Everyone Goes to Pizza Joe's!

The first stop on my #26 goal, Eat the Best Pizza I can find, was Pizza Joe’s, because of course everyone goes to Pizza Joe’s! It’s a sentimental first stop, holding a dear place in my heart from many slices consumed while a college student at Westminster. It was on my personal list as a maybe to try, but after Chris Borsani made a strong case for Pizza Joe’s I had to include it.

So! Amy and I gave it a whirl a couple weeks ago! We decided to lay the ground rules before we dug in. I mean after all, this is serious business trying to find the best pizza! So the first rule of the pizza search is that the pizza choice must come from the specialty pizza list. A cheese pizza over and over doesn’t do the search justice and a pie from the specialty list has to be worthy, right? From Pizza Joe’s we selected a large, triple cheese and bacon pizza (thankfully our hearts are still ticking after this one!). Then we built a ratings scale, 1=Not Good, 5=Delicioso!. The categories are Sauce, Cheese, Toppings, Crust, Overall, Additions. So with that all set, we watched the Packers tear apart another team and dug into our Pizza Joe’s Triple Bacon and Cheese Specialty Pizza! And below, are the findings for this first stop on #26: Eat the Best Pizza I can Find

Sauce=3  

Cheese=4 

Toppings=4

Crust=4

Overall=3

Additions (Cheesy Dipping Sticks with Marinara)=4.5

Thus Pizza Joe’s received a 22.5 out of a possible 30 points. It was a good pizza but I don’t think #26 is knocked off my list quite yet! Next stop….not sure yet! To Be Continued… :)

The Night I thought Santa was Robbing our House

If I think real hard and go back many years I can remember a night when I thought all Christmas was ruined. It was a typical cold night in mid-December; the kind of night that feels so quiet and calm as if holding it together until the jubilant and chaotic joy that is Christmas day. I was sitting alone on the couch, the only person in the room, watching a mindless TV show through the reflected glow of our Christmas tree covered in multi-colored lights and mismatching ornaments. Out of the quiet and still I heard a soft thump from somewhere outside but didn’t think anything of it. Not 30 seconds later 3 loud bangs echoed off the window pane directly above me! I jumped off the couch in fright and peered through the glass window to see a man dressed as Santa Claus eerily squinting at me from the front porch! I immediately began a frantic debate in my mind of whether those eyes were full of joy or mischief. He nodded at me and with a thick, black mitten pointed towards the front door.

Very timidly I made my way to the hall and yelled upstairs to my mom, saying “Mom, someone dressed like Santa wants to come inside!” As I waited for my parents to slowly make their way downstairs my mind debated the intent of this supposed Santa Claus. After all, I thought, what a great disguise to wear when robbing a house! This was it I thought, no Christmas presents this year (I never thought that maybe this Santa was going to take money, jewelry, or anything but all the Christmas presents my parents had stashed away in their secret hiding spots!). FINALLY! My parents arrived and told me it was okay, to let Santa in, he was here to visit my brother, sister, and I. And with that, all the fears went away, calmed by the innocent and relentless trust a young man has in their mom and dad. Indeed, Santa was there to give presents, stopping through on an early mission to spread joy and happiness to kids everywhere.

You know who that Santa was? It was Jim Vejsicky, my middle school math teacher. It wasn’t until years later that my dad revealed the secret identity of this jolly man. And for a few years, Mr. Vejsicky would stop by dressed as Mr. Claus, giving us little presents and candy canes, always somehow knowing our names even though I was sure I had never introduced myself to Santa. Mr. Vejsicky was a teacher, a member of the community, and an avid basketball fan. On a few snow days, when I was in middle school, my mom or dad would drive me to the gym and I would walk in to find Mr. Vejsicky setting up metal folding chairs around the perimeter of the paint. He would take the next hour or so and teach me about shooting with a quick release, driving to my left AND right, and staying low on defense. I don’t know that my parents ever asked him to do this with me, or to dress up like Santa Claus and visit us before Christmas. But he did.

I’ve often wondered if maybe the best gift we can give is to invest ourselves into those around us. Not through monetary gifts, or even just time spent with someone else. But to invest a part of ourselves…knowing that we may never get anything in return for what we give. It is a true form of sacrifice, and I find myself this Christmas thinking of all those investments people made in me. My parents of course, that is immeasurable, Mr. Jones my phys. Ed. Teacher, who talked to me endlessly on how to be a better player, Dr. Huey at Westminster, who let me come over to his house and borrow books from him and listen to me babble on about Ohio State, Mr. Griffin and Mr. Kite in North Carolina, who in my first, very difficult year of teaching took me to basketball games at ECU and would watch my class for me so I could return home sooner over the holidays, Debbie Mihalik at Geneva, who spent hours talking with me over coffee and always offering to go out of her way to do numerous little things for me, even when I didn’t ask, and sometimes when I asked too much. And of course Mr. Vejsicky, who sacrificed his time, his energy, and invested a little of himself in me and my family. He never had to venture out into those cold December nights, but he did, and it made a difference.

I’m not sure who would say I have invested in them; my hope is that I have carried on the example these people and many others provided me. And I hope this Christmas to ask the question, who am I making a sacrifice for and whom am I investing in? It truly is a great gift to give part of your life to someone else and ask for nothing in return.

You know how this Christmas story ends? I don’t remember what Mr. Vejsicky brought my brother and me… but I remember he reached deep into his big red bag and pulled out a leather held sleigh bell and gave it to my sister. I remember how my sister looked when she saw it, the surprise and mystical awe of wondering which reindeer this bell used to belong to. This past weekend I asked my dad about that gift, he said it was a crucial time for Abby, she was starting to… ‘wonder’ about Santa. And I think it was only fitting that the moment I stepped foot inside my parents’ house this past weekend for our family Christmas, the first toy my niece Alex showed me was a tiny, leather held sleigh bell….and it was not my sisters, but a new one….a sacrifice and an investment by someone into the joy and wonder of a wide-eyed and curious 7 year old girl.

Merry Christmas to all of my friends and family.

Andy

What I Learned from the Maple Tree outside my Bedroom Window

I grew up in a small town, in a yellow house with a red brick porch, on a tiny hill, with bedroom windows that overlooked an elementary school, playground, and a basketball court. Right outside those windows was a large maple tree. When I was a kid I would lie in bed and stare out my window at this tree that loomed over my room and danced in the wind as if trying to teach me the rhythm of the world. In the winter time its lifeless branches would cast shadows across my walls, the wind turning its leafless limbs into long, bony fingers that flickered and suggested an ominous world outside my window. The more the wind blew the longer and more encroaching the fingers became. I would pull my comforter up to my chin and use the warmth of my bed to battle back those cold nights, and the bony fingers would dance and move as if yearning to pull me out through the window into the cold, dark streets. I pretended it was the dance of a sinister laugh, and I would be thankful to be tucked inside a house where I was loved and protected from a dark and scary world.

But in the summertime everything about that maple tree would change. I would sleep with my windows open and the maple tree, now fat with leaves, would rustle at me and bring in a summer breeze that teased my face and suggested a brighter, more lively world. Summertime was my favorite. I would get home from school, change, and head down to the basketball court outside my window. I would play games until my mom appeared on the hillside and embarrassingly shout down to come up for dinner. On the good nights, I ate and returned as quickly as possible to the court, playing until I had resisted the calls to return home long enough. The court also had a light, and it created new shadows cast into my bedroom. The maple tree and its fat leaves would rustle, and I would peak through its branches to catch glimpses of the playful light. I would lie in bed and listen for the sounds of basketball still being played; of the ball being dribbled down the court, the clang of the rim and the boom of the wooden backboards shaking from a long 3. I became so good at listening to the game I could even tell when a rebound had been snatched and a fast break started up the other end of the court. The leaves would dance in rhythm as if trying to join in the game, and its fat leaves carried the sounds into my room on the hot breeze of a summer night. And eventually I would fall asleep, with the windows still open, the tree still moving in rhythm to the game, and the sounds of basketball subtly echoing throughout my room.

On Monday night, along with my friend Josh Andree, I played basketball for the first time in four years. I hate admitting that. A game that was such a part of my life and brought me so much joy had disappeared for most of my 20’s…and you could tell. I think my first 3 ball didn’t hit anything, and my second MAY have grazed the backboard. But it still felt good. When I woke up the next morning the games I played were shrouded in a foggy daze, as if I couldn’t believe I actually played ball. It could have been imagined, but my aching legs and shoulders told me otherwise! 

Number 15 on my 30@30 list is to play basketball this year. I suppose I can cross that one off the list but I don’t feel as if I fulfilled it yet. So I’m gonna wait, because just those 3 or 4 games I played brought back all the love I have for the sport. I was so excited, when I got home, I pointed out to Amy that my chin was swollen and numb from a wayward elbow on a lay-up….but it was awesome! Now, I can’t wait for next Monday and hopefully the sound of the net strings snapping from a deep, arching shot.

  

I fell asleep Monday night confident that back in my hometown, outside my childhood bedroom, the maple tree with the fat, summer leaves was dancing in delight. I laughed quietly before I fell asleep; knowing after all these years the maple tree outside my bedroom window will take all the credit for teaching me how to love a game.