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On Wednesday evening, I attended the Marshall County FFA Ham, Bacon and Egg Sale at John Marshall High School. For the second consecutive year, I was able to purchase the Reserve Grand Champion Bacon, which I then donated back to the FFA Scholarship Fund.  This marked the fifth FFA event I have attended over the past two years, and with each event I am even more impressed with the young men and women I have had the pleasure of meeting. Let me take a minute to give you some insight into why I am so impressed with the FFA.  Shortly after I entered the school building and began looking over the 100-plus items up for auction, I was approached by John Horner.  John had the Reserve Grand Champion Bacon that I had purchased at last year’s event.  He greeted me with “Hello, Mr. Artimez.  I appreciate your coming.  I’m John Horner; you bought my bacon last year.  I just wanted to say thanks again.”  He looked me straight in the eye, firmly shook my hand, and walked away.  Next came Jack “JJ” Cain, the son of the principal at Cameron High School.  “Hello, Mr. Artimez.  Thanks for coming.  I have the Reserve Grand Champion Ham this year.  Hope you can bid on it.”  Another firm handshake. I walked from the display area and into the auditorium where the auction was going to take place.  After I sat down, I was approached by several other FFA members, most of whom called me by name.  Each of them thanked me for being there, told me of the items they had up for auction, and asked if they could get anything for me while we waited for the auction to begin.  One by one, the young men and women walked proudly across the stage, holding the items they had up for auction.  Local businesses and their owners, all eager to support the FFA, snatched up item after item.  Senate candidate Lisa Zukoff purchased the Grand Champion Ham.  Missy Knight of Knight’s Farm Supply bought several items, as did Carl Boso from Boso & Son Towing; John Hart of J&R Excavating and Mike Merinar, President of the Marshall County Farm Bureau.  The Reserve Grand Champion Bacon I purchased was the work of Hunter Aston, whose father owns the Pleasant Valley Store.  Hunter shook my hand and expressed his sincere gratitude, as did his father and grandfather as well. The FFA is in the business of preparing our young men and women for life in the real world.  Modern farming is a business, and FFA is preparing its students to run a business.  They maintain very detailed logs about their particular projects.  They maintain notebooks that include a journal of their daily activities, itemized income and expense reports, a detailed business plan and profit/loss statements for each project.  Students from the Cameron FFA have set state records for the number of awards received, and several students recently achieved national recognition for their work. Beyond that, kids who participate in the FFA are quite obviously taught the right values:  respect, courtesy, hard work.  In a society where we too often see our young people with their pants hanging halfway down their rear ends, hats on sideways with their heads buried in their cellphones, it is encouraging to know that in Marshall County, some of our children are still being taught about professionalism and respect.  Kudos to John Lockhart, Hattie DeBolt and all of the children, parents, businesses and individuals that support the FFA.

When I was a young girl (many, many years ago), I took piano lessons from a woman in St. Albans. I had not been taking lessons for very long  before she told my parents they might as well not waste their money, I was never going to be able to play the piano. I believe we always had a piano in our home.  My dad played by ear as did his sister, my Aunt Mary.  I wanted to play!  I sat down at the piano often, picking things out and really wanting to be able to play. So I decided I would learn how to play on my own.  My technique was terrible, my fingering horrible, my timing not too hot, but I kept it up.   I used a song I knew to see what the 4/4 or 3/4 notations I saw meant.  I realized it meant that between the bars, you should have four beats.  But sometimes I would look at the music and there were more than four notes in between the bars.  What was that all about?  I don’t remember how I figured it out, but I finally realized that a dot on a note meant hold it longer.  Little “flags” meant the note was played faster - the more flags, the faster you got off that note!  Now I know about whole, half, quarter, eighth notes, sixteenth and even 32 nd notes, but the first hymns I learned to play mostly had quarter notes or I could play it because I knew the  song and wasn’t worrying about how long I should hold the note. I was learning to play using a hymnal (of course). The first song I attempted to play was “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.”  Trust me on this - it didn’t sound like the song we sang at church.  So I was playing the correct notes, but something was wrong.  So then I saw these little things by the 4/4 time.  They were flats!  I was to hit the black note to the left of the note when I saw those.  Of course, my first song was in four flats.  Now I had to figure which notes I was supposed to flat.  I just played the melody line until it sounded right.  Later I learned that the flat was placed on the note in the key signature you were to flat. Next problem was I wanted to play with both hands – soprano and alto with my right hand and tenor and bass with my left, but all four at the same time!  Remember, I didn’t really read music.  I sat there playing with my right hand until I got the hang of that.  Then I tried with my left hand.  To this day, I have trouble playing just the left hand.  It seems my left hand was dependent on my right hand and I feel very awkward playing just the tenor and bass. I just branched out from there.  I would pick a hymn and pick it out with my right hand and then add the left hand.  I didn’t know one key from another, but I had the flats down pretty well.  Then I tried a song with a sharp.  Playing a sharp meant moving my finger UP to the black note, not down like a flat.  For years the most sharps I would play was two. I began playing for a little mission church in Nitro, W. Va.  They had no one at all, so I was literally better than nothing, although marginally!  Frankly, I was terrible!  Probably as many wrong notes as right ones, but eventually I got better. I practiced at home, always out of a hymnal.  To this day that is mostly what I play.  I could only play one sharp for a long time and then graduated to two.  But three sharps???  No way!!!  But I figured something out!  I could play the same notes, but play four flats instead of three sharps.  I was onto something!   I figured four flats and three sharps equal seven, so I tried it with four sharps and three flats and two sharps and five flats!  And now, I don’t care how many sharps a hymn has, I can do it in flats and no one is any wiser. When Clayton and I moved to St. Clairsville, we went to Thoburn United Methodist Church and I was interested in the organ.  They let me practice on it some and I listened to my friends, Carol Poston and Joyce Crouch to hear how they played the organ.  It is a totally different touch.  On the piano you can pick up your fingers and play.  On the organ you slide from note to note to make the sound even.  If you are reading this and you play organ, please excuse the incorrect descriptions of organ playing.  I didn’t take organ lessons either! So when Clayton’s office closed down and we needed additional income, I actually took a job as organist at a Lutheran church in Benwood.  I didn’t realize that a liturgical church service was very different from a Baptist church service, but the pastors and members there were very gracious and encouraging to me.  So I played there for several years and got some experience. I now play for First Baptist Church of Wheeling.  I feel I have a good sense of worship and play hymns well (most of the time). I don’t try to play “over my ability” and the church is very kind when I mess up. I had a strong desire to play the piano and the determination not to let it beat me.  Some would call that a hard-headed West Virginian.  They would be right.  But I love to play and am glad I stuck with it and learned.  I don’t claim to be a “pianist”.  I claim to be a woman who loves to play and loves the hymns I play every Sunday.  I don’t even care what key they are in now.

With spring just around the corner, thoughts of road trips and vacations have muddled my mind. One of my favorite vacation destination for years has been Niagara Falls.  The first time I visited Niagara Falls was in 1957 on the New York side.  I was 5 years old.  Though the falls were a miraculous sight to see, the thing that stands out in my memory is The Niagara Falls Museum.  I have been unable to find the exact location of the building in Niagara Falls, New York but I remember it was in a large older building with many steps up to the front door.  There were quite a lot of historical items about Niagara Falls, many Native American artifacts, skeletal remains of a mastodon and then within a room that had an eerie atmosphere were several glass display cases.  I walked up to one and gazed closely into the glass.  There it was, in all its creepy glory, bony human remains with arms folded across its chest, wrapped in what looked like dirty gauze.  A real live mummy!  I was mesmerized.  The sight was awful and yet fascinating and I think I stood there for as long as I could before my family pulled me away to the next section.  The memory of that sight stayed with me for many years and perhaps contributed to my fantasies of becoming an archeologist.  Which, by now, we know did not come to fruition. Recently, I went online to try to locate a picture of the building where the museum was located in the 1950s in New York.  Though I was unable to find anything about the building, what I did discover was so interesting that it prompted me to write a blog to share it. In the 1820s, Thomas Barnett built a museum by the Horseshoe Falls in Ontario, Canada.  Apparently the first museum was located at the base of the Horseshoe Falls, but then was relocated across the street from the falls.  Barnett was a collector of taxidermy and this is where he displayed his collection.  Barnett’s son also made several trips to Egypt where he purchased several mummies to add to the museum collection from a family who robbed a tomb filled with mummies in Luxor.  Stealing and selling mummies was a lucrative business in 1800 Egypt. In 1888, the museum had to relocate when the Niagara Parks Commission took possession of its location to develop the Queen Victoria Park.  Having no other suitable venue in Canada it relocated to the American side of the Falls.  I was unable to nail down the exact date when this happened but I know that it remained in New York until at least 1957, the year that my family was there.  Ironically, eventually the owners of the museum had to find yet another location when the U.S. Parks Authority assumed possession of the land on which the museum was located.  It then returned to the Canadian side and relocated in the building on Ferry Street in Ontario where the museum remains today.  However, it is not the same museum. In 1999, most of the Egyptian artifacts, including the mummies, were sold to the Michael C. Carlos Museum in Atlanta, Georgia.  This is where the story gets interesting.  (Finally, huh!)  The museum had a team of medical experts at the Emory University examine the mummies and with the aid of CT scans, X-rays, skull measurements and radio-carbon dating tests discovered that one of the mummies, specifically the one whose arms were folded high across its chest, was the remains of Pharaoh Ramesses I, founding pharaoh of ancient Egypt’s 19 th Dynasty.  After identification, the remains were then returned to Egypt in 2003 and are now on display at the Luxor Museum.  What a thrill it is to know that one of the mummies that I was so enthralled with so long ago may have been Pharaoh Ramesses I! Does anyone else have any memories to share about visiting The Niagara Falls Museum at Niagara Falls, New York during the 1950’s?  I would love to hear the stories.

Last year, I wrote to you about what it’s been like celebrating my birthday every year with the world on St. Patrick’s Day.There are many pros and cons, but it’s generally been a good day for all. Not only has the St. Patrick’s Day holiday been an extra special holiday for me and my family, in my younger days, I used to think the world was celebrating along with me because everyone was so happy and shouting --“Erin Go Bragh!”  After all, it was my very own cheer.  I did realize a few years later that my birthday being on St. Patrick’s Day did not necessarily entitle me to ownership of the holiday. Aside from the St. Patrick’s Day theme being my birthday signature, at some point in my teen years I became curious about astrology and horoscopes as many young people do.  I found that being a Pisces over the years and many of the stereotypical characteristics associated with the sign seemed to apply. We are compassionate, accepting, devoted and imaginative people.  We tend to be oversensitive and bit dreamy.  Admittedly, we sometimes need others to help keep us from dreaming too big. We will help others and be loyal, but we tend to want to fix others situations which many times can take a toll on the Pisces. We tend to be creative people and often try too hard to use that creativity to inspire others to fix their issues. Our surroundings tend to influence our moods.  What this means, is because we are made up with such compassionate feelings, we often take on the pressures of the world and it’s occurrences which ultimately can lead to emotional distress many times because how we feel about the matters, our desire to fix and this can be a very detrimental attribute. We are known to be very intuitive and a Pisces will always trust their gut feeling. So, this Pisces will make a prediction.  My gut feeling tells me you all will have the Luck of the Irish and a very Happy St. Patrick’s Day in 2016!!!

It’s funny how you meet people throughout your life. Some stay and some go, and some become your friends. I deal with all of the court clerks in the tri-state area and know each and every person by name. There are four counties that I have really good relationships with the girls. One weekend, the clerks from the Ohio County Circuit Clerk's Office in West Virginia and I went up to Seven Springs, Penn. for an extended weekend. It was a blast! We laughed to the point of tears, we talked about how we all met, we danced to a local band that was performing, we played games and laughed some more. Of course, we ate.  We had been trying to get together for a few years for an all girls weekend trip and we finally had a weekend that worked out for everyone. It was amazing and so much fun. I can’t thank them enough for the great time. I can’t wait until the next time we head out on a girls weekend. I’m truly blessed to have these ladies in my life. I am looking forward to picking a weekend for the next trip! The Springs are waiting for all of us! Special thanks to Freda, Janine, Tammy, BJ, Tracy and Janessa for making the weekend so much fun. Rock on people, rock on!

Do you need a DAYCATION? Well, I have the place for you.  You can travel to “Fallingwater,” located on Route 381, in Mill Run, Penn., and tour the home that Frank Lloyd Wright designed for the family of Pittsburgh department store owner, Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr. There are several amazing things about the home that was designed in 1935 and built in 1937.  The Kaufmanns ORIGINALLY requested Mr. Wright build the home to face the waterfall on the property.  But Wright went the extra mile and built the home to rise above the waterfall - thus the name “FALLINGWATER.” The Kaufmann Family used Fallingwater as their weekend home from 1937 thru 1963.  In 1963, Edgar J. Kaufmann, Jr. entrusted the contents and grounds to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy.  This home is the only major Frank Lloyd Wright work to come into the public domain with its setting, original furnishings and artwork intact.  Fallingwater was opened to the public in 1964. The concept that a home can be built over a waterfall and survive is quite remarkable.  Granted, Mr. Wright, of course, thought about the dampness and compensated for it.  The home was constructed of sandstone quarried on the property and was built by local craftsmen.  The stone serves to separate reinforced concrete “trays” dramatically cantilevered over the stream.  A guest and service wing was added in 1939 and it is located behind Fallingwater. You can visit www.fallingwater.org for additional details or you can call 724-329-8501 to schedule a visit.  The visit usually takes at least two hours on site.  Expect considerable walking because there are more than 100 steps.  If you require special assistance, just call ahead.  Good advice is to purchase your tickets at least two weeks in advance.  There is plenty of parking and then a short walk to the holding area.  In this area, there is a museum store with merchandise related to art, nature and architecture and a café with seasonal soups, salads, sandwiches and baked goods. There are bathroom facilities as well. The Winter Hours are:  the first two weekends in March, 10 a.m. – 3 p.m. --weather permitting.  They are even open on Easter Sunday from 1 – 4 p.m. The days and hours of operation are Mid-March through Thanksgiving weekend (from 10 a.m. - 4 p.m.), but they are closed on Wednesdays.  Fallingwater is closed in January and February, and on Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Fallingwater is located close to Ohio Pyle as well, which includes restaurants, shops and the Youghiogheny River. Have fun on your DAYCATION!!!

In 2008 I lost my dog, Molly. She was 14 when she passed away. Originally, I got her for my children thinking that all kids need a dog. Well, that wasn’t in Molly’s plan. She was a one-woman dog, and she made it very clear from the beginning that woman was me. She played with the kids but she would always come to wherever I was for a cuddle or the last bite of whatever I was eating. We were together every moment I was home. Where I was, she was. She slept with me, ate with me and followed me everywhere. In fact, she would follow me so closely, that the back of my calf would be wet from her nose. Molly would wait for me to sit in my rocker and jump up and lie down in the crook of my leg while I read or watched TV, or in many cases, with a child in my lap. She didn’t mind sharing. Molly was such a special dog, she even used the cat litter because she thought she was a cat! She even helped me clean, or at least she thought she was helping. Molly would follow me from room to room with a dust cloth in her mouth and wait patiently for me to finish. She would growl if anyone tried to take her cloth away. As funny as Molly was, she also loved oranges! I couldn’t eat one without her begging for a slice. The kids enjoyed that so much because I would throw her a piece and she would jump up and catch it mid-air. The only thing that she hated was getting a bath. On bath day I swear that dog was psychic! I would nonchalantly gather things for her bath and ignore her so she would think one of the kids was getting into the tub. She would just stare at me and then when I started to work my over to grab her, she would take off and hide in the smallest place possible so it was hard for me to get her out. I loved that silly dog so much! The day she died was so hard and unexpected. She was seemingly fine one moment and gone the next. Even after all these years I grieve for her still. Over the years I have thought about getting another dog but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Currently, I have three cats, and although I love cats, none of the ones I have were chosen by me. Two of my sons gifted me with them because they didn’t want cats. Jasmine’s (Minnie for short) mother abandoned her when she was just a couple of weeks old. My daughter-in-law nursed her with a bottle until she could be weaned. She is snow white and so cute that I just couldn’t say no when they asked me to keep her. Then, my oldest son gave me Twinkle (aka Fat Girl) because he said they were never home and she wasn’t getting enough attention. She is a multicolored gray with long hair and, you guessed it, fat. Not as fat as she used to be though. I put her on a diet so she’s slimmer now. Minnie’s benefactor also found a stray cat behind his grandmother-in-law’s house that was meowing pitifully in the dead of winter, so Pumpkin came to live with me, too. Yes, Pumpkin is orange and a rotten little boy who gleefully torments the other two and feels no remorse before, during or after his exploits—much to the disgust of the other two. From my earliest memories, I have always had dogs and cats and have loved every one of them. Although I miss Molly every day and only have cats now, somewhere in my future is another dog. I don’t know when or what kind, but someday I will get another dog; not to take Molly’s place because no one could, but perhaps one that needs a loving home who will be able to burrow its way into my heart and find its own place in my family.

When my daughters were teenagers, they both enjoyed playing in the fast- and slow-pitch softball leagues that are so popular in northern West Virginia. I’m sure my granddaughters will do the same.  It was certainly good for them--keeping them active and teaching them important lessons in sportsmanship, teamwork and commitment. But when I was growing up, these kinds of leagues were almost nonexistent.  That’s why sandlot ball helped to fill the gap. My best friend had a large, open field next to his house where we played ball.  I say “open,” but that’s not exactly true.  There was an apple tree in center field.  There was also a driveway that cut its way through almost all of left field.  But everybody quickly adjusted to these obstacles. Why?  Because your survival depending on avoiding low hanging branches and keeping your footing when you stepped onto the asphalt. There were plenty of kids in the neighborhood who enjoyed getting together for ball games.  We would play for hours and hours in the summertime.  Most days we wouldn’t leave until sunset.  Then we would grab our bikes and head home, looking forward to another game the next day. For many years, I was the catcher.  I don’t think it had anything to do with my talent.  I owned a catcher’s mitt, and as far as everybody else was concerned that meant I was fully qualified.  Home plate was only a few yards away from the garden that was faithfully planted and cared for every year by my best friend’s dad.  What he didn’t know was that I spent a lot of time in his garden.  Ostensibly I was looking for baseballs that had been foul tipped and found their way into all of the greenery.  But inevitably I would find myself in the strawberry patch, sampling handfuls of the choices berries as I searched in vain for the missing ball.  Home grown strawberries are the best! There were other adventures in store for us.  To the left of our sandlot was a pasture.  Needless to say, there were plenty of foul balls that veered left and ended up in the pasture.  As you probably guessed, the pasture wasn’t empty.  Thankfully, it was only used by milk cows.  But the patties they left behind made every trip into the pasture fraught with danger.  Occasionally, one of the cows would get hit with a ball, but nothing more would come of it than a startled cow and a loud, confused “moo.”  The worst thing was when you heard a loud, sloppy, “splat” when the ball hit the ground.  Then you knew somebody was going to get stuck with ball cleaning duty! As we grew bigger and stronger, we soon began to outgrow our sandlot.  Rather than quitting, we decided to switch from baseball to softball.  That way we couldn’t hit the ball quite so far. It was the best thing that could have happened to me.  I’ll admit that when we played baseball I was a pretty lousy hitter.  Striking me out wasn’t really rocket science--two fast balls, followed by a curve ball.  That’s all it took.  But when we switched to slow-pitch softball I found my groove.  I seemed to have a knack for putting the ball exactly where I wanted, and I could even hit for power.  We managed to squeeze several more years of play out of the old sandlot, and began dreaming of the big leagues. Then came that fateful day in the summer of ’77.  For reasons I can’t remember, we decided it would be a good idea to switch back for the day so we could play a game of baseball.  I was playing in the outfield, and somebody hit a high, high fly ball.  Too high.  It would never had gotten so high if we had been playing softball.  But there it was, and I ran as I hard as I could to get under it.  Alas, another fielder was running under it too.  We collided, and I broke the tibia in my right leg.  Everybody swears they could hear the snap of my bone breaking.  I honestly don’t remember.  I just collapsed.  Like a brave young lad, I tried to “walk it off.”  But my leg literally wouldn’t hold the weight and I fell back to the ground. I know this sounds like a sad ending to my story, but kids see things differently.  Here’s what I actually remember about the whole ordeal.  I was carried off the field to my best friend’s back porch.  While I waited for somebody to pick me up, my best friend’s mom brought out a tall glass of iced tea and homemade (yes, that’s right, homemade) donuts that she had just finished making in the deep fryer.  I don’t have any memory of the pain or disappointment I may have felt.  What I do remember is being surrounded by good friends and eating home-cooked delicacies that couldn’t be beat. Years later I played in a men’s league and had some exciting experiences, especially in tournament play.  But what I remember best is the sandlot.  That’s where friendships were forged and a young boy grew up.  That’s where lasting memories were made.  I still miss it, and I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything!

Growing up in Michigan taught me all about driving and going outside in below freezing temperatures. However, this winter, I have had to educate myself about the cold weather's effect on a new member of the Pasciak family, our eight-month-old puppy.  Over the past several years, my wife continually pushed for us to get a dog, but as someone who never had a dog growing up, I was hesitant.  However, this past summer, my mother-in-law saw a red female golden retriever for sale, which is exactly what my wife wanted.  As they say, the rest is history. My wife grew up with dogs, cats and even pigs, so she was already well aware of the responsibilities and joy associated with owning an animal.  I was quickly amazed with our little puppy's personality and how quickly I became attached to her.  However, this also required me to do some research regarding how to best take care of our new family member. One day in January, I was taking our puppy for a morning walk when she started sitting down more often and refusing to walk on one of her paws.  This trend continued the following morning, and I decided to search the Internet to figure out what was wrong.  The odd thing was that she loved the snow, had been outside for much longer on colder days, and never had a problem with cold weather.  I read several articles discussing the importance of taking pets inside during the cold winter months, but I could not figure out why her paws were hurting her on our walks and not when she was running around freely. Finally, I came across an article discussing salt's effects on dog's paws.  Based on my research, prolonged contact with salt can cause irritation and, in extreme circumstances, chemical burns on a dog's paw.  Moreover, the salt used on roads and sidewalks is usually not the same salt a person would find on their French fries.  While the salt is effective for clearing our roads, it should not be consumed, which creates a concern for dogs licking their salty paws. We have not had any problems since finding this information and now try to walk on the snow/grass and avoid salt patches.  While this may be old information to some dog owners, it was new to me, and I thought passing it on may be helpful to some of our readers.

I’ve always been a lover of all animals, but I’m definitely a “cat person.” I’ve had a cat in my life for as long as I can remember and I’ve been so fortunate to have them live to ripe old ages. I got my one cat, Gus, when I was in fourth grade and had him for two years after I was married. My other cat, Lacy, lived to be 20, and my current cat, Rascal, is 11. I can only hope and pray that I’ll have him for many more years to come because he’s my “furry son.” It’s not that I don’t like dogs, I do, but for some reason I have a fear of some breeds and have always found dogs to be high maintenance. And, with my busy lifestyle, cats are just so simple – they’re loving/loyal companions, yet independent and don’t require the “maintenance” that dogs do, allowing me to come/go as I please -- fill up their water/food bowls, make sure the litterbox is clean and you’re good to go. Then, I entered the offices of Bordas & Bordas and have now discovered three new passions – Caroline and “the boys,” Barley and Guinness…dogs. My friend and co-worker, Crystal, and I sit in the workspace where the dog crate is located, so we get to enjoy the company and shenanigans of the dogs on a daily basis.  For me, having them in the office creates a sense of peace/relaxation, makes for such a homey environment and always brings a smile to my face. There’s nothing cuter than when they come barreling in the office in the morning and make a bee-line for Crystal and me, tails wagging, tongues out, as if to say “Good morning, friends, I’m so excited to see you!” Now who can say they get that special treatment at work? Caroline is a chocolate lab and just the sweetest girl. She’s just like my cat – give her a good belly rub and a loving pat on the head and she’s happy. Barley and Guinness are brothers, Wheaten Terriers, and, like human siblings, couldn’t be more opposite in personality. Barley is sweet, timid, a bit on the nervous side and lower-energy, while Guinness is outgoing, high energy and a lover of the great outdoors. He can be quite the escape artist when left to his own devices, so we have to make sure the doors are secured when he’s around. When I need a break, I find solace in taking them out for brief walks around the grounds.  And, on the rare occasion when they don’t come into work, I miss them. I guess I’m officially a dog person now, too.

In 1981, I was a young, inexperienced high school graduate looking for my first job. There are not many job opportunities in my small hometown, so I applied for jobs at Reynolds Memorial Hospital and all of the banks in Moundsville.  I did not receive any job offers for a few months, but in early 1982 I received a call from my former high school business teacher who informed me that attorney G. Charles Hughes was looking for a good typist.  He told me that he had given me a good recommendation and that I would probably be hearing from Mr. Hughes.  True to his word, I received a call from Mr. Hughes one cold, snowy, January day in 1982, and I was asked to go to his office in Moundsville and take a typing test.   That same week, I received a job offer as a bank teller from United Bank where a friend was working.  Following my typing test, I did receive a job offer from Mr. Hughes as well, and I soon found myself faced with a decision--bank teller or legal secretary?  I can’t believe that it was actually a hard decision for me to make, but I was young and naïve.  I started my job as a legal secretary in February 1982 at G. Charles Hughes, L.C., 526 Seventh St., Moundsville, W. Va.  This is, of course, now the Moundsville office of Bordas & Bordas.  I have always had a love of antiques and all things “old” so the moment I very shyly and fearfully stepped inside the old “bank building” for my first day of work in 1982, I immediately loved the place.  At that time, the building actually housed two law offices—G. Charles Hughes, L.C., facing Seventh Street, and Madden & Whorton, in the rear of the building facing Court Avenue.  Madden & Whorton at that time consisted of attorneys John T. Madden, Mark A. Karl, and B. Michael Whorton.  As many of you know, John T. “Jack” Madden and Mark A. Karl went on to become Judges of the Second Judicial Circuit. I stayed with Mr. Hughes, or as we called him “Charlie” for a couple of years, took time off to start my family and returned to work for Charlie a second time before I moved on to other offices and a legal career that has now spanned 34 years.  In 2015, after taking a break from the legal field for a year and a half, I had the opportunity to jump back in.  The opening was with Bordas & Bordas and it was in the old bank building at 526 Seventh Street where I first got started all of those years ago.  When I stepped into the old bank building again all I could think was “wow”.  Still the same old bank building with the original bank vaults and teller windows, but also a much improved, beautifully and thoughtfully restored old building.   There are a lot of changes that have taken place in the building, but there are so many things that are the same and that bring back memories.  The old mural proclaiming the building as “The Merchants Bank of Glory,” which was painted for the movie Fools’ Parade that was filmed in Moundsville in 1971 is still here.   The original bank vaults are still here, and we still use the old vaults for file storage, just like we did in the 80s.  The spiral stairs were installed by Charlie to gain access to the “mezzanine,” which was his work room, and they are still here for access to the second floor.  What we use as a conference room now, was actually Charlie’s “good office” where he would meet with clients.  I could be wrong, but it looks like the original flooring is still in that office.  The area outside our conference room is where our photocopier stood in 1982 when we finally got one.  Believe it or not, copiers have not always been around and I remember using carbon paper between 2 sheets of paper to make a copy of a letter, which I would type on a typewriter instead of a computer.  Walking down the back hallway is the library area of our office and it is much the same as it was clear back in the early 80s because it was also our library area then, and one of the downstairs restrooms is still located where it used to be.  The part of this old building that is actually new to me is the upstairs, because most of that was occupied by Madden & Whorton.  We now have several roomy offices upstairs for attorneys and staff, so the building is very spacious. Being in this old, historic building brings back a lot of memories and I am so proud to be working here again.  I enjoy showing the building to clients and friends when they ask to see it and giving them a history lesson as we walk through.  It will always be special to me because it’s where a lifelong career began and where lifetime friendships were formed.  It was beautiful in 1982, and it is even more beautiful now.  I understand that it was in a state of disrepair when it was purchased by Bordas & Bordas.  I am so glad that they saw the potential and the beauty in this old place that I have always seen and decided to bring it back to its former glory.  Bordas & Bordas—you did this well.

All I wanted was a new color of paint in my living/dining room. Which lead to having all of the trim throughout the entire house painted white.  Which lead to replacing the old, ugly doorknobs on the closet doors, bathroom door and bedroom doors.  Which lead to replacing the ugly hinges on the doors.  Why not replace the old light switches and outlets for modern looking, white ones? Picking out the paint for the room took days on end and the purchase of $14 worth of sample paint.  I picked out new doorknobs and ordered those online.  I ordered the new hinges (chrome!) online.  Ordered all the switches, receptacles and covers online.  And don’t forget a new cover for the cable and phone outlets since they are not white. My son came over to help me out because the strike plates for the doors weren’t the same shape as the old ones and he had to cut out for the new ones.  While he was working on that, I was removing the old doorknobs.  We then made an attempt to install one of the new doorknobs.  It just so happens that the size of the hole necessary for a standard doorknob has changed since my house was built in 1971!  You can no longer buy a doorknob to fit in a 1 7/8” bore.  The standard bore for a doorknob now is 2 1/8”.  That meant the holes on every one of the doors had to be re-drilled. I found this nice, young man to come re-drill the doors.  Since I’m having someone who can do any number of home maintenance jobs come to the house, I might as well have him replace the faucet in the laundry room that has been broken for three years.  He might as well also fix the water to the back yard since I had no water in the back yard all last summer because the knob to turn the water on fell apart.  And why not have him do the wiring for the new switches.  I could do it myself but he could do it much faster and efficient. Then there is the matter of the pillows on the couch not looking great with the new paint color.  Now I am shopping for fabric to cover the pillows that I have.  Those old curtains need to go also.  More fabric shopping! What about wall décor?  I got sick of the shelves hanging in the dining room so now I have to do something on that wall and it is a pretty long wall.  I found a clock that comes in parts and sticks to the wall so you can make it as large as you want.  Ordered that online as well! So you see what I’m saying?  A decision to paint the living/dining room has snowballed into spending quite a bit more money than a couple gallons of paint.  Which reminds me, I really don’t like the style of my dining room table and chairs anymore!!  And on it goes – my snowball has grown into the abominable snowman.