We sat down at the bar and ordered wings, rings, and a couple of beers. There were two ladies bartending and only two older guys sitting on the corner to our left and a group of millennials on our right heavily tattooed and smelling of weed who left soon after we sat. On the far side of the bar was a large family at a table. That was it. The TV in the bar was of course showing the Pirates game. Todd found the Eagles game streaming on his phone and propped it up in front of us.

The karaoke started. A couple walked in. They each sang separately and then the dad from the large table got up and sang a few times. A couple of girls each sang too. We had a couple more beers. I don’t think I was drunk but I was loose enough to allow Courtney (the daughter of singing dad) to cajole us into singing a song. I have never, not ever, sang karaoke.

Bucket list I apparently never knew I needed. Todd and I sang Time’s a Wastin’. He fudged the lyric for which this post is named. I don’t know what happened but I just kept going. Courtney was so happy and cheering and I think I just loved her. She and her sister later sang Friends in Low Places WITH TODD and it was hilarious and I’VE GOT VIDEO. A great night with locals and I’m still sailing high from that experience. Move over American Idol, there’s a bar in Pittsburgh that’ll take me!

Got a late start on Saturday and went to a place called Mad Mex – “Funky. Fresh. Cal. Mex.”  The menu is monstrous and the food is fantastic. Todd had fajitas and I ordered the Mad Mex Bowl (I accidentally typed the last word as “bowel” and it cracked me up so now you can, too). And, also, the food did NOT have any undesirable side effects.)

Afterward, we drove to the nearby Walmart because I swear to GOD we always have to go to a Walmart. Todd forgot the charger for his Apple watch. Outsider’s take on driving around the Pittsburgh area: other drivers are generally and surprisingly courteous and will let you in, unlike the side of PA we come from where they will run you off the road before they let you merge.

The plan for the day was the Andy Warhol Museum, followed by Randyland. We arrived about 3:00 with two hours to spare before closing, parked in the lot across the street where the attendant’s booth was painted like a giant box of Brillo pads. As we drove to the back of the lot, there were two port-a-potties in the center, one in which a woman was sitting down with her skirt around her ankle. I love the city. (Sorry, no pictures.)

The Warhol Museum covers over seven floors – recommend starting at the top floor and working your way down. Having read about Warhol somewhere some time ago I knew some of his early history so it was both a refresher course and a reveal. So much to see. He had such an eye for humanity and raw emotion and a revolutionary way of showing this to the world. The best part of the tour? Todd’s behind-my-shoulder commentary on the techniques Andy Warhol used that surprised me – only because I often forget that my husband is trained in fine arts and taught for over 30 years. He knows this shit, and I’m not trying to flagrantly boast his talents when I say this. The fact that it surprises me at all should tell you all you need to know about us.

He’d come up next to me and he wasn’t teaching me so much as he was remarking on Warhol’s use of blah blah blah to achieve blah blah blah (yeah, okay, I listen but I DON’T remember)  and the paint markings of his fingers on this painting or that. Did he just give up on this painting? Was the result intended to appear abandoned or unfinished? We don’t TALK about stuff like this.

My favorite thing? The Jackie Kennedy pieces really moved me. There’s her smiling BEFORE, and then there are those where the sorrow and the stress she was under AFTER are so deeply profound I had to walk away with tears in my eyes.

We left there and drove to Randyland, a “vibrant hub of creativity, art, and community,” rising up out of a property Randy Gilson, a homeless advocate, purchased for $10,000 on a credit card in 1995. He utilized recycled materials like mannequins, old toys, and fixtures to create this outdoor mecca of art and murals that I’ve not seen anywhere else in all of my travels. There’s no cost to visit, but donations are welcomed. Street parking only. Again, no difficulties there – I don’t know if we were just lucky or if it was an “off” time to go.

We left there and hopped into a distillery tour at Wigle. Drove across the city and parked in their tiny lot (again, no difficulty – last space left). I’d read about Wigle and its founder in a book I’d bought last year (Dead Distillers by Colin Spoelman and David Haskell) and so was curious about the Whiskey Rebellion Tour. Our guide, Braxton, was The Bomb. He was the Hamilton version of the Wigle Whisky Tour.

We learned some history of the Rebellion in Pittsburgh and the who, what, where, and met some new folks who shared the experience with us whilst we all sweated our balls off. This guy next to me laughed about the “bung hole” of the barrel, admitting he always thinks it’s funny and I said, me, too! while trying to wipe the sweat dripping off the tendrils of my hair and fanning my sweat-slick arms in this sauna. We ended with four samples: rum, gin, and two bourbons. Todd and I bought about $200 worth of bourbon after.

Then we went to the bar on the other side and ordered some food – not an extensive menu but an empty restaurant/bar (on a Saturday night) meant extra attention and the food – Todd’s brisket slider (without the roll) and my rigatoni with vodka sauce were killer. Two couples walked into the bar as we were finishing, dressed like prohibition-era people in flapper dresses and 20s suits and I was here for it until one of them– obviously drunk already – said, oh she’s laughing at us like we’re nuts. First, I was NOT laughing and…Yeah, I was enjoying your lovely evening out until you tried to make me look like the problem.

That was our Saturday! We drove back to our two-room suite and went to bed and watched a movie. Got up the next morning bright and early for the free breakfast – and drove off down the Lincoln Highway.

We stopped in Shanksville, PA on the way back, to view the Flight 93 Memorial. We’d seen it on the way to Pittsburgh, as well as fields of windmills (also a sight to see). We arrived – I swear to all things holy, at 9:11 a.m. we pulled into (almost) an empty lot. Unplanned. The two other folks there left and it was just the two of us to walk up to this 93-foot tower containing 40 wind chimes (commemorating the 40 people on board who bravely charged the cockpit to take the plan down).

Those who know me well know my heart is in New York City, and 9/11 gutted me. Being in this place brought the reality home in a way I haven’t been able to experience. I still haven’t been to the World Trade Center since 9/11. It hasn’t been easy for a variety of reasons, but it’s still on my list of things I must do.

I acknowledged the blessed silence of the morning and the ability to experience this apart from the distraction of others. Just a soft breeze to rustle the grasses but not enough to wake the chimes of those who sacrificed their lives for untold others.

*edited to add Todd who also sang Friends in Low Places