wife and I told her that she should try to start at six, use her fingers, and count up to 12. Sitting there for a minute or two, she finally threw the paper on the floor in frustration, with a groan.

"I give up!" she said. "I can't do it!"

"You can't just give up!" we both told her. "You can do it!"

Our daughter, with a serious look on her face, told us "Oh no I can't! I DON'T HAVE TWELVE FINGERS!"

Baseball, Cars, and Time`

This time of year always makes a person reflect on their past. From past childhood Christmases, where Santa brought you more than you asked for. From your first Christmas together married. From your first Christmas with your own children. The list could go on. They are all great memories that will always be, and forever more will be, etched into your life’s story.

This time of year also takes our minds on a journey of what quality time you have spent doing something lasting in your life. “Where has this year gone?” is often said between adults. I think of the past year, and all of its happenings, and they all seem like they happened just yesterday.

Because of my hospital visits this year, I have often found myself drifting back to thinking about my father. How much more quality time could I have spent with him before he left us? Did he know how much of a hero he was to me? Did he know how much of an influence he had on my life?

The strongest memories of my dad start off during my little league days. When I started to pitch, which I was never great at, my father constructed my very own pitchers mound in our back yard. Each night after dinner, we would go out with a bowling ball bag full of baseballs, and I would pitch. I remember throwing till my arm could not take it any more. Ball after ball, in the strike zone or not, he was giving pointers on how to change my delivery and stance. Did I realize then what he was doing for me? Did I realize this special moment together? I would have to think no. What was going through my mind at that time was that my arm was ready to fall off, and I would much rather be running through the woods, or terrorizing my sisters.

As soon as that bag of balls was empty, we would jump into the 84’ Trans Am we had, and we would head off to the South Park batting cages. It gave my arm a rest on the 40-minute drive there. (I was also allowed to shoot spitballs out the t-tops in the car. Sorry if you were behind us!) When we got there, he would start me through the cycle of slow, fast, medium, fast, slow…and so on. We would finally leave the batting cages when I couldn’t pick the bat up anymore, or the mosquitoes got too bad. Five days a week we would do this routine of pitching, and batting. Do you think I thought about the time he gave up for me? No I didn’t then. But I do remember all of the great times I had with him driving to and from the cages, with ZZ Top blaring out of the speakers, and him blowing the horn at all the girls. He would always tell me he was blowing the horn for me! (Yeah right!)

The next large chunks of memories are working on the 1965 Pontiac Catalina. I was turning 16, wanted a hot rod, and he was more than willing to help out. My grandmother had originally purchased the Catalina in 1965, in Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania. It had sat in our garage for years. The car was a purplish, Easter egg color, which soon turned to a fire engine red. Since I was not in baseball anymore, yes my arm finally gave out because of a nasty break, this was our after dinner activity. Eat, change our clothes, put on the oldies station in the garage, call some friends over, and work. He would show my friends and myself what needed done, and we would get started on it. Usually he would have to finish what he showed us because we had no idea what we were doing, but he didn’t complain. Through his humming, whistling, singing, and making fun of my friends, this was probably the most exciting time in my young adult life.

The day we finished the car, was probably the last day I worked with him in the garage. After that, it was “I’m going to pick up my friends, and we are going to go riding around!” I think that he only got to drive the Catalina once or twice. I look back now, and I know that he was just itching to lay down some rubber, or go screaming down Interstate 70.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of memories that I have of my father besides these three large chunks. I have countless material from my dad for future blogs. It is just all this time, he was starting to get sick. I really didn’t notice it at first, and just thought, “He’s my dad, he’s immortal!” But, I was sadly wrong.

The last big block of memories is from the 1969 Camaro. It was my dream car! We both wanted another project to work on, and wanted to have another car so that we could park the Catalina, so the miles wouldn’t rack up, and he would have something to drive. Well, the Camaro lasted for about 9 months. I was on my way home from school, showing off for some friends who were driving behind me, slammed down the gas, fish-tailed the back end, and went right through the guard rails. When my dad came home from work, he was not upset surprisingly. He simply said it now gave us the opportunity to make it into the proper hot rod it should be.

The Camaro went into the garage, my dad’s health went downhill, and I was off with my friends. I remember him coming home from work, eating, changing his clothes, putting on the oldies in the garage, and going out to work. I was off who knows where, doing who knows what with my friends. I still remember walking by the garage door, on my way to take out the Catalina one night, seeing him sitting on top of the Camaro, getting read to mig-weld in the new floor pans. “Hey there, wanna help out tonight?” he asked. I don’t remember what I said, but I don’t remember staying either.

Those mig-welds on the floor would be the last time he would work on the Camaro. One chain of events led to another, and the next thing I knew, dad was in the hospital, the same one that I visit now for my tumor. He was actually allowed to come home for one weekend, before an upcoming major surgery. Did I stay at home, and sit and talk? Did I say lets go catch some baseball? Did I ask him if he wanted to go blow the horn in the Catalina and some young girls? No, I simply asked him for some money to go out with my friends. Sometimes, when you are young, you do some really stupid things!

At this time of year, I really miss my dad. I picture him sitting on the couch, telling me to be careful, and not do anything stupid on that last weekend. I hear him singing the bass parts to all the oldies that came on the radio in the garage. I picture the big grin on his face as I pitched three consecutive pitches in the strike zone at our backyard pitcher’s mound. And I picture the last time I saw him, sitting in his hospital bed, not being able to talk to me, but reaching his hand out to take mine.

I received the call at home back in 1991, letting our family know that my father had passed away. Being a senior in high school, and having to tell your mother and relatives that her husband, and friend was dead, was more than I can handle. Even though that was 17 years ago, the pain of that call still stings me to the core.

So, why write this, during this time of year? Just in the hope that one person reading this will realize the precious time that we have with our loved ones, and to not take any of this time for granted. We have a new year starting soon, and to make this next year, a year of memories for your loved ones. To be thankful this Christmas for the gift of life, and to not take any day for granted.

Even though I don’t have either of the cars, and someone new now owns the pitcher’s mound, I still have the memories, which I took for granted then, but will forever cherish in my heart.

Thank you Dad!

It Is A Wonderful Life!

George Bailey has always been a hero of mine. If you have never heard of George Bailey, I suggest you stop reading this right now, find a copy of Frank Capra’s “It’s A Wonderful Life,” sit with your family, and enjoy one of the greatest Holiday movies of all time.

You see, George comes from a very small town, much like ours, called Bedford Falls. As a young man, George has some big plans for his life. “To shake the dust of this little town and see the world,” is one of his famous quotes. Well, as we all know, life happens to George, and he spends all of it in that small town, running his family’s savings and loan.

One event after another sends George in a downward spiral, until he makes the ultimate wish of never being born. His fumbling guardian angel, Clarence, takes him on a journey to see what the world would be like without him.

After witnessing these events, George realizes the blessings that he took for granted each day. The blessing of family, the blessing of friends, and the blessing of community. They were always there for him, although the desperate times clouded his vision.

The classic scene of George running down Main Street of Bedford Falls, screaming hello to each store, renewing his life, and giving thanks for where he lives, forever lives with me as one of the best-shot scenes in film history.

Over the past few months, and years, it seemed that my life was on the same downward spiral. One event after another seemed to cast a shadow over the Lovett household. I was slowly turning into a modern day George Bailey. Not knowing how much more our small family could take before we could not take anymore.

The miracle news of our newest addition to our family, our fourth little girl, was overshadowed in October by the news of a mass found on my pituitary gland. The tumor was rather large, and had already begun to destroy the optic nerves. The doctors were actually amazed that my vision was still intact. This brain tumor was causing a condition called, Acromegaly. Acromegaly is a hormonal disorder, caused by the tumor, that results from too much growth hormone (GH) in the body. Physical deformities, cardiac enlargement / dysfunction, and the destruction of the liver, had already begun to happen. Needless to say, our heads were sent spinning.

Dawn was on top of things, locating the best care for the removal of the tumor. She did not have to look much further than Presby Hospital in Pittsburgh. Dr. A. Kassam, associated with U.P.M.C., was an innovator in a new procedure, which was minimally invasive in removing the tumor through the nasal cavity. Past procedures for this tumor required removal of the top of the skull, as well as portions of the forehead, and cheekbones to get to it. Thank God for Dr. Kassam. (We knew that this was the doctor when, on our first visit, feeling very overwhelmed, Dr. Kassam turned to me and said, “You know, you have a beautiful nose! I could get your gall bladder out through that thing!” Thank God for humor!)

Well, in this small community, news spreads quickly. I must also say, that in this small community, people jump into action quickly. Having heard of our situation, a group of friends decided to put together a benefit dinner for our family. With gratitude, and awe, we heard plans of this dinner growing and spreading, even before I went in for the procedure. The community was coming together, and the support, and prayers from all involved were making our family stronger. Thank God for our friends and community.

On November 10, I underwent the six and a half hour operation. The tumor was completely removed, and my hormone levels were already starting to fall immediately after the surgery. All great news! With Dawn, and countless members of my family, I started to undergo the healing process.

The pain that was felt on the day of the surgery, and the following day was excruciating. But, as the days went on, the pain subsided, and I started to feel better. Getting to come home three days after the surgery was a miracle. I was now on the road to recovery.

I will have to follow up with Dr. Kassam very frequently for the next several years. If one cell was left, there is a slight chance that it might return. They want to stay on top of this, and I am thankful for that.

Upon arriving at home, I was treated as king of the castle by my wife and daughters. Not being able to lift anything over five pounds, bend at the waist, or drive, I was, and am currently, pretty much relying on them to do what I needed done. With Dawn carrying our little girl, this of course was, and is, very hard on her, but she has gone above and beyond what she needed to do. I am so thankful to her, and owe her so much. My love for her grows deeper with each passing moment.

The cards, and e-mails, started rolling in. From family, friends, co-workers, and strangers, they were lifting our family’s spirits. The joy of friendship was having its own healing power on me, and giving our family strength. So many people were reaching out to us, in so many ways, that we simply became speechless.

Now, with the benefit dinner rapidly approaching, miracles are happening daily. We were so honored, and touched by the communities’ generosity, that we thank God each day for everyone here. So much good has come from this, and please; do not take this from a materialistic standpoint.

You see, I think we were sent this obstacle to see the blessings that we have in our lives at this very moment. I was beginning to become George Bailey, being overcome by the day-to-day stresses, and the mountain of obstacles that our small family was encountering. I do believe that this tumor was my “ Clarence.” It showed me the strength of the love of my wife and daughters. It showed me the strength of my family. It showed me the strength of my Faith. It showed me the strength of my friends. Also, it showed me the strength of our small community. A community that I am so glad to call home.