The Canadians have landed
And we are back.
Actually we have been back for some time.
I don't know if hectic is the right word, but a great many things have been happening around here.
But now we are mere hours from June, and I guess I should get you caught up.
TG and I went to Pittsburgh. Quaintly nicknamed The Paris of Appalachia.
Mike and Audrey a/k/a Maudrey, atop the Eiffel Tower
Yes! Pittsburgh again! We have been twice before: in March of 2017 and again in October of 2022.
We love the Steel City. It has a unique charm and we can't get enough of it. Yinz know what I mean?
(Yinz is Pittsburgh for y'all.)
The last time we were there, we toured PNC Park. We are baseball fans and I am a pirate so it worked out really well. It is a stunning facility.
Erica made this trifle and gave me those pretty roses
This time, the purpose of our visit was to again visit PNC Park, but this time for a game.
Cubs versus Pirates! Being a pirate, naturally I am a fan of the Chicago Cubs.
If you know, you know.
Pittsburgh from one of its yellow bridges
And I'll tell you about our experience at the game but first I need to tell you what happened.
When we decided to make the trip, I began searching for accommodations. We would be staying for two nights.
I won't go into specifics about my method of searching but the end result was that I zeroed in on a property across the street from the main entrance of the ball park.
Dagny and Mike at Heathrow, preparing to fly home
It was a Marriott residence type place, where you have a kitchenette and can stow your soft drinks in the fridge and also make coffee and even cook something if you're so inclined.
Anyway this is not like me AT ALL -- usually I read reviews for HOURS before booking a room -- but I got all emotional envisioning TG and me just popping out the door and across the street to the baseball game, that I booked two nights -- non changeable, non cancelable unless we wanted to lose our money -- on the spot.
The price was okay; not the best but by no means the worst I have encountered in downtown hotels.
The month of May was Mom and spring on my table
And then I read the reviews.
Oh no. Nooooooooo. Bad. Very bad. Filthy rooms. Holes in the sheets. No hot water. Negligible housekeeping. Indifferent front desk staff. Bad smells in the hallways. Expensive parking. All-but-inedible "free" breakfast.
My heart stopped. What have I done? I wondered. And whatever shall I do?
The trip was a month away. I pondered my options.
TG chilling before the game, between two thunderstorms
And then I consulted with our Mike, who for decades has been a world traveler, both for business and for leisure pursuits.
You can't get out of it? He asked. Nope, I said. Ugh.
He advised that, when we got closer to the date when we would check in, I make acall to the hotel itself.
Mike and Audrey atop the Arc de Triomphe
Ask to speak to a manager. Tell them of my concerns -- as in, I cannot spend the money I am spending and be given the key card to a disgusting room. That dog won't hunt.
So I tucked that bit of wisdom away and determined not to stress about the situation.
But when we packed the car in preparation for heading out, I included cleaning supplies. Yes! I guess that's where we are in a post-plandemic world ... you're going to pay more but get way less when it comes to hotel accommodations. And be prepared to clean your own room.
The view from our tenth-floor room
I mean, the basics are barely covered anymore. Remember when they changed your sheets and sparkled the bathroom and left fresh towels and emptied the trash cans and vacuumed the room EVERY DAY of your stay?
I would venture to say that unless you are booked at a five-star property -- and perhaps not even then -- you are not going to see that level of involvement with guest comfort, ever again.
Now, they come right out and tell you that any attention from housekeeping staff will be on a three-day basis; as in, if you stay for two days, unless you specifically ask, they are coming nowhere near your room.
Dagny at the Tower of London
And so we have gotten used to having to go searching for dry towels, and making our own bed, and dealing with overflowing trash, and what have you.
But a filthy room? At check-in? As dozens of recent guests had described? I was going to draw the line there.
And so, as we headed north on the day, I called the hotel. I asked to speak to a manager.
It took three to four hours and at least half a dozen calls before I was able to speak to a person identifying as such.
We weathered some storms on our trip to Pittsburgh
And she was professional and courteous, and, after I'd explained why I was reaching out, said she was embarrassed that I felt I had to make such a call.
I said, Have you read the reviews?
She declined to answer and went off in another direction, reading from their script that says in essence, we strive every day to provide every guest with an exceptional stay, and so on and so forth.
I asked again: Have you read the online reviews of your hotel?
Each of my children sent me a sweet card
I read every review, she said.
So, I said, you know why I am calling. I mean, filthy rooms? No hot water? Holes in the sheets? At these prices?
She said, We did have an issue with the water temperature but we have fixed it.
I told her that I wasn't asking for anything besides what I had already paid for: A clean, reasonably up-to-date room with intact linens and running hot water.
Pittsburgh is famous for yellow bridges and fabulous views
She was gracious enough to offer to let me off the hook with regard to my non-changeable, non-cancelable reservation.
I thought that was classy but I said, No, we want to stay there. We want to stay across the street from the ball park. We're on our way and the game is tomorrow. I asked her to just please take care of us.
And so we rang off as friends and I said I hoped I could meet her when we arrived. Her name was Margaret.
Cherica with our pastor on Mother's Day
When we got to Pittsburgh and checked in, there was no sign of Margaret but we were taken care of by a pleasant young lady. I asked if I could check out the room before committing to it, and she said certainly.
I took the key card and got on the elevator and went to the tenth floor. Top floor.
When I opened the door of the room, it was perfectly lovely. Everything was spotless. I went to the tub and turned on the water to make sure it got warm. It did.
Maudag at monument to St. Magnus the Martyr in London
The view was stunning -- we were looking right down on the People's Gate at PNC Park -- and I realized that my call to Margaret had yielded, if not an upgrade -- because this was the type of room I had booked -- then at least some extra care and attention being given in light of my expressed anxieties.
In other words, the room was what you used to get without asking, for about half the money that it costs now.
TG and I checked in and, since we'd had a wonderful meal at a Cheddar's Scratch Kitchen in Beckley, West Virginia, earlier that day, settled down for a quiet evening and a good sleep.
The Sixth Street/Roberto Clemente Bridge
But then, I decided to take a shower and wash my hair.
I ran the water and rotated the lever to warm/hot water, and turned on the shower.
When I got in, I noticed that the shower head, high above me, was turned to the wall. I wondered who would do that, and why.
Word to your mother
And then I found out. The water was scalding. I mean, scalding -- as in, if you put your hand under it, within a few seconds you'd be burned.
I fiddled with the half-moon lever type thing that had blue on one side and red on the other. I stopped every fourth of an inch all across that area, until I'd gone back and forth three times. It took several minutes.
And the water was scalding no matter what I did.
Audrey in Paris
I managed to get it all done by flinging splashes of water in my direction and I don't even want to tell you how painful it was when I had to rinse my hair.
The next morning, we reported the problem and, while I took a walk, TG stayed in the room with the "repairman" to describe and monitor the situation.
According to said "repairman", a faulty mixing valve was replaced.
Minutes later, it was practically a monsoon
Except, later that night, when I went to take another shower after shivering through the Cubs at Pirates game (more on that momentarily), it was the same. Scalding.
TG had had slightly better luck than me finding water that was a temperature he could stand under, so I called him in and asked him to please kindly find that same water for me.
He fiddled with the controls for several minutes and the scalding water went away. But then, the water could not rise above cool to tepid. Only. No scalding, no hot, no warm. Just cool.
Home of the Pirates
Again, I did the best I could under the circ*mstances. I was still shivering when I got into bed.
When we checked out the next morning and again reported the defect, I was talking when the "repairman" materialized and interrupted me in mid-sentence to say I fixed it.
I said: No. You didn't fix it.
Maudrey atop St. Paul's Cathedral, London
The desk young lady (different from the day before) said, I'm sorry.
And we went on our way, and that evening we reached home where I enjoyed a spectacular warm shower.
Try to understand it and let me know what you come up with.
Sappy makes me happy
I know it's a common trope that, no matter where you live, if you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes.
But in Pittsburgh, they live that. Literally.
When we visited in the fall of the year, the weather was as close to perfection as you can get, in my mind at least.
Dagny checking out Parliament and Big Ben
But if you decide to stay in Pittsburgh anywhere from late spring to early summer, you'd better pack an umbrella and sunscreen and flip-flops and a heavy coat. Because you're likely to get anything.
On game day the wind blew, the sun shone, the rain fell, the wind blew some more, and the temps wavered wildly between fifty and sixty degrees.
I had kept abreast of the weather patterns while packing, but I must have been in denial about how cold it can be in Pittsburgh in May, because I was not prepared.
Entrance to PNC Park
In actual fact I don't think it reached sixty degrees, but when I walked across the Roberto Clemente bridge to take the pictures you see in this post, I wasn't the least bit cold and in fact it was refreshing.
But about three hours before game time, the skies lowered and the rain fell and the wind whipped and the temperature dropped into the mid fifties.
After sitting outside at a café to enjoy coffee (me) and a co*ke (him), TG and I walked across the street in a sudden spate of driving rain, to a Rally House store.
Audag at the Palais Garnier (Paris Opera)
There, TG bought me a zip-up hoodie sweatshirt so that I could be warm at the game. I would have been desperately uncomfortable without it.
(I'm a Cubs fan but it says Pirates on the front so I'm good wiv' it. Go Bucs! I wore my Cubs t-shirt underneath and I did get some comments, haha. Like, make up your mind, lady.)
We walked across the street from our hotel and entered the park as soon as the gates opened. Within minutes it was nothing but torrential rain.
Skippy has been dedicated to the Lord
We ordered hamburgers and fries and soft drinks from a kiosk, paid our fifty dollars, and, in five minutes, our number was called and our supper was served.
The food was delicious. We ate it while standing at provided tables looking out at the rain falling on the field, which they had covered.
But no sooner had we consumed the last crumb and refilled our drinks than the skies were blue again. We found our seats.
Maudrey, ready to come home
But no sooner had we found our seats than the skies lowered again and the rain returned.
We moved up higher, under cover, and waited. It wasn't long before we were able to go back to our wet seats but the game start time had been delayed for a full hour.
No further incident weather-wise after that though, and the game was wonderful -- CUBS WIN! CUBS WIN! -- and was played in full with no interruption.
Keep moving forward
Our Cubbies are currently having what one might describe as a semi-dismal season, but as TG always says, philosophically: That's baseball.
Indeed.
We traveled home on the day before Mother's Day. Audrey, Dagny, and Mike were spending two days in London at the end of their trip. They'd taken the high-speed rail through the Chunnel from Paris to London, the previous morning.
Delays are sometimes inevitable
Erica had come by the house on the day we traveled home, to bring Rizzo who'd stayed with her, and check on Sweetness who'd stayed by herself, well-stocked with kibble and water and with the run of the sun room, and found Mother's Day flowers from our Andrew on the front porch.
He's back from his deployment and so happy to be home.
On Mother's Day itself, Maudag flew nonstop from London to Charlotte, getting home that night.
Audag at Westminster Abbey
The rest of us were in our pews at church, and that night there was a baby dedication, and two babies were presented, and one of them was our Elliott.
He's eight months old now and by far the cutest baby in the world, haha. I call him Skippy. Just because.
We enjoyed a wonderful Mother's Day but we deferred celebrating until Monday evening, when I cooked supper and the returned travelers could join us.
Ducks don't worry about rain delays
Audrey and Mike and Dagny had thought of everyone, and there were gifts to give and stories to tell, and we ate grilled chicken and hot dogs and all the sides, and it was a truly memorable evening.
Since my deck is still torn up, I haven't been able to get into my new shed and pull out a tote containing a switch-out of table decorations from Mother's Day month to something creative for June, but I'll figure it out.
TG left this morning, en route to Charlotte-Douglas International Airport where he will board a nonstop flight to Detroit, where he will be met by his brother, Ron.
My son remembered me with this lovely bouquet
It was a last-minute trip so that TG can attend the funeral of his beloved high school basketball coach, Mr. Joe Stalma. TG visited him in the nursing home in 2021, when we were in the Toledo area for his fiftieth high school reunion, one year delayed.
My sweetheart will be back tomorrow night.
Additional important events are on the horizon! Stay tuned.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Thursday
