day:9 cranberry, pa to cheektowaga, ny

since r crashed out as early as he did the night before, he woke up a good hour and a half before m, and was able to enjoy a morning cup of coffee on the porch with aunt la mira and uncle bob. while m slept, the three of us watched their grandson ian explore the cul-de-sac on his backhoe-styled power wheel. the eastern humidity was beginning to thicken the air, and even by 9 am it was downright muggy. m finally awoke to the smells of uncle bob’s breakfast, a hearty morning meal of scrambled eggs, pancakes and sausage. although uncle bob had already eaten breakfast with his grandkids while we were both still asleep, he helped himself to a piece of leftover pie, affirming his title of pie king of pittsburgh. although they were sad to see us go so early, and we were sorry to take leave of their gracious hospitality, we had more roads to travel and further places to see. we packed our belongings and headed for pittsburgh proper.

as we neared city limits, r informed m of our approach to the steel city: pittsburgh. although r’s family on both sides hails from this place, it turns out that he is a terrible tour guide. ‘what’s that building?’ m inquired. ‘i don’t know.’ ‘what about that building?’ ‘don’t know,’ r responded. ‘wow, that’s a fine old building, what’s that?’ ‘i don’t know. let’s get to munhall.’

munhall cemetery on main street has been the burial place of the locals since the civil war veterans began to pass. r’s family had been caretakers of the cemetery for almost sixty years before his uncle bob retired from the position. the family gathered together in the multi-level house, keeping an eye over everyone who passes into the borough. nearly every family member that has died within r’s lifetime is buried in this cemetery, as well as at least a half dozen others that have lain there for decades. the place resonates of memories; the smell of the basement pool table, the chatter of laughter, the pull of the cemetery with its haunt and its charm, and stories…and stories…and stories…

visiting their gravesites is a suffering of the living body. r became enveloped in remorse and grief, an emotion almost too powerful to bear, yet r was unable to draw himself away. we sat and pulled a few weeds from the flower beds and brushed the dead grass from the stones. we unfurled the tangled American flags that adorned the veterans’ graves, recently placed in honor of memorial day. we shared some news and some sentiments, and left a few flowers of our own.

it was perhaps not so hot, but the humidity had us sweating by the time we finished climbing the hills of the cemetery. standing atop the tallest hill r pointed to the corner dairy in the adjacent lot. dell’s, r explained, had been the de facto gathering place of the youth of the town in his parents' day and the purveyors of the finest ice cream cones ever tasted. although the girls behind the counter are no longer impressed by the fact that his grandfather built the brick building where they now work, r was sure pap would have approved of the swirl on top.

just up main street is cuzzin’s café, a modest, corner bar owned by ron (cuz, as he is known to some--the bar was orignally a joint-effort between cousins--, bubu to others) and diane, longtime friends of r’s parents. she went to grade school with r’s mom, while he cut grass at the cemetery like so many other young men of the town. the clean, smoke-saturated bar welcomes a tight set of regulars, mostly grayhaired men with afternoon time on their hands and stories to get out. the door was tied open for circulation and now and then a pedestrian dipped their head in to holler some wisecrack to the bartender or a stoolpusher. diane came bubbling out from behind the bar all warmth and welcome, recognizing r by his mother's eyes. she sat down with us to hear the family news and genuinely marveled over all the recent developments r recounted.

just after uncle bud (another nicknamed native) arrived for lunch a thunderous downpour hit Munhall. it moved on after just a few strikes of lightning having given our car a thorough soak (only the bug plaster remained adhered like a foul cement to our bumper.) we toasted our gathering with rolling rock as we ate some house specialties: cheeseburger with grilled onions for r and a roast beef sandwich for m. we caught up with our uncle and learned that, as a member of the local american legion, he had helped decorate the cemetery with flags for the veterans.

after wishing everyone goodbye we headed back into pittsburgh en route to the andy warhol museum. warhol grew up in this city although it seems as though the city was not entirely thrilled by this fact. the museum was sparse and cavernous though well-intentioned. perhaps the most memorable item there was a vintage photo booth that sat in the basement. we giddily awaited the four-long strip of prints to drop into the dispenser fully developed while other visitors hustled past the booth en route to the restrooms largely unaware that this machine was not an exhibit: or was it? it was a most warhol-ian experience. from the museum we hopped onto the freeway and plugged in the coordinates for m’s sister near buffalo, new york.

*road hilarity interval* nine days into the vacation we participated in our first incident of absurdity. maybe its because we have never spent this much time together. maybe its because we’ve spent a lot of it in the car. and maybe its because we’re really starting to relax. but here’s the joke. as anyone who has ever traveled knows, there is a lot of roadkill along the open highway, especially near the wooded areas. we had just seen a few dead dear (carrion, as r learned) right in a row. shortly after, m spotted a deer that seemed poised to dart across the highway. it seemed as if it had just exited the parking lot to a home depot. ‘maybe,’ r said, ‘the home depot attracts a lot of deer. perhaps they like to build bookshelves to keep in the woods. ‘what they should build are battering rams,’ m replied. the laugh began deep in r’s belly, and instantly overtook his body. we soon erupted into uncontrollable laughter, the kind that makes your eyes water and your torso quiver. it carried on for miles, and we soon came upon a tollbooth, our faces red and dribbly with a laughter-spent look.

the incident served as a nice break in our vacation; the first leg (from the pacific to the east) was over. we would begin our atlantic adventures the next morning.