For Thursday, July 23, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 742 words

Keeping touch

I moved out of Pennsylvania exactly 20 years ago today, give or take a month. I've been back four times, but it has been seven years. A lot has changed. The old are older, the young are bigger, and people my age are a lot fatter.

It's great watching a family grow, watching people change roles. Children turn into parents, parents turn into grandparents, and the grandparents become great.

My older sister, Carol, who is just shy of 50 from the far side, had, along with her husband, Phil, four girls -- bing, bing, bing, bada-bing. Couldn't get a boy. They tried and tried. Perhaps they once pictured themselves as parents of two kids, a boy and a girl. It didn't work out that way. What worked out was Penny, Katie, Wendy, and Robin in quick succession. Today the girls are between the ages of 28 and 32. They're all married and all have kids. Guess what brand… Six boys. Not a daughter in the bunch.

My baby sister, Patty, has a mixed, happy lot of kids. She is mother to three teenagers, Danny, Cassie, and Nick, but has virtually adopted three or four neighborhood kids who prefer Patty's house to their own. She runs a noisy, door-slamming, feet-flying kind of house. Lots of sleepovers, backyard barbecues, and Sega.

Here comes the hard part. If I mention one great nephew, I will have to mention all six equally; otherwise, there will be a fuss. Thus, I introduce to you my great nephews: Devon, Jonathon, Buddy, Eric, Richie, and Philip.

Which one is the funniest, you ask? Who is the cutest? Which boy is the smartest? Whose child is most handsome? Hmm. Those are questions only a mother can answer.

We stayed two weeks with my mother, Susan and I. Mom took the foldout couch at the far end of her apartment, and Susan and I got her bed. There was no debating the issue.

Each morning, Mom was up at 5 a.m. sliding her slippers across the kitchen, making coffee and searching cabinets for the makings of yet another old-fashioned home-cooked breakfast. We usually started our mornings with biscuits and gravy, then worked outward toward eggs, fruit and cereals for variety.

Our daily activity list was easy to follow: go visit people. See everyone's house, eat everyone's cooking. We made the rounds as best we could. We saw all but one. I was happy to see that the girls and their husbands, Dewayne, Briant, Melvin, and Dapper, owned their own houses. Work is steady in Elk County.

Most of the work force in St. Marys is involved in powdered metals. Small specialty plants open regularly. The county is rich in tool-and-die guys. It's the regional skill.

The local garbage company is called Elk Waste. I took a picture of one of their dumpsters.

Another thing I did was get my mother and Carol onto the Internet. Now we can all email. Patty and I have been chatting regularly for a year now.

Imagine this: My mother at 73 had never used a computer. When she started, she couldn't click the mouse without moving it halfway across the screen. Susan and I worked with her each morning after breakfast. Before we left, Mom could write letters and print them, email, surf the web, and stay in live touch with her family and friends over ICQ. Just tonight I beeped my daughter in Sacramento only to find she was in a Q conference with my mother.

We did have one adventure. Susan kidnapped Mom, Patty, and me and took us wine tasting through New York. We ended up at Niagara Falls aboard the Maid of the Mist. We had intended only a 13-mile drive to the Wilcox winery and packed nothing. The winery was so much fun, however, that we continued north. We all fell asleep and Susan drove to Erie. She asked a local where the party side of town was and got us a room across the street from Scorchers, home of the hottest buffalo wings in the universe.

The next morning, after a stop at the pharmacy for deodorant and toothpaste, we pushed on to Niagara Falls. Susan had never seen it, and besides we all needed a bath. After a drenching aboard the Maid of the Mist, we drove back to PA and arrived late.

My homeland trip is over now, nothing left but the stories, and the 10 pounds.