The lights from the party boats on the Mon twinkled merrily off the water as the clocks ticked closer to the new year. It was merely cool at Point Park in Pittsburgh, far from the bone chilling of an 8:30 p.m. game at Heinz Field. In the other direction, in a luminary concert, were the lights on the Roberto Clemente, Rachel Carson and Andy Warhol bridges. All seemed fine in the world as 2016 starting pushing out 2015.
I knew it wasn’t. So I pretended that if I closed my ears and eyes hard enough, I could make like Dorothy, tap my cowboy boots three times and be transported home, back to a nice time and place.
Well, I was home. But it was still today.
Suddenly, with my eyes and ears still closed tight, a new sense stirred. My nose caught the smell of something from long ago and, for a brief moment, I thought perhaps my Dorothy wish had come true.
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