This is My Town

It's been an interesting week in my city.

For the first time in 52 years, one of Cleveland's major league sports teams won a title.

One million three hundred thousand people flooded the downtown streets to watch a parade and rally.

Photo courtesy of Joe Ginley

There was lots of cheering, back-slapping and hooraying for our town. And I think it's all very wonderful.

Everyone who knows me knows I'm not a huge sports fan. I do love the Indians, although I haven't been to a game in a few years. I cried bitter tears of anguish when they lost the World Series in 1997. I still haven't gotten over it.

But the Cavs? I'm pretty "meh," as the kids say. However, I am thrilled for those who love basketball and I bask, just a little, in their glow.

My husband and son watched the game from a local bar. I turned the TV on and off to stay updated on the score, so I knew when it was all over. (The neighborhood fireworks were a good indication, too.) On Wednesday, I dropped my son off at the Rapid station at 6:45 am so he could attend the doin's downtown.

I was happy for the local businesses who would profit handsomely. I was thrilled for the fans. And I shared the joy of my live-in sports nuts.

But I did have one beef with the whole mishegas. The recurring theme that, now that we've won a championship, we're not a city of losers anymore. Like we were all so insecure, we didn't love this screwed up berg all along. It's like having a child: you can criticize your own kid all day long, but if anyone else tries to wail on them, you're having none of it. That's how it felt to me this past week.

Cleveland is a great town. It was a great town before the Cavs won, and it's still a great town. And it would have been a great town even if they hadn't won. I don't want to sound like the Visitors' Bureau or anything, but there are lots of cool things to do in this berg if you look around. My younger coworkers are always talking about local festivals, art shows and other events that embrace the creative talents and diversity of our city. Did you know there is something called "Take a Hike" that does tours throughout the week in the Summer? Areas of interest include the Warehouse District, Playhouse Square, the Gateway District and the Canal Basin. University Circle is chock full of museums and points of interest. The Flats are making a comeback. And the MetroParks have so much to offer that so few people know about.

Who knew I would be the cheerleader here? We've come a long way from our Mistake on the Lake days, when all we could do was throw slogans onto t-shirts and hope for the best. (Cleveland's a Plum? Really?) We've actually cleaned up our gritty city and made it a cooler place to be.

No apologies necessary.

Anyone else up for Walnut Wednesday?

I'm all in.

Bugging Out

Standing in the Target parking lot this week, I couldn't figure out what the noise was. It sounded like the flying saucers in those old B-movies from the 1950s.

Then I remembered Chris saying they sounded like the Star Trek phasers, and I realized what they were...

CICADAS!

After 17 years of hanging out below the surface of the earth, they've risen to make a nuisance of themselves.

Driving up the freeway after work, they pinged my car like little scuds, decorating my windscreen with bug guts. Washer fluid didn't cut it. Only a thunderstorm with massive amounts of rain removed the remains.

The last time the critters emerged en masse was 1999. I don't remember much about that time. Or about 1982. But I do remember 1965.

The street of my childhood was canopied in the summer by giant maple trees. The cicadas loved hanging out in them. I have vivid memories of riding my bike down the street and being terrorized by the flying menaces. And the added bonus of the sound effects made by their shells...crunch, crunch, crunch. I had nightmares for weeks.

This year, I haven't seen or heard any in my neighborhood. It seems to be an all-or-nothing proposition. Some folks report mass sightings in their yard, while others have seen none. I have witnessed a few -- and their shells -- in the parking lot at work.

MetroParks' social media has been positively giddy over them. I had signed up for their Instagram posts, but then decided to un-follow, after receiving photo after graphic photo of the mini-beasts. One was a gif that showed them in action. Nature is a wondrous thing, but I'm not all about bugs, and I don't need to see them up-close-and-personal -- unless they are butterflies. Butterflies are cool.

Before we know it, the cicadas will be history, and we'll all settle down and forget about them for another 17 years.

I'm ready.

Reading Labels

Someone posted a ha ha on Facebook the other day. The crudely drawn character said something to the effect that before we had electronic devices, the only thing to read in the bathroom was the label on the back of whatever personal care item was handy.

Of course, if you were prescient enough to have brought a paperback with you, there was no need for this. But, for the rest of us, reading material consisted of such riveting copy as “Noxema will soothe your dry skin and leave it feeling soft and smooth.”

On the label, you were instructed to slather the stuff on your face. Then remove with a tissue or by splashing your kisser with warm water and gently toweling dry. Or somesuch.

I became an avid label reader. Frequent material included such popular brands as Vaseline, Aqua Velva, Colgate, Aqua Net, Nair and Alberto VO-5. (Does anyone lather, rinse AND repeat?)

Maybe that’s what planted the seed in my brain that would later grow into a talent for writing product descriptions. With a battery of adjectives at my disposal, how could I go wrong?

Smooth, sleek, shiny, lovely, soft, bracing, neat, clean, brisk, attractive.

And let’s not forget the allure built into each product, that ability to attract the opposite sex. (Okay, potty minds, I’m not talking about the Vaseline now.)

These days, I’m often armed with my smart phone or Kindle when I plan to spend a little time in the powder room. But one day recently, I ventured into the nearby cupboard and pulled out some reading material: a small bottle of lotion.

There wasn’t much copy. What was there was very small. Maybe it’s because they had to translate it into French, too. But it was the bare bones. Just something about applying it generously and keeping it out of the reach of children. Plus lots and lots of ingredients.

I decided to try again. This time, I selected a room freshener. The copy wasn’t any sexier. It was chock full of cautions and environmental facts. Half of it was in Spanish.

Does anyone else ever try to cop a quick language lesson by comparing the English wording to the Spanish?

Maybe it’s just me.

It usually is.

Making Time for My Buds

I sat for awhile with my flowers yesterday.

There were little red roses and lush irises and showy peonies. They bloom at the same time. But not necessarily every year.

Their incredible blossoms are so short-lived, I just sat there admiring their loveliness and trying to imprint their essence into mine. The roses petite and pretty. The irises soft and pungent. The peonies puff balls of aromatic white petals -- just watch out for the ants!

In front of me was the entire life cycle. Buds ready to bloom, flowers in full glory, and wilted flora at the end of their performance. I couldn't stop thinking about how short-lived everything is, relatively speaking. And, at the same time, how clichè my thoughts were.

Instead, I decided to just sit and soak in all the loveliness, admire the setting sun and the warm spring evening.

And let it go at that.