Oh dear, Santa

I remember responding to an ad in the Tribune Review several years ago. It was for a "Character-Santa.” The ad was seeking “a naturally, full-bearded” man. It didn't say man, but I assumed that the ad was for a man, although my brother I have seen a woman who might fit the bill but that’s another story. The advertisement sought a person for “a local mall” to do a six or seven week promotion. The ad read, “Will train. Must love children.”

Since I was newly retired, I thought I might enjoy finding something to keep myself busy with my free time; something different and something part time or casual. This advertisement was for something that was definitely different.  I like people and who couldn’t use a few extra bucks. So I called the number that was listed.

I reached a woman in New Jersey. I shared the particulars of the ad, explaining that I would be under contract with them. The time of the promotion would be over Christmas and I would be the Santa Clause for Westmoreland Mall. I thought, “Cool, it was local.”

I asked how long would I have to grow the full beard, I had a goatee at that time. She said it would have to be ready for the Christmas season. I asked for further details and she shared that I would be expected to work from ten A. M. until nine P. M. with two meal breaks of thirty minutes each and two restroom breaks of fifteen minutes,

Of course I asked about the salary. The company would give me $7.500.00 in total for those six or seven weeks. She said they would bring me to New Jersey for training, but here's the kicker, I would have to work seven days a week. She did say that there were fewer hours on Sundays. Thank goodness. I was to send a photograph via email in three weeks when my beard was fuller.

“SEVEN DAYS A WEEK! That's just nuts.” I thought. She explained the reason was if a child came back to visit, the child would expect to see the same Santa waiting to greet them. I can see her point, but seven days a week. That’s one reason I retired, too many hours. This contract sounded as though all they needed to provide was a ball and chain like for the prison road gangs.

I didn’t send her a photo after to share how much growth I had, but thought I am going to play Santa to my grandchildren anyway. And my grandchildren didn’t have to be VERY good to sit on my lap anytime of the year.

Ash Wednesday Reposted.

Are You Catholic

This incident occurred while I was still working in the emergency room. It was B.C. era…it was the days before computers. When a doctor ordered an x-ray, the nurses would have to write the patient’s name, birthday, cubicle number, what part of the body was to be x-rayed and why it needed an x-ray on a small chit of paper. Then the nurse would have to hand carry the requisition to the radiology room and be given to the techs inside.

When I carried a request to the radiology room and turned to leave, one of the techs said, “If you see the priest, tell him to stop in and give us ashes on our foreheads. We also want him to bless the x-ray machine.” I recognized that it was Ash Wednesday.

Just as I reached the door, my odd sense of creativity and humor kicked in and I said, “You know, when the priest comes in, you guys could set up a confessional in the dark room. He can open the doors for exposed sins and the unexposed to give you your penance. As in all radiology rooms, there were film storage bins with doors marked as to whether the films were exposed or unexposed. My mind made the comparison to the Catholic confessional chamber with confessed and un-confessed sins.

I heard them laugh as I exited. Later in the day, I was carrying another chit for an x-ray to the techs. When I opened the door, the priest was already ensconced inside. The techs had ashes on their foreheads and one of the girls pointed at me and said, “There! That’s the one.” Apparently they’d told the priest what I had said about the darkroom.

The priest turned to me and asked, “Were you an altar boy?”.

“No.” I replied.

He tried again, “Are you Catholic?”

“No.” I answered again.

He tried one last time, “Do you want to be Catholic?”

My reply was again, “No!”

My response was almost lost in the two technicians’ loud laughter. The priest didn’t laugh, but I’m fairly sure that I saw a smile on his face.

Write or Wrong

I’ve been sitting and writing to finish several projects, so I’m glad that our church has recently padded the church pews. Although the old pews conformed to the body fairly well, an encounter from jury duty, sitting on their unpadded oak chairs and benches two years ago inflamed my sciatica that hasn’t settled yet. Using a pillow for church services became necessary until now. The padding has made a big improvement.

I’m in the midst of three writing projects. The first is my ever-pressing Blogspot. Completing and posting an article of between 350 to 450 words three times a week can be intimidating. My concern comes not with the amount of words, but coming up with something that is fresh and of interest to those who take the time to read my blog. It’s also often difficult to imagine a title that will catch the attention of new readers and keep old readers coming back.

The second project with a time crunch element involves the newsletter for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society in Stahlstown, Pennsylvania. Assembling an eight page newsletter with assorted topics isn’t easy. The effort to search for interesting local stories and then edit them to fit into the eight page format takes time. Local history, newspaper accounts, and photos must be gathered and presented in a concise, appealing way.

Choosing the proper font is another consideration. Too small and older people have difficulty reading the words. Too large and the information won’t fit in the eight pages of the newsletter. Sometimes articles must be rewritten and condensed while trying to retain the essence of the piece.

My latest project is finishing another book. It is a novella because it is shorter in length than a true book. I’m writing it as a sequel of the latest book I wrote, Addie. I had no plans to do a sequel, but I’ve had several people press me to read more about the characters in that book.

When I write I want anyone reading my words to be able feel the emotions of the characters. This time, I may not have people ask for a sequel, because it starts out with trouble and sadness.

The scenes of the new book are still local, set in the late 1950s. The story revolves around Addie’s son Ron having to return with his family to Mount Pleasant to work and to live. A chain of unfortunate circumstances force the family to move. As with Addie, I’ve done illustrations to enhance the readers’ enjoyment and aid in seeing things through my eyes.

Confusion of Uniting or Loss of Memory

I was reading a local blog that chronicles events from Connellsville, Pennsylvania. Most of the items are about people, places, or events. Those mentioned jostled my memory, but there were few things that were from times earlier or later than my years of attending high school. I was a mountain kid and somewhat separated from the places and occurrences in Connellsville proper.

I used to tease the “city kids” that I lived so far back in the mountains that we pumped the sunshine in and the moonshine out. Or I when I was harassed about living in the mountains, I would tell them, “We have signs in our bathrooms that say, ‘Flush twice. It’s a long way to Connellsville.’”

I started to write today’s blog when I saw obituaries of men and women that graduated a year before or a year after me and yet were complete strangers. Even some that graduated the same year I did, I didn’t recognize their face or by name. The year I graduated 1967, two school systems were thrust together, Connellsville and Dunbar. It was a traumatic time for all. A new school mascot, new school colors, new sports teams; both groups had to adjust and there was only our senior year to do it. It was wham, bam, and no time to think or say thank you, ma’am.

When we should have been concentrating on studying and making good grades to graduate, we had to learn how to fit together and remember new names and faces. I was never good at remembering names, so I felt doubly challenged. So if you happen to remember my name and associate it to this aging face, more power to you.

I somehow feel guilty when a person in my high school, in a class behind me or the year ahead passes away and I can’t recall seeing them or ever hearing of them, but our class size went from about two-hundred and fifty to double that at nearly five hundred. Remembering two-hundred and fifty new names and connecting them to faces when I only saw them only in the halls or occasionally shared a class would have been a giant undertaking even for a memory expert.

Another thing are my Facebook friends, many I’ve never met and I’m unsure of whether I should wish someone a happy birthday, especially old people like me. I don’t want to wish someone a happy birthday when they’ve passed away. That would make me look more stupid than I am or that I’ve entered the first stages of senility.

Shave and a Haircut

One of the Nursing Assistants at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant was named Kurt. His humor was warped to say the least. It wasn’t just inter-staff humor, but often reached into our patients’ lives as well. A male patient was admitted overnight for surgery the next day. He and his wife decided that they had as many children as they wanted and was for scheduled for a vasectomy in the morning. Yes, men were admitted overnight, kept for one day, and then discharged on the third day, a-a-ah, the fond memories when there was never enough hospital beds and sometimes patient beds were placed in the hallways, but that is another story. Now vasectomies are done in the physician’s office or in a short stay unit. Cut, nip, tuck, stitch, and send them on their way.

Kurt entered the man’s room with a basin, shaving cream, and a straight razor like barbers use to do a shave-prep on the man’s groin area. He set up his equipment on the over bed table, lathered the man’s pubic area, and began to shave him with a sharp, straight razor. We had safety razors, but some of the orderlies liked to demonstrate their skills and prowess by using a straight razor to whisk away the unwanted hair. No shaves necessary today. Hospitals have other means to remove hair and to prevent razor burn and possible sites for infections.

Kurt talked with the gentleman as he was performing his duty, paused halfway through the shaving, and told the man, “You know, if I slipped, you wouldn’t have to go to surgery tomorrow.” Then turned back to the task at hand, continuing to denude the man’s groin area.

I know it was true. The man was a friend of mine. He told me later, “I was thinking, was this man a nut case? Was he like the stories I heard of a local man John Borchin? Should I stop him and get up and run? But if I move….?” By then, Karl had finished his task and was cleaning up before leaving the room.

Maybe I Will Stay Home Today

Quite a few years ago, I made a resolution that I wouldn’t leave home if I was feeling grumpy, because no one wants to deal with a grumpy old man. So far it has worked quite well. If I am feeling a bit grouchy, I stay inside until I can rev up my engine and cross over to the sunny side of life. It happens when I have an appointment or have chores that needs done or a surprise ambushes me. Yesterday, I had to rev my engine because some paper chores and loose ends that needed tidied up, plus I needed to pick up my granddaughter after school.

I almost stayed home, when an amber alert flashed across my cell phone. A local youth was missing. The same make, model, color, and year of my recently purchased car was broadcast. I raced to the window be sure it was still in the driveway and plate numbers didn’t match. I was almost afraid to leave my house, concerned I may get stopped by the police. My car was there and there was no police interruption with my travels.

It was still too early to make the rendezvous with my granddaughter and decided to eat lunch. At the Valley Dairy in Mount Pleasant, I was waiting for my food, I noticed in the next booth two ladies. The one facing me looked slightly familiar, but there wasn’t a connection. After placing my order, I decided to make a necessary run to the restroom and to wash my hands. As I returned to my booth, I was surprised to see the woman who was sitting with her back to me was an old workmate. We started to chat and she invited me to sit with them.

We had a wonderful conversation, reminiscing and telling “war stories” from the hospital. The other gal was her cousin. I had a great time talking and eating. This chance meeting revved my happy higher and my grumpy completely disappeared.

I ducked into the dollar store next door. I was picking up my granddaughter later and needed to pick up snacks. The very first thing she asks is, “Did you get me a snack?” I always reply, “Did you say you wanted a smack?” She replies with a laugh, “No, Pappy. I said a snack.”

I bought two bags of triangle looking tortilla chips. One bag made from popped white cheddar corn and the other bag of kettle corn. Of course when we got to her house, we opened them and shared back and forth. They were fairly tasty…and for only a dollar a bag. Ha ha.

Pennies Nickels and Dimes Oh My

Money, money everywhere; it seems as though I find money everywhere. There is never enough money for me to splurge, and buy a house, a car, or even a meal at a fancy restaurant and the worst thing is, it’s nearly always mine. The windfall always occurs on laundry day when I am likely to find some money on the bottom of the washer or in the dryer. The denomination is usually a dime. I do have a sneaking suspicion that it is the same dime I shove into my pocket while I’m transferring the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer. I forget the dime is in my pocket and when I wash clothing the next time, it gets another ride in the laundry express.

I occasionally find a dime in the yard where I’ve pulled my car keys from my pants pocket where the dime manages to escape as well. This is a rare occurrence. It’s noticed much more easily when there is no snow. The coin is spotted on the grass or gravel driveway and not hidden in the snow.

The other place I often find coins is in my bedroom at the bottom of my bed. The money makes its escape as I shift the contents from the pockets of one pair of pants to the other. The coin bounces out of sight beneath the bed or beneath the dresser, although a dime or penny manages to hide in plain sight in the nap of the carpet.

In past posts, you’ve heard my rant about the designs of the new coinage. A five year old could have drawn the sketch for the etching to make the absolutely horrid designs. Coins for the United States from our past are nothing short of artistic treasures. Their silver and gold images are exceptional. They are beautiful almost to the point the owner would enjoy looking at them when they made transactions.

I slowly gather coins and my pockets fill. I don’t want to wear a hole in my pants pocket, so I count them, stack them, roll them, and take them to the bank when I’ve saved a few dollars. I did have a spat with my bank. I called the main office because they didn’t want to accept my rolled coins. It only happens once every several months. That irritated me and I threatened to take my banking elsewhere if they refused me. After all, it is still legal tender.

I wonder what piece of money I will find next.

Ride Ride Ride Let It Ride

This past week it has been on the road every day. Sometimes it has been giving rides to others, while other days it was driving myself to appointments. Monday, I needed to collect my granddaughter Hannah from school and take her home. We had a nice time talking and watching her play.

Tuesday was a gathering of our 1967 graduating class from Connellsville Area Senior High School. It was just an informal monthly get together to eat and talk. Attendance was light for this meeting, but we still had fun and shared stories and laughs.

Wednesday is the usual workday at The Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. Four hours of sorting and storing records. I also used some of the time to collect possible articles and interesting local stories of local occurrences for our next newsletter. It is always interesting to find buried information of people, places, and happenings of local history. Sometimes the stories have to be condensed while wishing more tales could be included. Many times it is difficult to choose which articles on which to report. So many historical moments are stored in our files. Deciding which ones to use often comes down to personal preferences and what the staff believes will interest the most number of readers.

We also list upcoming speakers and bus trips. There is a speaker on the Paranormal and a trip to Lancaster to see the play “Esther” at the Sight and Sound Theater in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Wednesday evening is the usual prayer meeting service at church. Thursday was an early rise and shine. My best friend needed a ride to an upper G I endoscopy and needed to be at the hospital at 630AM. UGH, I was awake, ate a light breakfast, showered and was at her front door by 545AM. I bumped into my cousin and another nurse I used to work with. Once the test was through, I drove her to pick up some new medications, then we stopped for breakfast. I like Valley Dairy’s home fries when they’re fried extra crispy. Once home I hauled in some firewood to keep my house toasty with the coming cold snap. I was able to catch a quick, but necessary regenerating nap. I relaxed while I finished reading a book I’d taken to the hospital as I waited. I do like to read the character of J. P. Beaumont, a homicide detective from Seattle, Washington written by J. A. Jance. His character sort of reminds me of my character, Tommy Two Shoes Minerd.

Delicious

I was tired and quickly fell asleep, just a short nap I thought. When I awoke, I thought, “I want to dream a bit more.” I want to go back and finish my dream. I’d been collecting a wide variety of chocolate treats. I had filled a large brown paper shopping bag to the very brim with a large number of these luscious brown delights. Cellophane wrapped Ding Dongs, Ho Ho’s, peanut butter eggs, chocolate covered wafer bars, and chocolate covered marshmallows filled the bag to overflowing.

I can remember for some reason I’d harvested chocolate covered marshmallows and I have no idea why. I don’t like eating them at all, even in a dream. However, I did remember not to gather any chocolate covered cherries. My mother-in-law Retha Morrison mistakenly thought that I actually liked Cello chocolate covered cherries and I was sure that I would find them wrapped up and under the Christmas tree somewhere. Since her death, my kids have carried on the “tradition” of making those sweet morsels appear at some other time during the year.

I thought that I’d turn the tables this Christmas and I bought small boxes of the Cello chocolate covered cherries that are bathed in the sweet liquid pool. I was going to pass them out at the Christmas dinner at my sister Kathy Basinger’s house for our annual gathering. But the joke was on me. Because of conflicts of interest, we were unable to find a mutual date for the meal.

Even though I’ve been generous with other people, I still have a stockpile of nearly a dozen boxes of chocolate covered cherries swathed in bright red Christmas wrapping paper in my living room close to my front door…just in case I can think of someone else to whom I can pass another gift of chocolate covered cherries. Are you interested?

Friday evening I went to a Valentine’s dinner at a local church with my daughter Amanda Yoder and her family. Monday evening I had a meal with my son Andrew and his family. Tuesday I went to lunch with a few of my Connellsville High School friends. I ate leftover meatball stew for several days to feed myself around the invitations of friends and family. I could get used to this. Anyone want to invite me to lunch? I have chocolate covered cherries.

Tried and True Versus Modern View

For quite some time I’ve been wondering about those who avoid using the King James Version of the Bible. They use remarks like, “It’s too old fashioned,” or “It’s too hard to understand,” or “It’s not relevant today,” and yet many of these same people will swoon over Shakespeare’s sonnets and plays and drool over other works that were written in the same time period. That doesn’t make any sense at all? I know in many things I am old fashioned and stubborn. I also know that I’m not perfect and struggle with the truths I find written in the Bible.

I don’t care who you are, unless you’re reading the most elementary book or article, you will find a word that sometimes has a hazy meaning or you wonder why the author chose to use that specific word, especially if it seems a bit out of place. I will look up its meaning and research the word or the sidebar. Then the meaning becomes clear and makes the entire passage more relevant.

The same thing is true with the King James Version of the Bible. If you search specific meanings, the passage takes on a much richer significance; a deepness that is often missed by the casual reader.

First Corinthians 1:27-31 “But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: That no flesh should glory in his presence. But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption: That, according as it is written, He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.”

Many of today’s religious leaders have chosen to use translations other than the King James Version. These other translations are often only summarizations the original text, sharing only the general idea of the passage. Too often these other translations have eliminated words, phrases, and sometimes entire verses or passages. I can’t understand how these leaders can justify doing this when the passage in the book of The Revelation, 22:18, 19 in the Bible strictly forbids adding or detracting words.

How can they explain using texts that eliminate parts of God’s Holy Word? What will they say when asked to give an account of this reason to God the Father.

Cheap Theatrics

I’m not sure of how many people watched the petulant face and action from Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi during the State of the Union Address on television. Her sour disposition may have been exacerbated by President Trump’s refusal to shake her hand. Was it a rebuff because of her tenacity to impeach him since his election into office? She was the spearhead for this movement, often prodded by those in her ranks who wanted the Commander-in-Chief removed at any cost.

Usually the GOP pulls its candidates from the “Good Old Boy” “Who’s Next” on the waiting list and the DNC has bright, new idea candidates. Not so this time. The DNC has a bevy of contenders, many new, some old, but all are rehashing the same move to the Left and Communism.

Nancy’s sanctimonious and icy visage peered over President Trump’s left shoulder like the angel of death. Her stare was pasted on almost as deeply as Tammy Faye Baker’s imitation of beauty. Her comment to the media after the State of the Union Address, his speech was all theatrics. Yet what was her response at the conclusion of his speech? She knew the cameras would be focused on him at that time and she tore her copy for all of America and foreign countries to see. I’m sure she meant to show her disdain and disrespect for Donald Trump, but we already knew her position after three long and torturous years of seeing her lemon soured face and hearing her unintelligent ramblings seeking Trump’s removal.

It was obvious that the theatrics to which she referred were the actions of reuniting of the combat veteran Sgt. 1st Class Williams with his family, the recognition of the Tuskeegee Airman, Charles McGee, and the presentation of the Presidential Medal of Freedom to Rush Limbaugh and other acts of recognition.

But I would much rather see this type of all American theatrics than the shady ones that are not being reported of by many media outlets. Did you know that before his speech, after the Iowa Caucus Pete Buttigieg went into the audience and handpicked six black women to stand behind him on stage when he spoke? I find that distressing and as disturbing as the entire political platform of the Left.

The Pelosi Schiff comedy routine suddenly struck a familiar note. Who else remembers the Punch and Judy puppet skits?

Who Would Have Thunk It

I marvel at the most recent news from the Iowa Caucus. The program that was to gather and relay the wishes of the voting Iowans failed the Democratic Party. It’s more than a full day later and their fail-safe system with a surefire back up process collapsed utterly. I wonder if they’ll ever be able to recapture the true number of votes cast by Iowans to select the Left leaning Socialist candidate that were actually selected? Or is the fix in again for the chosen nominee? Bernie Sanders “lost” to Hillary Rotten Clinton by the DNCs manipulation of ballots cast. Will this be another manipulation of the Democratic elite who know what is best for the voters and to ignore the desire of the American populace?

The ease of voting with an ap connected to the computer is erased when the process can be so readily be hacked and made insecure by manipulators hidden in the shadow of anonymity. An item added or deleted can misdirect the will of the voter without anyone being aware.

Closely on the heels of this fiasco is the fumble at the goal line with the Democrats attempt to impeach President Trump. Their coup started before Trump was elected and in the 3 years since, their failed attempts of destroying a duly elected president have littered the playing field with casualties.

A look back at the fiasco that occurred when gullible citizens of the United States were compelled to register for Obamacare shows more incompetencies. The entire system malfunctioned, overwhelmed by the sheer number of registrants. The American people were frustrated by the lack of foresight, the lack of preparedness, and wasted money by the government.

The firm Obama chose to create this nightmare program wasn’t American, but from a foreign entity. The system malfunctioned almost immediately. I’m not sure that it was ever designed to be able to handle the volume of customers or was it created to fail and to destroy the best health care delivery system in the world. I’m puzzled at the amount of personal information that was channeled into this Canadian data bank wasn’t handled more securely.

The government’s eye was on a forced, one-payer and universal health care. If the government could control healthcare, instill further travel restrictions with smart ID, register and eliminate weaponry, the Second Amendment would become moot. The result would be to control freedom of speech and religion granted in the First Amendment. It would cause America to become a third world country, entirely at the mercy of the hands of tyrants and despots. Their goal is a one world government with complete subservience of the world to their whim.

Dimples Pimples and Wrinkles

There are three physical phases that mark people’s advancement in age: dimples, pimples, and wrinkles. The first, dimples are really noticed as a child. Mother, aunts, and other matronly friends and relatives adore those wonderful crescent skin divots. “Aren’t they just the cutest things?” They may cry and descend on the unsuspecting child giving cheek pinches and forehead kisses. Well meaning they may be, but their uninvited intrusion on the child’s psyche and body may cause irreparable damage. These older gals sometimes don’t know their own strength and can bruise these poor children. And the kissing is little more than the spreading of nasty germs.

A bit later in each child’s life, hormones begin an assault on their body. Teenagers’ skin flushes with oils. The greasy film fills the pores and packs them with debris. Acne mars the skin and self confidence. Piles of these pimples pollute the face and body, marring the delicate egos of these insecure young adults. This plague has reached a point where the television is filled with hours of advertisements. They proclaim the advantages of scrubs, brushes, lotions, and ointments to prevent the damages from these blemishes and to restore the confidence of these young men and women.

The most recent homage paid to these blackheads and infectious pockets is the television series, “Dr. Pimple Popper.” As a nurse, I’ve seen my share of zits, furuncles, carbuncles, and pustules. The odor, the amount, and the toxic nature of the drainage will suffice me for a lifetime. I’m not sure what the fascination is with these shows and YouTube videos. Maybe people are just glad it’s not them.

Now to share my final point, wrinkles. I am talking about life-gained wrinkles, not just the ones a person can get on their hands from staying in the bathtub or pool too long, but the actual, age-earned wrinkles; wrinkles that have carved channels into the face, forehead, and hands. These chasms have been won by years of laughter, tears, and pain. Fleshly canyons that remain have been etched deeply into our hearts, souls, and skin. These emotional trenches map the past paths we’ve traveled,

Although the skin appears to have been roughened by these seemingly unending ripples, often the skin has become delicate and tissue paper thin. Has time worn away our protective layer? Is this skin more fragile that age hardened person still trapped inside? Volumes of history and vast experience are preserved in the pages of the person that is bound within.