Decay

It becomes terrible realization when a person begins to age and feels the effects of decay on their body. What was once so easy to do, have now become an adventure. Bones become brittle, joints become less mobile, muscles weaken, and the brain fogs. Time has a way of wearing on any living creature and has us recall their youth. Sometimes there is a desire to cast off the wisdom gathered from those learning and growing years to be able to frolic like a colt in springtime. Or to feel the yearning to retain the energy and stamina of a small child that still resides inside our aging shell.

Perhaps it is why God has allowed that desire to turn to him; that hope for something better than what we’ve become, a passion to regain the body that he designed as perfect for us. That is the body we shall gain when we are transported to heaven.

The decay was earned when Adam and Eve rebelled against God’s will and hearkened to the temptation of Satan. The taint of the fruit from the tree of knowing good and evil changed our perfect bodies that were created to live forever. I believe that the elements in that fruit changed mankind’s DNA, just like radiation can alter mankind’s genes.

Satan lured God’s creation, mankind, into committing the very same act of rebellion that caused God to exile Lucifer from an exalted post in heaven and cast him to earth. Satan beguiled the woman telling her the “ye shall be as gods.” He tempted them to sin. He wanted God’s perfect creatures to revolt against God’s will. Satan wanted to corrupt and destroy all of God’s creation. Satan’s anger is still directed at God and he attempts to thwart God’s will at every turn.

God has given mankind a gift of rejuvenation. Although the body will weaken, decay, and die, God sent his Son Jesus Christ to shed his blood on the cross at Golgotha to give us a second never-ending life in a perfect body. A eternal body that will never decay. The gift is free, the gift of a loving Father to his creation. Christ became the payment for the sin debt.God created Hell for Satan and those angels which chose to follow him in rebellion. The pit has been enlarged to accommodate mankind that chooses to live in sin and to continue to revolt and reject Christ as their redeemer.Are you tired of the aches and pains? There is a cure. God offers this gift freely.

Puffy

The problem started Friday evening when my lower legs began to swell. I have had edema in my left leg because of several varicose veins and is nothing unusual. I prop my leg up and as I sleep with my legs elevated during the night, the small amount of edema usually resolves itself. On Saturday, the swelling became more noticeable and involved both legs. As a retired nurse, I knew that there could be several causes. Trauma, but I’d had no injuries. Too much salt, that could be the culprit, because I ate at a local restaurant and had limited control over the sodium content. Another possibility could have been on Saturday I was on my feet much of the day with the activity or it could have been the wide variety of food served at the Miner Family Reunion. Even a small sampling from the many delicious dishes exposed me to multiple variations of salt context. When I woke Sunday morning, the edema hadn’t gone down.

Because I was part of the men’s ensemble to sing a special hymn, I couldn’t stay home and keep my feet elevated, so I wore a pair of the low ankle socks to try and lessen the constriction on my circulation. I also attended the Sunday night services. Much of the day I had been sitting without being able to elevate my feet.

Another problem that can cause leg edema is that the heart doesn’t pump as efficiently as it should and the blood pools in the lower extremities. I didn’t have accompanying chest pain or shortness of breath, but that thought remained in the back of my mind. Monday morning, the edema was still there and I called my primary care physician for a advice.

The appointment was set for Tuesday morning. By this time, much of the edema in my right leg has dissipated, but not in the left. There remained pitting edema in both, but the right had lessened during the night.

With no shortness of breath, no chest pain, and all of my vital signs: blood pressure, pulse and oxygen saturation within normal limits, the doctor decided that it was a combination of too much sitting, too much standing, and too much salt, so I guess I’m good for at least another hundred miles.

WOW, What a Week End

Another unusually busy weekend is behind me. This was the Minerd Reunion. With the multiple spellings and pronunciations of the name, I won’t have room to write a post if I shared them all. It is an event held every other year and draws cousins and other relatives out of the woodwork from all over the United States and probably Canada as well.

The reunion started Friday evening with an invitation to dine at the “Out of the Fire” restaurant. I used the word dine because it’s an establishment which serves fancier fare with prices to match. Of course anything more expensive than Subway or McDonalds is expensive to me. I’ve always said that I’m frugal, but my kids say I’m cheap. I don’t have a credit card, so cash or check keeps my expenses in check.

On Saturday, cousins from all over the United States gathered. Each person brought massive amounts of food, gifts, prizes, and display items. Photographs of ancestors, founding, fathers and mothers of our clan abounded. It amazed me to see the many branches represented by some folk I knew, but didn’t know they were related to me. Many others I didn’t know and were introduced in person or by history and photos. I marveled at the many people gathered, researched, and were able to expound on their branch of the family, knowing the birth places, travel, history, and grave locations. I believe that in olden days, our family would have been chroniclers and narrators going from village to village telling our tales.

I’m not a genealogist, but rather a purveyor of family stories. Who did what, who liked what, or what happened to whom? I don’t have the diligence or patience to ferret out ancestral lines. I much prefer to write about the meat and potatoes of family members. When my mom, Sybil Miner Beck developed Alzheimer’s disease, I noticed these tales were slipping away and when both of my parents died, so did many of the memories they once shared. This scared me into trying to preserve these stories which were so dear to me, passing them on to my children and grandchildren before I join them beyond the veil.

This was the first gathering that I attended. I became aware of the site through Mark Miner who is master of ceremonies and recently the common thread that binds much of this group together. He is the president of the reunion and founder of the family website. The site is National Minerd-Minard-Miner-Minor Website and Reunion.

I applaud all who I met and who have contributed so much over the years to keep the family ties strong. I  pray that these bonds will expand and draw us closer together.

“Finally brethren, farewell. Be perfect, be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace be with you.” II Corinthians 13:11

Mood Mixtures

Today, June 21 is the day of the year that there is the most sunshine during the twenty-four hours and the day of the year that nighttime is the shortest. Through the rest of the year, the daylight will ebb and the darkness of nighttime will increase. I know this because today would have been my Father’s birthday. One of his claims to fame was, “I was born on the longest day of the year.

He was born on June 21, 1923 in the small town of Champion, Pennsylvania, one of two sons of Edson Thomas Beck and Anna Nichols Kalp Beck. He had two sisters, Estella Beck Strawderman and Helen Beck Stahl. My Dad attended the Longwood School and was a 1942 graduate of Connellsville High School. Formerly employed at the Melcroft Mines, he later was employed for 29 years at Walworth in Greensburg. At age 58, He was hired at Robertshaw in New Stanton. After his retirement, he worked at Seven Springs as a shuttle bus driver. An Army veteran of World War II, he served in the Philippines, Japan and Australia. He was a member of the Normalville VFW and was a former member of the Saltlick Township Volunteer Fire Department. At one time he drove their ambulance and was so proud to serve the area and develop friendships with all of the great men of the fire department. He also was a member of the Indian Head Church of God and the Men's and Women's Sunday School Class.

I had no photos of my dad as a child until visited the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society to speak about writing and my books. I saw a photo hanging on the wall of the Longwood Schools and the students. I saw several faces that might be his. When I asked, they removed it from the wall and on the reverse side I found my Dad’s name. They made copies for me and I was thrilled.

Most of my Father’s military photos have been either misplaced or destroyed. I can remember going through them as a child. I was blessed to have worked with him at Walworth for nearly a year before enlisting in the Navy and also volunteered with him as a member of the Saltlick Volunteer Fire Department.

So, today is filled with mixed emotions, sadness at his departure, but also pride at having such a caring Father. He was a father that didn’t often say “I love you,” but lived it day after day.

Oldsters Listening to Old Song Memories

Last Friday evening I attended an event sponsored by the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society held at Brady’s Restaurant in Acme, Pennsylvania. Eats and entertainment was the recipe for the day. The evening started with food served buffet style. Salads delivered tour table after the blessing the food was given.  Stuffed chicken breast, ham slice, mashed potatoes, gravy, thick egg noodles, green beans, and a selection of pies and cake started the evening’s affair. The wait staff was attentive. After finishing the meal, two female singers tag-teamed the audience with renditions of classic songs, two women of Glitzando: Cathi Rhodes and Diane Paul.

I’m not quite at the age yet to have remembered all of the songs first hand, but my mother Sybil Beck would often sing parts of these older songs that coincided with something that had been said. Most of the tunes were very familiar to me. That trait is something that I still have sharing a story, a joke, or a chorus that parallels someone’s talking point. My daughters must have the same gene.

My table was at the edge of their performing area and I sat with several of my writing friends, a gentleman from the historical society, Bernie and his wife. It was a pleasant group of people and we chatted as we ate our meals.

It was time for the performance and Bernie became the master of ceremonies introducing the ladies. Apparently he’d previously been in theater productions with the two singers. Several times throughout the evening, the performers selected people from the audience to be on stage with them. It was to enhance their presence and to get the audience to be more engaged.

Of course, I being a ham joined them for two of their audience participation tunes. They had other persons who were coaxed onto the stage with them. It was during their patriotic segment a special man was lured to join them. Cathi read part of a past newsletter from the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society honoring this 94 year old veteran, Tom Dix. His survival from a minesweeper that was sunk during WWII was nothing less than a miracle. Of the 91 crewmembers, only he and 60 others survived.

The rest of the evening was filled with song and laughter. It passed all too quickly. I made my way home after shaking hands, giving hugs, and saying good night to many other familiar faces who’d attended the event. Thank you Cathi and Diane.

Father May I

With the recent celebration of Fathers’ Day, I decided to pay tribute to fathers everywhere. The first Father I would like to honor is out heavenly Father. The part of the triune being that is called the Father is the example of the perfect father, a being that is filled with love and compassion beyond human understanding. A being that hears our every thought, knows our every need, and gives us the exact things we need and the instant that is best. The Father sent his Son to suffer, bear our sins and iniquities to the cross, and to die an agonizing death to pay the sin debt that we owe. We were enslaved by besetting sins with no way to purchase our freedom, yet this Father God had compassion and asked Jesus to die in our stead and then to rise to lay the pathway for our redemption and way to enter Heaven.

I would also like to honor my earthly father Edson Carl Beck and all of the fathers in our family. None of them were perfect, but I have learned much from them. Their culture and their beliefs have helped to shape me into a loving father. I am far from perfect, but God is still working on me daily. I strive to do his will in my life and am blessed to know his Son as my personal Savior.

I am thankful to my son Andrew and my sons-in-law, Eric Yoder and James E. Prinkey. Andrew and his wife Renee are raising their daughters in the nurture and admonition of a loving home. They share the love of God, the perfect Father with them. The girls, Celine and Moriah both are home schooled and enjoy making music on their violins. Both are creative and beautiful young ladies.

Eric and Amanda Yoder are raising their daughter Hannah with solid biblical teaching. I am so grateful that they are loving parents and teaching her biblical truths. Hannah loves to sing and is teaching herself to play the piano. They have more children waiting in heaven, lost before they could be born, but they are loved all the same.

James and Anna have the love in their hearts to be good parents. They’ve lost two children, miscarried from the womb. Their desire for children is unabated, but James is a father none-the-less. It is a place where love and grief intermingle.

So, to all of the fathers, I wish the recent Father’s Day was a special part of your lives.

Laddie

When I hear the word Laddie, I and many others think of the Scottish word with the meaning of a young man. My wife Cindy Morrison Beck was of Scottish descent. Her ancestors came from the Isle of Lewis in the Hebrides Islands northwest of Scotland.

I also have memories associated with the word Laddie. My uncle Charles Bottomley owned a long haired dog of collie mixture. His shaggy coat was black with some brown patches on its body and a white star on its chest. My recollection was of my uncle on the porch laughing at Laddie and me. What caused him to laugh? I was holding Laddie’s chain leash and Uncle Charles called, “Here, Laddie.” When he did, the dog was off like a shot. I was pulled from my feet and suspended in the air like a flag before gravity claimed me and I was dragged behind this canine rocket. I was either too surprised or too stupid to let go of the leash.

The second memory falls back to a time when I was exploring in the woods behind our home. I heard a whimpering sound and followed it. I found a puppy in a decayed hollow space at the bottom of a tree. Carrying him back to our house, Sybil my mom said, “We can’t keep him.” Then she said, “Look at those paws. He’ll be huge. Let’s see if we can find him a home.”

I’m not sure who she asked, but the dog ended up at my grandparents Ray and Rebecca Miner’s farm. Grandma immediately called him Laddie. This could easily been the end of the story, but my grandfather had a way with animals and Laddie became his guardian angel. Laddie arrived at a good time, Granddad’s dementia was worsening. He would sometimes wander around the farm to care for animals that he no longer had. Laddie was his constant companion. Wherever Granddad strayed, Laddie was at his side.

The incident I recall occurred when Granddad got lost in a wooded section of his farm. When he didn’t come back to the house, Grandma became worried and called the family to search. They came and scoured the farm. They checked everywhere in the unused buildings and the rubble of the collapsed barn, then expanded the area to search the fields and woods. They found Laddie at Granddad’s feet, watching over him. When questioned, Granddad said, “I was tired and sat down to rest.”

Faded Memories

Often my mom, Sybil Miner Beck would tell stories of life as she grew up in Indian Head Pennsylvania. She was from a family of six sisters and two brothers, often telling tales of living on a farm and about her siblings. As with most families, some recollections were flattering and some were not, some were amusing and others quite sad. Frequently she shared anecdotes that made her family unique. These stories and sharing songs were an integral part of the person that was my mother.

Mom told us that when a suitor for one of her older sisters would come to the house he would sing, “Miner girls won’t you come out tonight.”

Mom would often sing a ditty that would correspond to something someone said. She regaled in sharing incidents from her past. Slowly, she lost this faculty. Alzheimer’s disease ate away at her ability to recall her past. Her life and intelligence became trapped somewhere inside of her. As the disease progressed, when we would remind her of a story she once told with relish, there was no connection. She would only mumble, “If you say so,” when we’d ask, “Isn’t that right, Mom?”

Her mental capacity had been in gradual decline, but sharply turned a corner after the death of her sister Violet Bottomley. She and Violet talked on the phone every morning. While they were chatting, Violet died. I believe that incident mentally tipped Mom over the edge causing her to become mean spirited and difficult to deal with. Later as my dad Carl tried to get her to do something she didn’t want to do she threatened to stab him with a large meat fork. He couldn’t care for her at home any longer and placed her into a nursing home with care 24 hours per day.

Granddad Raymond Miner died from the disease “hardening of the arteries” with accompanying dementia. It caused him to live in the past wanting to take care of his stock that was no longer there and to deal with farm memories used to be his life. Restlessly, he’d wander the house with thoughts of chores he needed to do.

Each one of his six daughters, Rachel Peck, Cora Hyatt, Violet Bottomley, Ina Nicholson, Sybil Beck, and Cosey Brothers eventually developed Alzheimer’s disease. Was it genetic? Neither Dale nor Ted lived long enough to have exhibited symptoms of the disease. These strong, vibrant women who cared for their own families were reduced to mental invalids that needed to be cared for until they died.

Poll-ish Calls

I am the first to admit I get upset with robot calls, scam calls, and solicitation calls. I have posted several rants about the plaque that so often interrupts almost every hour of the day. Poll calls are another interruption and a bane to my peaceful life of writing or watching television. I am often quick to dismiss the caller in a sarcastic curt manner before I return to the task at hand, but Saturday evening I must have been in need of a diversion, because I was actually polite and possibly amusing.

Late afternoon, the telephone rang. A woman with a delightful, polite voice asked if I would be willing to take a five minute poll and answer some questions for the Pennsylvania Fish and Wildlife Commission. I’m not sure if it was her voice or whether I was bored, but after a deep breath I agreed.

As I answered the questions, I discovered that the lady’s name was Clovis. She was from a metropolitan area of Virginia nearly 700 miles away. The questions she asked were about the deer and wild turkey population. The variety of questions revealed just how much of a city person she was. One question was what did I think of people feeding deer? I shared that some farmers planted corn or soybeans to provide browse for them, but it was necessary to explain what baiting an animal meant. She asked whether I lived in a city, small town, rural farm, or rural area and asked whether I looked for deer with a spotlight. I told her that I didn’t, but rather I looked for sign of trails or scat. Another question was whether I was bothered about deer droppings in my yard, whether I had deer encroaching on my property and eating plants, or whether I allowed hunting on my property. I shared my property was too small to hunt on.

During the conversation I explained wasting away disease in deer was worrisome and I’d seen deer with tumors. When asked about the amount of deer I said that depends where I hunted, but I often saw dead deer along the highway and suggested that the Game commission push more heavily a hotline to report and have the carcasses removes. Ticks were another area broached.

All in all, it was a pleasant conversation, ending by me sharing that I was an author and blogger. I gave her a brief synopsis of my writing and I shared my BlogSpot address. I know she was being paid to talk with me, but it became a pleasurable interruption of my evening.

I was thinking about D-day and the invasion of Normandy Beach. I pulled this poem from my files to honor the fallen soldiers and sailors that sacrificed so much to keep the despots in check and to keep the torch of freedom burning brightly. My salute to those fallen heroes.

 

Alone Now

She weeps

Tears fall

Folded flag

Held tightly

Remembering him.

Tall and strong

Young and alive

But no more.

 

She weeps

Broken hearted

Inconsolable, empty

Ribbons and medals

Clutched in hand

Remembering him.

Gentle lover

Protector

Helpmate

But no more.

 

She weeps

No comfort

Grief stricken

Unbearable pain

Remembering him.

Tender hero

Valiant knight

Blessed hope

To return no more. 

Perfect Landing

I was still fairly new at the Nursing Supervisor position, probably about two years being in that middle management role when something happened for which I’d never been trained nor had I been educated how to handle this emergency. My orientation to the position lasted only two days. Half of that first day of orientation, I followed Stella Wolak, a long time supervisor who rose from the rank of an anesthesia nurse at the old Frick Hospital located on the main street of Mt. Pleasant. The second half of the day, I was in charge of half of the hospital.

My second day of learning, I was in charge of the entire hospital. Stella was in the building in case I had any questions. My third and fourth day as supervisor, I was alone, in charge, and responsible for the entire hospital for the entire weekend. I was kind of thrown to the wolves in a sink or swim situation.

There were some hard and fast guidelines, but much of the time, a supervisor had to use past history, skills, intuition, and judgment when new situations arose or would fall into gray areas. Trial and error were sometimes my best teachers. Thus an incident for which there was a policy, but I wasn’t made aware of it. I had no inkling that one existed.

The emergency room was very busy with a variety of illnesses and accidents when they got a call that there was an auto accident with multiple injuries. Because our helipad was closest landing zone, the crew was transporting two of the most critical patients to be picked up there. Our helipad is only able to handle one helicopter at a time. I was in a quandary. Both helicopters would be landing within seconds of each other. What to do?

It was afternoon shift and the small parking lot adjoining the helipad was empty, there was the wind sock for the helipad and the fire department would already be there, so I had them cordon off the parking lot to accommodate the second incoming air ambulance. The helicopters landed, the patients arrived, were loaded, and the helicopters took off without incident. I thought I had done a good job, but the next day management pulled out their massive rule book and said, “There’s a policy about two helicopters landing. The second is to use a second site at nearby Frick Park.” Policies in a book are useful only if people are made aware of them.

I took the brow beating and managed to supervise for another twenty years or so. I still think I did a good job with the limited experience that I had under my belt.

Dead Men Tell No Tales

I may have shared this story before, but if so, bear with me. This event happened after I finished Boot Camp in the Great Lakes Naval Training Facility and after Corps School Training. My first assignment was to the hospital of the Naval Training Center in Orlando, Florida. My aunt Helen and Uncle Jake Stahl lived close by which made it convenient to visit them. I enjoyed the time I spent with them and my cousins and their families.

The corpsmen were housed together in several buildings on the training center’s property. My roommate’s name was Eric. A thin guy with wire rim glasses from Indianapolis, Indiana. He had a habit of letting chores build until he could wait no longer, then he would choose a weekend, and fueled by amphetamines, he would be in constant motion, which earned him the nickname of Buzz.

He owned a tan Volkswagen beetle and because he had wheels he was the main source of transportation for several of us when we left base. His friends liked marijuana, but their preference was hashish. I didn’t do drugs or even use alcohol. I was too much of a country bumpkin to try. Being a naïve bumpkin kept me out of a lot of trouble, but one time it almost cost me my life. What made it worse was my roommate and my “friends” were the ones who plotted to kill me.

The O.N.I. (Orlando Naval Intelligence) were investigating a report that several corpsmen were using drugs. Buzz and each of the “friends” were called in individually and questioned about their involvement. While being questioned, the investigator had a list of the names of suspects on the desk in front of him and one of the “friends” could read upside down. Each of the group members were listed but mine. My name was glaringly absent.

In their paranoia and fear, they initially reasoned that I was the informant and made plans to kill me, but I wasn’t in the barracks. I was visiting with my kinfolk that weekend. Coming back to the base, I was unaware of my assassination plot, but having the time to calm down and think more rationally, they decided that my name shouldn’t be on the list, because I’d never done drugs. I’d just chummed around with them. I was unaware of the plot until one evening Eric shared the entire scenario with me. But because of the grace of God, I am still alive today and able to share this story.