Almost

 Almost
This past week my brain has been slightly off. It hasn’t made me compleelly crazy yet, but the week isn’t over yet. I still have several days left. Monday I picked up my mail on my way home from shopping. I shared on FaceBook thyat I’d purchased holiday pint bottles of maple syrup in October feeling that I had gifts put away for my kids and the workers of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society, only to find that I can’t find them. Looking back, I believe that I was so tired after two days of frying sausage that I forgot to load them in my car. There is no other explanation, so I needed to buy gift cards as a poor substitute.
I went shopping to get a few needed groceries and had to make a second run a few days later because I forgot some needed things. Not a big problem, but I get upset with myself when some things were on my written lisst. That is very irksome.
My latest ALMOST dip into a world of forgetfulness was that I needed to get my vehicle inspected before the end of the year. The beginnings of this gap in my memory had its roots in the year 2023. My inspection month should have been October and I was driving to the end of November with an expired inspection and my mechanic said that because it was so close, that he would apply the inspection sticker for the month of December. There was no harm no foul, but it was a miscue for my memory.
I was driving over to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society on Wednesday for the ususal work day and exchange of Christmas cards and gifts when I noticed that the December inspection was due. I actually stopped along the road and callered my mechanic to see if he could fit me in. He was gracious enough to fit me in on Thursday morning. That was a blessing. I found out that he wasn’’t going to be open Christmas week and I was almost in violation again.

So Tempting

 So Tempting
We all face temptations in life, sometimes daily and sometimes it arrives unexpectedly, but they do come. It can be described as enticements, troubles, or trials. Satan doesn’t walk up to you, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you to the sin, he entices. He woos you a little at a time. Just like the fisherman with a lure. It isn’t the real thing, but a copy of something tasty, something good, something pleasant, but hidden there is the hook with barbs that pirce and hold on. It is a trap, a thing that bites, a thing that has consequences.
Temptation is the thing that often comes as a testing to see if we will keep our integrity. “Who will it hurt? Who will see it?” Satan asks as he whispers in our ears. “No one is looking.” It could be the lust of the flesh, greed for something that isn’t ours, or to try the taste of drugs or alcohol. Sometimes it causes us to move just one step closer to sin’s trap.
Temptation is sometimes a constant. It becomes an always present trial, hovering like a lion, waiting for an opening, waiting for the smallest weakening in our resolve. It can become persistent, seemingly growing stronger the more we resist it. Sin’s allure often seems pleasant with nothing to fear, but Satan doesn’t play fair. He plays for keeps.
But we have a companion that is faithfully at our side. We will never have to fight the battle on our own. God will give us everything that we need to escape and resist it. He will always enable us to have the victory. 1 Corinthians 15:57, “But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
God gives us an example of how to handle temptation of when Potiphar’s wife attempted to cause Joseph to sin. First he refused. She still persisted. Joseph recalled all that he had been taught about a holy righteous God and ran from the temptation. He was falsely jailed for his resisting sin, but God restored Joseph and rewarded him by raising him up to an even higher position.

As I Age

As I Age
As I age, I look back remembering many things of my past; cars with fender skirts and girls with poodle skirts. Then, the cars had clutches. Women carried clutch purses. Movies had lines like, “I have you in my clutches” and a lot of clutching went on in the back seat of the family car. Girls wore bobby socks on their feet and bobby pins in their hair. Guys knocked over pins at the bowling alleys and used cotter pins to build soap box cars.
We had hula hoops to swing and hula dancers swayed, competing for space on the dashboard with plastic saints. Behind many of the homes were outhouses and smoke houses, one, people hid to smoke and in the other people flavored and preserved their meats.
We had no drive-thru, only drive-in restaurants and drive-in movies. We played baseball calling balls and strikes while some grown up relatives (and kids) smoked Chesterfields and Lucky Strikes. The idea of the Marlboro man hadn’t been born yet.
Doors had porcelain, brass, or glass knobs. Some our cars sported knobs on the steering wheels. We “smoked” candy cigarettes and bubble gum cigars and no one worried. We had ball caps, cap guns, B. B. guns, and sling shots and played from sunrise to sunset.
Felix, the cat, Tom Terrific and His Mighty Wonder Dog, Manfred graced our black and white televisions. Kids wore Keds. Our skates were adjustable, had metal wheels, and fastened to the bottoms of our shoes. Our games weren’t electric. All we needed an empty field, places to hide, or a can to kick and have fun. Our games were powered by imagination, not with batteries.
Little boys kept garter snakes and grown-up girls wore garter belts to hold up their nylon stockings. Boys bought dime priced comic books and men collected match books. Girls played with dolls and women used make-up to look like dolls.
Telephones hung on the wall and had a crank handles. They were connected to a party line and we had to listen and count the number for our ring tones. There were no musical ring tones, no texting, no Google, no computers. The fanciest thing we had was a typewriter.
We fought with our best friends one day and did a sleep-over the next night. Bullies and fights were a part of life, even at school the brawlers were separated and sent in different directions, rarely were we sent home. If fighting was a reoccurring theme, the gym teacher might put boxing gloves on the guys and allow them to duke it out.
Kids brought guns and pocket knives to school. No one was shot or stabbed. We were taught right from wrong and the value of life. We were guided and controlled by our parents and teachers, not the government and its inflexible laws and set rules. Things were simpler and handled at a local level; parents, teachers, and school boards made the decisions for our education.
Times have changed, but can we say they have changed for the better? 

Powerless

Powerless
Last evening it was very cold with the temperature hovering about the twenty degree Farenheit and the wind made it feel much colder. The insult to the frigid situation was that our electric power company scheduled a downtime for an update to their system. The duration for the downtime was from 7:30 pm. To 10 30 pm. For many people that meant no lights, no ability to cook food, heat water, or to warm their homes. Why would they schedule a downtime during a bitter cold time of the year?
We older people don’t tolerate the cold very well any more.n three hours the temperature can drop considerably. Layers of clothing may help, but many people cannot tolerate such a drastic change. There are more than enough power outages caused by weather disasters to keep the linemen of the electric companies busy, why create more.
Now I will share my thoughts on what is actually going on. The governments are making an attempt to force citizens worldwide to rely on the power grid that they control. They would compel people to rely on unreliable sources of energy like solar and wind instead of carbon based fuel. They want to direct and control us. The powers-that-be can shut off our access to energy with the flip of a switch, unlike fuel that is more difficult for them to limit the ease and scope of our mobility. With every action attached to a power-cord, people are put on a leash. It will place a restrictive governor on mankind’s freedom and creativity.
With their control of the power-grid, at any moment they can cut off access to electricity and with the recently installed electricity meters, they have access to each individual meter. They can say, “You have reached your limit” or if you don’t do exactly as we say,” we are shutting off your electricity and we are unably to stop them.
Now that pushes my thoughts to last night. We had no say when the power company would stop the flow of electricity into our homes. Most people were unable heat their homes and were forced to face the frigid temperatures, they had no redress. Fortunately, the loss of electricity was for only hald an hour, but if there had been a problem, it could have been much longer. It is all about creating a tether to limit the choices and freedoms that we have in our lives.

Let's Eat

 Let’s Eat
Yesterday was another class luncheon for the Connellsville Area High School senior class. It was held at a local restaurant Bud Murphy’s. It’s never a large gathering. It fluctuates because of personal schedules. Ther may be as few as six or eight and may be as many as a dozen. This gathering was our Christmas get together with a cookie share time as the highlight of the event. Doesn’t that sound exciting?
One our members usually bring something to decorate if there is a holiday just to make the table look festive. Yesterday was no exception. Table cloth, table runner, and crafted bells brightened the usual restaurant table. Small candy cane gifts were distributed. Cocoa bombs were handed out as we waited for our wait person to take our orders and for the kitchen to prepare our meals.. And I mustn’t forget the after dinner chocolate covered Andes or York mints to freshen breaths after a meal that may be filled with onion oor garlic.
Since I’ve mentioned our wait person, let me say that only her age keeps her from being an integral part of our group. Heather is as off-the-wall as we are. I believe that she has taken special care of our group as well.
I thought it was an ugly-Christmas-sweater day. I was decked out in a red button-down shirt, Santa necktie, and a peaked Santa hat to shop for a few minutes before lunch time. It was great to greet people with “Merry Christmas” and watch them smile. While I was out buying a few things I bumped into my Sister Kathy Beck Basinger, her husband Doug, and a cousin Robin Beck. I had to stop and talk for a few minutes then hurried off.
I was glad to get home to finish the chore of butchering my deer. I started a batch of venison jerky and packaged the meat to freeze. Although I am glad to have some extraa food on hand, I am glad that chore is over. My right shoulder has become achy and sore. A deep ache remains in the muuscle and shoulder joint.
Now I must face the question “To be or not to be?” Will I put up my eight foot high Christmas tree or not. Putting the tree together is only a fourth of the Herculean task. There are the lights, the garland, and the hundreds of ornaments to hang in the branches. Once the holiday is over, I am faced with dismanteling the big green monster. If I don’t I will miss seeing the old Christmas heirlooms that usually dangle from the branches. Maybe I should throw a smal party and have my friends do the work. Merry Christmas.

I Need a Haircut

 I Need a Haircut
I need a haicut, badly. I don’t ean I need a poor quality haircutt, I mean it’s been well over a month since I had my last tonsorial appointment. When I was younger I had think sandy brown wavy hair, but as I’ve aged, I’ve lost the color and the thickness. The hairdresser I went to at that time had to use a set of scissors that would thin the amount of hair I had on top of my head. One day I aasked why he wasn’t thinning my hair? He said, “Nature is already doing that for you.” Thus began the downward spiral.
I’ve had many barbers over the course of my lifetime. The first barber I can remember was my Uncle Charles Bottomley. My dad Carl Beck would load my bother Ken and me into our car and we’d go to his hime in Mill Run, Pennsylvania to get each of us a haircut. I’m sure it was because my frugal dad got a discounted price.
The next barbers I had were paid for by Uncle Sam with them running the clippers over my head to remove all but an eigth on an inch of hair, if you can call that a haircut. It was more like shearing of sheep. The old joke with a barber asking, “Did you want to keep your hair?” And the barber hands a clump to the recruit.
My desire to get a haircut has caused me to try different barbers, even causing me to do some trimming of hair on my own. I don’t like the newer “trained” barbers/hairdressers. The education for many of the brand name haircutting establishments is to snap on different sized clipper covers and to run them through the customer’s hair like mini-lawnmowers.
My most recent barber/beautician closed her shop, but she just notified me that she’s reopened in her own home. It’s time for me to call her to make an appointment. She’ll need to give me the location of her business.
What caused my mind to set off on this journey other than the need for a haircut was the dream I had last night. The dream centered on getting a haircut. How I got to the shop and how I placed myself in the hands of a novice I’ll never know, but as I was in the middle of the haircut, the would-be barber walked off and his wife took over. I recognized the wife and know that she often gets wound-up to do some strange and weir things. I was in a panic… then I woke up. The need for a haircut remains and the need is coming to a head…my head.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

 Baby, It’s Cold Outside
The sudden cooldown after a warm ending to autumn caused me to remember my mom Sybil Miner Beck singing that old song,”Baby It’s Cold Outside” on cold mornings. With the temperature at 20 degrees Fahrenheit and a wind chill of minus 8 degrees, it’s way too cold for me. In my youth, school schedules were never delayed, just because it was cold. Only ice and snowy roads cancelled classes. I can remember walking to an unheated wooden bus shanty, huddling inside. At least we were out of the wind as we waited for the long yellow and black behemoth to arrive trailing a plume of steam and fumes. The brakes squealed as it stopped opening its folding door maw. We would hurry to be swallowed by it, joining fellow students for the ride to school happy for the small but welcome warmth inside.
My mom had a quirky trait of singing a chorus of a song when it matched something one of us kids would say. The song always had some tie in with what we had just said. She only did it at home for us, so I’ve always thought that it was special for the family. If she would have tried it in public, people probably would have thought her crazy. I must have thought that it was special, because I picked up her unusual trait and will often sing a few lines from a song, but I have added telling a story or sharing a joke that mimics some word in something that was said. I did this when I supervised at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. I’m not sure if anyone thought I should be wearing a straight jacket or not, but most of the time, it did bring a smile. Hopefully I made a fellow employee’s day go a bit better.
I decided my New Year’s resolution several years ago and have been practicing it ever since. That promise was “If I am grumpy, I don’t leave home. No one wants to deal with a grumpy old man.” So far, over the many years I’ve been able to keep it. I like that it makes many people smile when I share it. Those who enjoy it most are the cashiers at stores where I shop, especially around the busy Christmas holiday. The chatty cashier sometimes will occasionally share a horror story of a rude or irate customer that they had to deal with. So to my friends and readers, I challenge you to adopt the same New Year’s resolution. It helps to spread a smile.

Who Will Pull Santa's Sleigh This Year

 Who Will Pull Santa’s Sleigh?
It’s that time of the year again when hunters are all decked out in flourescent orange hunting coats and hats. They converge on the woods and fields in search of venison. I joined that throng of men, women, and youth who were trying to bag their prizes.
It was very cold this year. My Brother Ken took pity on me and allowed me to hunt from a hunting stand he built for my Dad Carl Beck. It is on the backside of Ken’s property. I don’t know whether to thank him or does he think I am too old to be traippsing around in the woods. I can say I was thankful because it was so cold and I’m a couch potato when it’s cold outside. He was also kind enough to put a small propane heater inside to mitigate the icy air outside. Sitting for two and a half hours and I saw onlly a gray squirrel and a few birds, I called it quits for the day;  if I sit much longer or I get cramps in my legs.
I don’t hunt on Sunday. I go to church and Sunday school in the morning and evening services later in the day. That is enough sitting for me. I don’t want to miss out and do without my afternoon nap. That just wouldn’t do.
Monday morning I was at home and heard several shots from the woods behind my house, A few minutes later I saw three does scurry across the road and into the field in front of my house. I don’t hunt there. That land is posted, but it spurred me to get dressed and drive to my Brother Ken’s house. I wasn’t sure that I would see anything there, but I knew I wouldn’t get a shot at anything inside of my house. So I drove to Ken’s place and hurried back to Dad’s hunting stand. It was later in the day and the temperature was about twenty-eight degrees Farenheit with just a whisper of a breeze. I didn’t light the propane heater. The hissing of the flame covered the sounds that any approaching deer might make. The stand was warm enough. It was protection from the cold and the breeze.
I got settled in the seat and had my rifle at the ready should any target come within range. I opened a bottle of water and began my vigil. The approach of the doe was silent. I saw a movement as she nibbled the tops of bushes and made her way towards me. The shot was loud in the confines of the stand, but who will pull Santa’s sleigh this year?

Just a Snow Globe

The following is a fictional story that became a part of our family history when my son Andrew thought it was real and the snow globe. Of course I went on line to find a globe and gave it to him for Christmas.

 Just a Cabin Snow Globe
Christmas was drawing near. I searched the attic until I found the old trunk filled with antique and fragile Christmas ornament heirlooms. They were bulbs that we’d stored away when the children were growing up. We feared that they’d be damaged or broken. Many had been handed down through several generations and were irreplaceable.
As our children grew, tree decorations became handmade Santas, cotton ball lambs, angels, candy canes, handprint ornaments, and Popsicle snowflakes. These child-inspired works of Christmas art became our holiday precious treasures. Now the children were gone, their ornaments were gone, and so was my wife.
Feeling the need to recapture and resurrect a happier time in my life, I looked for the trunk. I decided a Christmas tree might brighten my empty home. It was the first time in several years that I was feeling the need, and that old trunk held many reminders of our happier moments.
The tree was small. Soon it was festooned with the old fragile heirlooms and filled with just as many fragile memories. From among the wrappings, I pulled out plastic sleigh, reindeer, and Santa,. I gave its old spot on top of the bookcase. The ceramic Crèche was centered in its special place on the mantelpiece. I thought the storage trunk was empty until I spotted the shine of light on the curved surface of the snow globe.
Carefully I removed it from its wrappings. The globe had been hand blown. It was old before my wife and I bought it at a small antique shop. Inside was a small cabin nestled among several evergreens that would disappear in swirls of snow when the globe was shaken.
As my wife Cindy lifted it from its shelf, she said, “I love it. I’d like to live in a place like that someday.” So, we bought the globe.
In the past, I’d occasionally shake it to watch the snowstorm; I never really looked closely at it. I was about to shake it again when a small speck of color caught my eye. I’d never noticed it before and donned my glasses for a closer examination.
Surprised, I almost dropped the globe. Standing in the open doorway of the cabin was a woman, the same shape and coloration as Cindy. Her hand was raised in a wave. As I cradled the glass globe, I smiled a sad smile. She was finally in the cabin of her dreams.

Thanksgiving Gathering

 Thanksgiving Gathering
We celebrated Thanksgiving at my son-in-law Eric and daughter Amanda Yoder’s home in Mt. Pleasant Pennsylvania yesterday. Eric, Amanda, and their daughter Hannah greeted us at the door. The gathering mob consisted of my son Andrew, his wife Renee, their daughters Celine and Moriah, her sister Monica and husband Samuel, my daughter Anna Prinkey, and I filled Amanda’s diningroom and kitchen. Food lined the countertops and sideboard.
Eric likes to cook and made mashed potatoes, gravy, baked corn, maccaroni and cheese, stuffing balls, ham, turkey, and a meatloaf. Others brought pies, caseroles, and other tidbits to eat. To wash down the foods were different soda pops, ice water, grape juice, coffee, and tea. After the blessing, we made our rounds buffet style sampling a spoonfull of the different items. Some made a second round, choosing their favorite flavors. Sated, we sat and shared stories and family memories. There were new stories tossed in by Monica and Sam. After the food settled, the pie desserts were cut and passed out. Pumpkin, egg custard, apple, cherry, and pecan pies were sampled. Whipped cream or walnut caramel sauce crowned each slice.
The men claimed spots on the sofa and chairs in the living room talking shop and sharing more stories while the women gathered around the table to play an updated UNO game called “No Mercy.” The game soon had the players hands filled with cards. Laughter and silliness ensued. At one point, the drawing pile disappeared and a winner was announced.
Because Renee had to go to work in the morning, we broke up the gathering about eight pm and all went their separate ways after hugs and kisses were shared at the door. Leftovers in hand, we left and left the taking down of tables the Amanda, Eric, and Hannah. It was a wonderful time filled with the making on new memories and thoughts of thanksgiving.

Thankfulness

 Thankfulness
With all of the disrespect for America and the office of the President, both out-going and incoming presently being displayed, it makes my heart sick. It saddens my soul that so many people dislike Biden’s legacy and hate Donald Trump so much that they are willing to destroy America in the process of expressing their dissatisfaction. We should be thankful that we live in America. I don’t want this to be a political post, but rather a patriotic one that supports the United States and all of her citizens.
Donald Trump was put into office according to the rules of the election process, as was Obama, and all the others before him. I know that there are those who are still licking their wounds at Kamala Harris’ loss and are angry. They are grasping at straws, trying to wrangle a way for her to gain the Presidency. They fail to recognize that the Democratic National Committee unfairly wrested the possibility of a win from Joe Biden, allowing Kamala to run her flawed campaign. Kamala, in her bid for the Presidency, pushed Joe aside insulting a large number of hard-working, tax-paying, Bible-clutching, gun-toting American middle class people. It was to strengthen support of her followers. The “garbage” strenngthened their resolve and responded by voting for the only other alternative, Donald Trump.
It is hard for me to understand how this lingering anger at her loss has caused so much resentment although it seems less than Hillary’s loss. There are people who are rioting under the guise of protest often wearing masks like the criminals that they are.
It is nearly impossible for me to understand how state governors and city mayors can tell the police force to “stand down” in confrontational situations like this. These officials were elected to protect and serve all of their constituents and not just these criminals that are organized elsewhere, then bussed into their states and cities to riot and put their citizenry’s lives and property in peril.
I use the word riot and not the word protest, because that is what they have become. Martin Luther King Jr. protested, Rosa Parks protested, and neither of one of them assaulted another person. Neither one of them set a fire or looted a single business, but both stood up for what was right and demanded equality.
I am thankful that America gives us the freedom of speech where we can discuss our concerns and problems; without violence, without suppression of our voice, and without having “safe places or sanctuaries.” If there is something that you don’t like, do something positive to change it without destroying America, her values, or her freedoms.

All the World's a Stage

 All the World’s a Stage
William Shakespeare said all the world was a stage and the people in it actors, but I think that some people would be considered real characters. Some of the folk who would arrive at the emergency department when I worked at Frick hospital were called “frequent flyers.” They were repeat visitors; some as drug seekers, some were actually sick, while others wanted to be the center of interest, and then there were those who were just lonely.
We had a married couple who didn’t quite fall into any of these categories but straddled several. They came very close to be frequent flyers. I think they came just because they could come to the hospital and not have to pay for it. We named them Prince Charles and Princess Dianna. Charles and Dianna were their real names.
The closest thing to them having a royal escort occurred when Charles arrived in an ambulance accompanied by medical attendants. Charles and Dianna carried Pennsylvania’s yellow public assistance gold card. You’ve heard the commercial, “It’s the gold card, don’t leave home without it” and this couple never did.
Before anybody complains about my comment I just want to say there are people who are unable to work due to a disability and SHOULD have assistance. But there are other people who are able bodied and intelligent who should NOT be eligible.
I feel that Charles was one of the latter. He was intelligent and if he can have sex he’s able bodied enough to find a job. At an earlier visit he told me in the triage area, ‘I was teaching the old lady how to play chess tonight before we came in.” He had to have some smarts to play chess, right.
So, let me get back to the story. Charles was brought in by ambulance. As he was moved onto our bed, I noticed that under him was one of the dirtiest, filthiest, stained sheets I’ve ever seen and he was completely naked.  The spots on the sheet were not the pattern. He explained that he and his wife were having sex when his “back went out.”
He was given x-rays, medicated, and discharged. We gave him a pair of pajama bottoms because he’d arrived “au naturale” and a patient gown to wear home. He was to bring them back. I doubt that he did. We probably doubled his wardrobe.
He and Dianna had hardly disappeared through the exit door when she rushed back into the emergency room calling, “Where’s my sheet? Where’s my sheet? I need to put it back on the bed when we get home.”
We nurses looked at each other thinking the same thought. “Who’d put that filthy thing back onto the bed?” We shrugged, gloved up, and dug through the dirty linen bag to find her sheet. We gave it back stuffed inside of a plastic bag.

It Has Started Again

 It Has Started Again
Yesterday was the first snowfall of the winter. Although the trees hung heavy with the white snow, it proclaims that there is more to come. That means shoveling the snow out of my driveway and having to battle the snow plows to permit me to leave my home when I want or in case of an emergency. I’m never comfortable if I can’t leave my home.
When I slipped on some ice and fell in my drive in 2015, I wasn’t allowed to drive for a month. I really felt cabin fever, confined and isolated. My kids offered to drive me when I needed something, but it wasn’t the same for me having the freedom to come and go as I wanted. They threatened to take my car keys away from me.
Not because of snow, but post-operatively after my triple bypass surgery, I was unable to drive for nearly a month and a half. I felt like I was caged. If I needed groceries or anything else, I had to wait for someone to be free to take me. It was almoost like I was a useless caged animal. When you get old, you hate to be told what you can and cannot do and when. I did cheat and began driving one week before the doctor released me, but it was only two miles on back roads to church and back. My kids didn’t approve of my early escape escapades.
A couple of uears ago I had another unfortunate event that limited my driving. It was two years ago and developed double vision. I had just visited an optomatrist several days before the double vision occurred. I went to the emergency room thinking perhaps I had a stroke. They could find nothing to have caused the problem. Eventually I was ablt to get an appointment with an opthamologist. She thought I either had a spike in my blood pressure or blood sugar which caused my eye muscles to malfunction. I found out this malady didn’t keep me in the house. It didn’t stop me from driving, but it did limit the distance I would allow myself to drive; back roads and a few miles only.
So the cold winter winds and snow have started. The sad thing about the beauty of snow is that it is fleeting and quickly gets dirty. I become weary of it long before winter is over and spring arrives.

Are We Thabkful

 Are We Thankful
As the holiday of Thanksgiving grows closer, do we actually take the time to be really thankful for what we have? Most of us have so much to be thankful for and yet are the least thankful people in the world. Being born in the United States alone is one of the greatest blessings that can be imagined. The goodness of that fact is often lost in the everyday worries and chores that we have taken on with family and jobs. The fact that we have employment is something to be thankful for; too many people around the world do not have that option.
When we wnter and walk down the aisles of our local grocery stores we are surrounded by the blessings fill the shelves in a vast cornicopia. We have a wide variety of items from which to choose. Look at just one item bread. How many brands and how many flavors do we see? Are we thankful for our daily bread? We don’t have to eat our bread dry and plain. In one aisle away there are jars of jams, jellies, honey, peanut butters, and nearby there is butter, cheeses, lunch meats, and condiments, and in the condiments there are different brans of mustard, ketchup, or mayonnaise.
In the dairy case, how many sizes and types of milk can we find? They are making “milk” out of nuts and grains; crazy. And we haven’t gotten to the frozen sections of the store. There is everything in those ice caverns from entrees for dinner and breakfast to a huge selection of desserts and ice cream. There are snacks galore behind those wide glass doors.
When we stroll through the fresh fruit and vegetable displays, many people in other countries would not believe the selections of fresh products that are available to Americans. To some it would be like entering Disneyland where there eyes would be wide with disbelief and wonder. I havent shared the meat counters, the deli, or the candy and confection aisles. What about the crackers, cookies, and chip aisle with their shelves brimming with all sorts of tasty goodies?
We must not forget the paper product aisle. The selection of toilet paper staggers the mind, then there are napkins, paper or Styrofoam plates, plastic eating untesils so we can use them and toss them away. There is no need to wash and reuse.
Reach beyond being thankful and be grateful for all that we have.

Sunrise Sunset

Sunrise Sunset
Sunrise, Sunset. Sunrise, Sunset... Swiftly go the days. These are lines from the movie and play “Fiddler on the Roof.” To the east and to the west of my house, recently there has been many remarkable and astonishing sunrises and sunsets. The sky has been vividly painted with dramatic patterns and colors. The very clouds seem to have been set on fire and allowed to smolder, the coals seem alive with an intense burning appearance. If this represents the underside of heaven, I can’t imagine what the streets of heaven and heavenly mansions will be like.
I recentlyy read an article talking about the different gem stones that are mentioned in the Bible which God used to build those heavenly mansions. When scientists exposed those gems to pure light, they shine in beautiful rainbows while the diamonds and rubies not mentioned in the Word of God take on a black appearance. The Bible says that there will be no sun or moons. There will be no need them because of the radiance of God.
Gold will pave the heavenly streets. The things people covet while living here on earth will be so common that gold will be treated as if it is tar and gravel chips. The one thing we can be sure of is that there will be no potholes on those heavenly avenuesand there will be no need of PennDot to repair them.
There is one thing that I don’t understand and that is how the gold can be transparent. There is no darkness in heaven. How can light pass through the gold, because there can be no shadows. I guess that is one question among the many that I have to be answered. I’ll have to wait until I get there to see.
Most people are fearful of dying. I’m not anxious to step into the great beyond, but I can look forward to the time when time, tears, pain, sadness, hate, envy, hunger, thirst, jealousy, and the other evils of this world have disappeared, never to be seen, tasted, or felt ever again. We will be clothed in righteousness and have gained a perfect body. No diseases will be able to attack us. There will be no cancer and illnesses will no longer be a part of our vocabulary.
We shall have an eternity to live with God in those heavenlty mansions. The passage of time will be nonexistant. We won’t feel the wearing of years through the ages. There will no longer be the fear of death or the sting of the grave. Jesus has paid our entrance fee into heaven with His own blood.

Will My VOice Be Heard

 Will My Voice Be Heard?

Looking back to three years ago and recalling a trip to California, Yes OUR voices were heard. Thank you for listening and speaking out with your votes this year.
    When my friend and I visited her aunt near Sacramento, California, we wore our Trump hats and shirts. My friend’s aunt wore the Trump hat and shirt we’d brought her as a thank you gift for allowing us to stay at her home and as her birthday gift. I was pleasantly surprised about two things. One was that there was so much support for President Donald Trump. Almost everywhere we went from Lake Tahoe, to San Francisco, to Big Trees Park with giant sequoias, we were greeted pleasantly and enthusiastically. There were a few rude confrontational people who fussed about our garb. One was at Lake Tahoe where a man became agitated and tried to shame me. He became almost livid when I said I wouldn’t vote for a man with dementia.
    Another was in downtown San Francisco. A man was about to close the passenger door of the car with a cup of coffee on the roof. I mentioned it. When he climbed out to retrieve it, he turned to face and probably thank me, then recognized what I was wearing. Without a word, he climbed back into the car and sped off after the radio began to blast music, “F___ Trump.”
    I saw many friendly faces. One was a Navy Seal who said, “I’ll watch your back “as we strolled in the crowds.” It helped that it was earlier in the day. Many of those who “protest” and riot were probably still in bed where they couldn’t hide in the darkness.
    In San Francisco, we gave a man a Gospel tract. He said he’d tried several other religions before becoming a Christian. His job required him to drive through cities along the West Coast. He also said southern Oregon boasted a forest of Trump campaign yard signs.
    This past Monday, I was to gather my friend at car dealership. Her truck needed service. As I waited, I spoke with a gentleman who traveled along the East Coast for his job. He said as he drove up a ramp into New York City, he saw a building with a row of flagpoles on top. American flags alternated with Trump flags in downtown New York. He shared that he was quite surprised at the sight.
    Are we being lied to by the media and their pollsters? After their embarrassing misjudgment supporting Hillary Clinton, there is only one way to stop their power of misrepresentation of facts and that is to prove their ideals and attempts to direct Americans to swallow their lies as truth and that is to VOTE for Trump and have him win by an undeniable landslide.

Grave Tidings

 Grave Tidings

As expressive as the grave
and as stoic as a tomb,
eye sockets deep as a cave
cadaverous, gaunt and spare
seeking someone I assume
as he silently stands there.

Once in his youth he had smiled.
Once in his life he had joy,
but then he had been a child.
Life then he could understand
when he was only a boy
his world was held in his hand.

His clothing, dark and threadbare
his hat is tattered and worn.
A face mapped with lines of care,
he kneels at the black head stone
it is the right time to mourn.
Now he’s totally alone.

Alone, a terrible word.
Barren, abandoned, bereft
drawn to the place she’s stored.
Now that the life’s time is spent.
Tears for the ones who are left
when life has folded its tent.

Learning English

 Learning English
I am always surprised to see the number of people who live in other countries and visit my blog. It’s amazing to think that I started writing and posting so my children will have insight into my life and to the stories of my ancesters should they want to know about them. I know that I am saddened at the number of times I didn’t listen to my parents sharing stories of their family. I was just a stupid child and by not etching those memories into my mind are now lost forever. I very much regret the lost opportunities that I squandered because I was too busy and distracted by other fleeting things.
It was easy for me to learn the American English language. It was my parents' and grandparents’ native tongue. I’ve heard it from my infancy to the present date. I was taught it in school; how to spell it, how to write it, and how to speak it. English was necessary for me to go to college and in my career as a nurse. As I aged and slang words became part of the English language, I was there to add it. I’m not up to date on the computer slang or the newest generation’s jargon, but for the most part I can understand what is going on around me.
My punctuation is sometimes incorrect, but most often my spelling and my grammar is correct. I’ve told some of my readers who are from other areas and countries of the world, “if they want to learn American English, then become a reader of my blog. I don’t charge money to tutor those wishing to learn English and it will help them learn syntax, grammer, and word usage.
My writing and thoughts are spread over many subjects from things that happened in the past to things that are happening now. I began writing this blog to pass on memories of my grandparents, parents, and me on to my children. I wanted those memories to be available for my progeny, friends, and readers.
I want to thank those who read what I write. It is mutually beneficial. I make no money from these posts, but I covet readers. Those who read get entertained, they might delve into my warped mind, and those where English is not their mother tongue will get practice using everyday American English.
You are welcome to share this blog with others who might find it beneficial to learn English. The more readers I have, the happier I am. So make an old man ecstatic. Thank you for sharing my posts.

Slip SLidin' Away

 Slip Slidin’ Away
Sliding boards were fixtures in the playgrounds of my youth. Schools and parks had sliding boards, see saws, swings, “monkey bars,” and the “roundabouts’ or merry-go-rounds. These weren’t the rubber covered, plastic playground items like the playrrounds today. These were monsterous, man-made objects with metal-pipe bones, rusty-chain sinews, sawdust blood, and concrete pads for feet. There were no safety rails for climbing up to the top of the eight foor tall or taller metal sliding boards. The exposed metal sun baked in the midday sun waiting to roast any bare flesh that dared to use it.
If someone would jump off the seesaw, the other end would plummet hitting the ground so hard teeth would clatter shut. The “monkey-bar,” jungle gym rose from the playground like a skeleton of a naked high-rise apartment building. Often the rungs were wet with dew or rain allowing fingers to lose their grip and kids drop onto the hard earth below or riccochet off another iron pipe. Fingers would often be pinched in the rusty chains of the swing, tempting fate with the possibility of incurring the disease of lock-jaw or tetanus. And I havent mentioned the merry-go-round yet. There was nothing merry about that spinning disc of death. That spinning saucer was a risk everytime a kid climbed aboard when there was another “friend” there. That friewnd would do their best to spin the thing as fast as possible hoping that someone would fly off to their death or become dizzy and vomit. Aw yes, the wonderful playgrounds of my childhood. They were definitely not OSHA approved.
My first slidingboard memory was one on the playground in Sheridan, Illinois at the park of my Uncle Fred and Aunt Cora Miner Hyatt’s home. That metal monster seemed to be at least ten feet tall, but it did have metal handrails to assist the climber to the top. The flat metal slide would clutch at bare legs and arms, giving brush-burns to any unwary child.
There were other slides that I lubricated with sheets of waxed paper. The waxed paper minimized the drag and sped up the descent. The last slide I rode was the double humped metal camel at Mammoth Park, Pennsylvania. This beast was about one hundred feet long with a man-made bump near the middle. The steep descent would cause the rider to often lift into the air as he or she hurtled down the metal chute. The rider would shoot off the end of the slide into a muddy landing that could injure legs, arms, or butts. This amusement wasn’t for the fainthearted, but for youthful daredevils.

Prayers to Repair the Tears in the Fabric of the United States

 Prayers to Repair the Tears in the Fabric of the United States
There has been a lot of mud slinging and outright lies being hurled about one particular Presidential candidate and I am praying that cooler heads will prevail and the flames of discontent and disappointment will not be fanned by malcontents in Hollywood and in the media. Much of the derisiveness has been caused by the Left leaning populous. The assault on others that express their concern for the United States have been threatened and assaulted, in restaurants, in the streets, and there have been attempts to silence their freedom of speech the constant cry of “that offends me” has filled our eears, our work places and everyday life.
I pray this constant of assaults on the garenteed freedoms clearly defined in the Constitution of the United States will be silenced. I pray the wounds and sores caused by the constant friction between the Libeals and Conservatives can be heals. I pray that the tears in the fabric of unity can be repaired and that the ability to coexist can be instituted.
This election campaign has been ugly with the word s Nazi, dictator, and the name of Hitler have been often carelessly used. The saddest thing is the horrors that were once attrached to those terms has been cheapened and has lost the actual facts of history. The abject brutality of those terms is being lost in the battle of words. The potency of the real Holocaust is being diluted and forgotten.
It is hard to overlook the freguent use of those terms when the people who were once admired for their reporting of facts are now being told to recite and share the ideations of their owners in television, radio, and other media. In Russia the state controlled newspaper Pravda is mostly propoganda. Pravda means Truth and the Russian people often ask is it Truth or is it the truth?
Please join me in prayer that the rift caused by this election can be repaired and heal our great nation. Let the rancor that has been instigated by the misinformation be resolved and that the love of families and friends might be restored.

Saving the Innocent

 Saving the Innocent
Friday I attended the annual Veteran’s program at Mt. Carmel Church and Christian School. Each year since 1999 the teachers and students have prepared songs and recitations that share the ideals of our courageous men and women who have sacrificed themselves in past wars. These men and women gave their lives to keep the United States and much of the rest of the world free from tyranny.
This year was another remarkable celebration to remember those who gallantly gave their lives in an attempt to keep our freedom alive in the United States. These young men and women who participated in this program will hopefully recall this time that they honored and respected the valiant soldiers and sailors of Americas past conflicts and those who died to keep them safe.
Filling the pews in front of me were rows of children wearing clothing of reds, whites, and blues. These young, innocent faces would turn back searchimg for familiar people in the crowded pews of the audience of those who gathered to hear and see them recite. Parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles filled the rest of the auditorium. I met and spoke to a few who were not veterans or their spouses, but were there to join in the celebration of our brave men and women who were veterans.
As I sat there, I watched as the youngest children got restless as they gained their assigned seats. Many were searching for their parents. Their faces would light up when they recognized the people they sought. Their small hands would ezcitedly grasp the back of their pew with restless gestures, waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Innocence poured from their angelic faces.
I thought of the perverse people in the world who dared to siphon off that innocence and abuse the children. It angered me to believe that there are pedophile Draculas who would intentionally suck out the carefree time of childhood by trying to instill their perverted ways on these beautiful reflections of God. Too many adults wish to see these babes indoctrinated into the evils of the world. Leave these children alone. As parents and for those who love our children, we must become veterans in the war of morals and fight to preserve their innocence for as long as possible.

Aw Nuts

 Aw Nuts
There are many memories that I have about nuts. My Uncle Ted miner would collect walnuts and hickory nuts in the autumn and dry them in the attic my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s large farmhouse. When winter came, he would haul them to the basement, crack them with a hammer on a section of railroad rail and fill a five gallon bucket. He would carry them to the television room and pick out the nut meats. He would sell the nuts to women in the community of Indian Head, Pennsylvania for use in baking the Christmas cookies. He didn’t sell the butternuts. Grandma used them in her candied popcorn.
Another memory of nuts was the nuts sold in the department stores. Murphy’s and McCrory’s had a nut display just inside of their doors. The nuts incluned shelled peanuts, Spanish Peanuts, and cashews. The display rotated and was warmed aand illuminated by a spotliht. The aroma of the roasting nuts was like a siren song, and even though my parents, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck rarely bought them, it was nice to inhale the deliscious smell. Occcasionally someone would buy some and the salesperson would use a metal scoop to lift the chosen nuts, pour them into a white bag, and weigh the contents on a balancing scale.
I don’t bake cookies for Christmas, but instead have made different kinds of nut brittle. I have made peanut brittle, walnut brittle, cashew brittle, almond brittle, and pecan brittle. I make small boxes of the different candy to give as gifts. I no longer make the almond brittle. I think the almond nut flavor gets lost in the brittle. I’ve eaten some spiced and candied nuts and enjoyed their flavor. I may have to check out some of those recipes before Christmas.
My favorite cake is the carrot cake with the sour cream frosting and the cake batter filled with walnuts. I am a bit odd because I don’t like to have raisins in the cake. There is something about the texture of the raisins squishing as I chew. Isn’t that just nuts?
Aw Nuts
There are many memories that I have about nuts. My Uncle Ted miner would collect walnuts and hickory nuts in the autumn and dry them in the attic my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s large farmhouse. When winter came, he would haul them to the basement, crack them with a hammer on a section of railroad rail and fill a five gallon bucket. He would carry them to the television room and pick out the nut meats. He would sell the nuts to women in the community of Indian Head, Pennsylvania for use in baking the Christmas cookies. He didn’t sell the butternuts. Grandma used them in her candied popcorn.
Another memory of nuts was the nuts sold in the department stores. Murphy’s and McCrory’s had a nut display just inside of their doors. The nuts incluned shelled peanuts, Spanish Peanuts, and cashews. The display rotated and was warmed aand illuminated by a spotliht. The aroma of the roasting nuts was like a siren song, and even though my parents, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck rarely bought them, it was nice to inhale the deliscious smell. Occcasionally someone would buy some and the salesperson would use a metal scoop to lift the chosen nuts, pour them into a white bag, and weigh the contents on a balancing scale.
I don’t bake cookies for Christmas, but instead have made different kinds of nut brittle. I have made peanut brittle, walnut brittle, cashew brittle, almond brittle, and pecan brittle. I make small boxes of the different candy to give as gifts. I no longer make the almond brittle. I think the almond nut flavor gets lost in the brittle. I’ve eaten some spiced and candied nuts and enjoyed their flavor. I may have to check out some of those recipes before Christmas.
My favorite cake is the carrot cake with the sour cream frosting and the cake batter filled with walnuts. I am a bit odd because I don’t like to have raisins in the cake. There is something about the texture of the raisins squishing as I chew. Isn’t that just nuts?

The Hidden Miracle of Microchimerism

 The Hidden Miracle of Miocrochimerism
I found out about an event that occurs when a woman becomes pregnant. I haven’t done a lot of reading on the subject, but it’s an impressive fact. When a woman becomes pregnant and the child begins to form inside of her womb, some of the mother’s DNA crosses over the placental barrier and the infant’s DNA crosses into the mother’s bloodstream to become a permanent part of the mother’s make-up.
This fact came from a study that doctor’s made with women who had heart problems. The doctor’s initial thoughts were that the baby’s DNA was attacking the cells of the mother’s heart. They were in a quandry of what to do. But as they continued to study the phenomenon, they discovered that the infant’s DNA was actually rushing to its mother’s heart to try to heal the injury. The thought was so impressive that I had to step back. I had to think about this preservation miracle. It’s an amazing aspect of a woman’s pregnancy. The conclusion was hidden when the physicians evaluated the women by the fact that some of the women hadn’t written in their history that they were pregnant. On farther questioning, some of the women had an ectopic pregnancy, had a miscarriage, or had an abortion that hadn’t been reported to the doctors.
Those facts were astounding. It caused my mind to go into overdrive. Women who terminated their pregnancy decidin to abort a child that same child was now trying to heal and save the life of the woman who’d earlier casually aborted them. It was tragicaly ironic.
Margaret Sanger set into motion Planned Parenthood with the express purpose of destroying black children. She wanted to create an institution to carry out racial genocide. Think of the millions of innocent infants that have been terminated by this cruel and heartless woman and those who follow in her footsteps. Innocent blood remains on their hands. It saddens me to think of the mothers who are alive today even after they have chosen to kill their unborn children. I feel sad for the women who have no remorse destroying a life and actually take pride in the fact that they chose to abort a baby instead of allowing that unborn soul to live.

Blogging

 Blogging
I began to blog quite a few years ago mostly to share my life experiences and family stories of my relatives that were told to me of my parents, grandparents, and other kinfolk. I wanted to keep the past alive for my children and grandchildren because I didn’t listen closely to my relatives when they shared their stories and much to my dismay, many have been lost. Most of my stories will never be recovered unless someone shares a story with me or says something that jogs my memory.
Many of my blogs are about things that have happened to me. Some are the thoughts that I have about some subject or my take on what is happening. I try to share stories of my childhood, my school days, my time in the United Statres Navy, my college days, and my time working as a registered nurse. I share stories about other nurses, patients, and even doctors.
When I started writing my blog, I wrote a story every day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. It began to wear on me. I would struggle to think of new themes, new ideas, or remembering fresh stories. It became such a chore that I almost stopped writing altogether. I retreated and began to post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. My word count was 350 to 450 words per post. That limit was tolerable although there are still days I struggle.
I was talking to an acquaintance about my blog and gave him a business card. He just returned from Japan. As I talked with him, I brought the conversation to my blog. I asked him if he thought that some of his Japanese acquaintances could use my blog to improve their English. He asid that they did fairly well with their English, but thought that they might improve and learn some slang and how English was sritten to improve their skills. Being the person who wanted to increase my readership, I asked if he could mention my blog to them. He said that he would. We will see if my number count increases.
All in al to date I have made 2025 posts. The readership fluctuates, some days only a few, while other days the number is quite large. There is one part of my screen that lists the number of readers and what country they are from. Hopefully I will see some readers from Japan.

If You Build It They Will Come

 If You Build It They Will Come
My daughters Amanda Yoder and Anna Prinkey are using a wooden pallet, pieces of cardboard, and furring strips to construct a fake privy. Amanda volunteered to create a replica of an outhouse for her daughter Hannah’s school. The school needed one for the Halloween float and for a school play. My basement has been the design area, laboratory, and construction site for the portable potty. Screws and staples attach the wood and cardboard. Spray paint and magic markers are being used to simulate the weathered wood of the outside toilet. I almost got a high from the fumes, but I guess it is better than if the latrine was in use and stinking. The project is about eighty percent done with only the way for the toilet door to be securely closed. A fold in a long cardboard piece made the door’s hinge. Surgery using a box-cutter made the half-moon design and v-shaped notch ventillation spot at the top of the door. I’m not sure how Amanda is planning to transport this monstrous seven foot tall privy to the school. Maybe she can convince her brother-in-law James Prinkey to haul it in his truck, if not, you may see a Subaru driving along the highway with an outhouse being sticking out of the rear end.
Before indoor plumbing came into vogue, the outdoor privy was a home’s necessity. The wooden building was constructed to give privacy to the user. The slender shed was built to cover a deep hole in the ground and for the safety of the user. Every home had one, city dweller or out in the country. If the privy was in the city where there was no land to excavate a new hole or if it constructed of more permanent material, the cess pool would have to be emptied by “honey-dippers.” Honey-dippers were men who would for a fee, empty the waste products and dispose of it.
Spinder, flies, bees, and other insects found the outhouse a perfect place to set up residency, which made the trip to the toilet scary. The stink even masked by lime was unpleasant. Weather was another factor to consider, the heat of the summer increased the smell and activity of the insects and the winter chill on bare flesh could end up with frostbitten bottoms. Toilet paper was non-existent and corn cobs or catalogs were put into another use.
There may be one more evening of work at the construction site before the travelling toilet makes its maiden voyage to Mount Pleasant, Pennsylvania.

Autumn's Amazing Palette

 Autumn’s Amazing Palette
Every time I go outside, I am amazed at the bright colors and hues that have graced the trees around my home. This year, the transformation has been extended because of the cold snaps interspersed with periods of warmth and sunshine. Oaks, maples, aspen, beech, willows, wild cherry, and apple trees form nature’s quilt to cover slopes of western Pennsylvania.
The hills that were so very recently colored in a wide variety of greens, have tossed off that lush verdant cloak and donned a Joseph’s-coat-of-many-colors, but more flamboyantly. Each tree is covered in leaves of various shapes that have been assigned to that tree. The shapes shimmered and shone in the summer sun where shadows chased each other when the breezes stroked them. Their summer attire was beautiful, but it covered the rich hues that are inherent in each leaf.
In autumn, the green slowly recedes and the hidden becomes revealed in aall its majesty. Ever so slowly the colors blend. One hue fades and the other strengthens. Each leaf takes its time revealing one color after another. The breeze shifts the foliage’s position to change the entire presentation of the tree. The changing position in the shade and sunshine almost appear as the scales on a snake.
Is it any wonder that we are amazed with the world that God has created? It is an ever changing panorama of His intelligence and creativity. When we look around, it is surprising that God can create such a difference using the same ingredients: air, clouds, soil, rocks, and plants. They vary from deserts, mountains, jungles, seashores. The beauty is remarkable and yet so different
When our church group travelled out West, we’d comment on the beauty of the rocks, sand, and cacti. There would be locals who asked, “Where are you from?” We’d say Pennsylvania and more often than not, they’d say, “Trees. That would be so beautiful.”
We don’t take the time to really enjoy the land around us, but I believe that the colors of autumn can cause us to enjoy what God has given us.

Front Porch Sitting
There was a time not so long ago that when friends visited and the weather was nice, they sat on the front porch and talked. Often there was a bench-shaped swing that hung at the ends of long chains that were attached to the ceiling to support the swing. There were chairs of all sorts and in usable condition; many were mismatched. It was a shaded, cool area to gather, visit, renew friendships, talk and relax.
I remember my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s front porch. Her front porch was large with cinderblock half walls and tall pillars. It was tucked beneath two large evergreen trees. The cement block sides were topped with green wooden flower boxes filled with red geraniums. Two, painted green Adirondack chairs and a settee adorned the porch. Gram stored rolled up rugs on the settee in the winter. It made a warn nest to curl up inside, bundled in a rug cocoon when the inside of her home got too warm or noisey.
In many of past memories the front porch became a gathering place. It could have been the front porch a friend, a relative or even our own home. Many of us sat on the front porch to help to peel the husks off ears of corn, to shell peas, or to snap green beans, getting them ready to freeze or for canning. Doing the work outside only made sense. It kept the messiness outside where it would be easier to remove with just a broom.
 The work was a reason for people of all ages to sit, keep their hands busy, and yet it had the benefit of having time to talk and share their thoughts and memories. Too often we don’t take the time anymore to sit and talk. So many people have lost their families past history and closeness gained by that time together.
People don’t use the phrase of, “C’mon up and set a spell” anymore. We are too caught up in the hustle of daily living, if we can call the business of the rat race earning a living. Neighbors are no longer neighbors. They are strangers that just happen to live next door to where we live. We may know their names and wave to them on occasion when they are outside, but they haven’t become the friendly neighbors that neighbors once were.

What Makes an Ornament an Heirloom?

 What Makes an Ornament an Heirloom?
Each Christmas as I place my collection of Christmas ornaments on the tree, I think of the various ornaments that my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner would hang on her large fresh cut pine tree. My grandmother had beautiful ornaments of hand-strung beads. The beads were of various sizes and colors, shaped by wire into birdhouses, crosses, and stars. The glass balls would click softly as they were placed on the tree. She had snowflakes made of brightly colored thicker aluminum sheets that rustled as they were hung on the branch tips. There were hand-blown glass balls; some frosted, some mirrored, and some of see-through glass that nestled in the bare niches of the tree. Although I don’t have any of my grandmother’s treasures, I can see the images of that bright kaleidoscope in my mind’s eye.
I have ornaments that are my heirlooms and will be passed along to my children. Some will probably be given to my grandchildren. These are the ornaments that my children and grandchildren have made, such as photos and handmade decorations with their faces or writing that peek back from the branches of my tree. Hopefully these heirlooms will be added to their memory and be cherished to them as they are to me.
When my kids were growing up, my wife Cindy Morrison Beck and I bought each child a new Christmas ornament. As they grew older and were able to handle them safely, they became responsible to hang, remove, and store them. Their ornaments were kept separate and stored from year to year. When they married, those decorations went with them to their new home. They carried a bit of the Christmas tradition with them and started a Christmas tradition there.
So, what makes an ornament an heirloom? Is it the item’s condition of preservation? Is it the length of time that it has existed? Is it an heirloom because of the craftsmanship or from what it’s been made? I believe it’s something more fragile than glass or even paper. It’s the memories that were created and still cling to the ornament. May your Christmas be filled with heirlooms, Merry Christmas.

When the Lost is Found

 When the Lost Is Found
Can you remember the intense feeling of relief when you finally find something that you’ve misplaced; your wallet, your keys, your checkbook, or your glasses? Can you recall the feeling of that huge weight being lifted off your shoulders? A wave of comfort floods your being when that all consuming worry has been removed and is no longer a pressing concern.
In Luke 15:8-10 a woman lost a valuable silver coin. She was distressed and she lit a candle, swept every room, and searched every corner of her house. She couldn’t rest. When she found it, she was so elated that she called her friends and neighbors saying, “Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.”
In the same chapter a shepherd noticed that one of his hundred sheep was missing. He left the flock and diligently searched for the lost one. He returned to his trail, looking for signs where the sheep wandered away. When he found the lamb, he laid it across his shoulders, rejoicing that the lost sheep had been found. The shepherd went home and called his friends and neighbors, saying, “Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”
In a similar vein, there’s the story of the prodigal son. Luke shares the parable of a second-born son who approached his father asking for his share of his expected inheritance. He was bold enouugh to ask for his share of the wealth that his father earned before the father died. The father didn’t deny the son’s request, but gave it to him.
Immediately the young man left his home and fled to a far away country. He began to spend his inheritance on riotous living. He began to live a carefree life with wanton spending of the inheritance. The word wanton has a meaning of senseless lewdness. He bought “friends” to help him spend his money on extravagant spending for food and drink. His capricious lifestyle soon left him penniless and his “friends” deserted him when he was in need.
The young man found a job tending pigs. It got to the point he was eating what he was feeding to the hogs. Coming to his senses, he went home to his father. Instead of tunrning the son away, he greeted the boy with open arms. The father said, “For this my son who was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” The father made a feast and rejoiced for he who was lost is now found. The Bible says there is rejoicing in heaven when a lost soul accepts Christ as Saviour.

Beasts in the Buckwheat Patch

 Beasts in the Buckwheat Patch
Friday and Saturday I volunteered at the annual Buckwheat and Sausage Festival for the Ohiopyle Fire Department just like I have form ofer fifty years. The differfence this year was that my son Andrew Beck joined me. He picked me up and we rode together. We were able to talk and I shared the history of the places that we passed. It was dark and foggy and sometimes couldn’t seethe spots.
We found a place to park and joined the other volunteers inside of the firehall. Soon we had the griddles heating and more men arrived. It was chilly outside, but soon everyone was in tee shirts. Eventually we had to open the garage doors to cool the room down. It doesn’t take long for twelve 32X18 inch grills to warm a truck bay. When the doors opened, we could see our breath, but the cool air felt good.
Andrew said that he had to slam on his brakes to avoid a deer. On Saturday morning I had to do the same to avoid three deer as they emerged from the darkness and into my headlights. The crowd of diners started out as a rush but lulled into a trickle. We fried and took breaks. Leaning over the waist-high grills causes lower back pain. People weren’t created to stand in that position. Smokey the Bear visited and mingled with the customers. For the most part, even the children enjoyed Smokey’s visit. When the expected crowds thinned, Andrew and I got to come home about three pm. I was glad we’d sprnt the day together and talked.
Saturday as I drove to Ohiopyle, I couldn’t help but notice the fantastic clouds and sunrise. It was impressive and I wish someone would have been with me to take photos to share. There were already a few men were there and we started to heat the griddles. Let the games begin. Wrapped in an apron, the chore of flipping sausage patties went into full operation.
In the early afternoon, a second beaast appeared. It was a large gentleman who donned a Sasquatch costume and worked the crowd, selling photos of himself and customers for $2.00. It was another vendor to add to the others who sold their wares from tents.
I was glad to get home and shower the grease from my body and hair. The wonderful blessing each year is that from the lard, my hands get as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Adjusting

Adjusting
All of us need to adjust sometimes in our lives, whether it happens with folks as newlyweds, with new parents at the birth of a child, or the grief with the death of a parent, sibling, spouse, or God forbid the death of a child. These are major adjustments that we must make in order to continue living. But we must make hundreds of minor adjustments each day; from what to make for breakfast when there’s no milk for our cereal to what to wear when the clothing we wanted is in the laundry waiting to be washed.
During each day we readjust our clothing to fit more comfortably, adjust our seatbelts when we intend to drive our cars, or adjust the channel on the television set changing to the program we want to watch. I’m still adjusting to an experimental medication for a trial study with my diabetes. I’ve tolerated it farlywell. I’ve found several of the side effects are present and discomforting but no severe reactions yet. I’ll continue with the medication until the trail is over in November.
Because the medication is working almost too well, my PCP is worried that my blood sugar is too low, so I’ve halved some of my daily medications and try to adjust my insulin to parallel what I’ve eaten for supper. She would lke my morning fasting blood sugar to be nearer to 100 and sometimes I’ll drop down into the 70’s.
Before I started the experimental drug, if my blood sugar would drop anywhere 100, I would know it and often feel faint. I am careful and always have some candy near at hand.
Later today I plan to go to Ohiopyle to fry sausage for the Sausage and Buckwheat festival. I have volunteered to work there for fifty years, except when health issues have interferred.

Hey Bud What's Happening

 Hey Bud What’s Happening
Yesterday was another Connellsville Area Senior Highschool monthly get-together. It was a time of laughter and some tears. About eight peoplegathered to have lunch, tease, and talk. The topics may range from memories to what is happenng now. With all of us getiing older, the issue of our health and complaints of knee pain, back pain, and general aches will come up, but rather than to dwell on those things we make jokes and change the subject.
I shared that we purchased a memorial brick for the Cameron Park in Connellsville, Pennsylvania for a class mate who has graduated to his heavenly reward. It wasn’t a pleasant thought of John no longer being able to share a meal with us.
Sharing the receipt I got in the mail for the purchase of the brick caused a few tears, even our wait-person Heather was missing him and teased us about John’s now absent humor. Just before we finished eating, two younger, good-looking men entered and sat a table away from where we were gathered. Our loud teasing flowed over to them. We heard their conversation, which caused our interaction with them. It was their first time at Bud Murphy’s and as they perused the menu, we made suggestions, but jokingly “warned” them about Heather the wait-person.
As I said, the young men were handsome and one of our class ladies tried out her “cougar skin” and teased them, saying she needed a better view. I think she was still wound up about finding a dead battery in her car yesterday. I commented that at least the battery for her pacemaker wasn’t dead. It is a wonderful relief from the stress and strain to be with friends and let our hair down. (For those who still have hair and for others who have occasional “bad hair” days)
Before we left, I gave each of the men my business card. I am still writing in my blog and am trying to write another novel, so until I publish again, I pimp for readers of my old books and for those who read my blogspot.

Purity

 Purity
Not so long ago there was an advertisement for a certain laundry detergent. The magazine and television ads displayed a blue and white box with a photo of a mother holding a smiling infant in her arms. Its slogan proclaimed that Ivory Snow flakes were ninty-nine and forty-four percent pure. It was the soap to which mothers turned to safely clean their infant’s diapers and clothing. Ivory Snow wasn’t harsh for the baby’s skin, but really cleaned the soiled diapers for the infant’s tender bottom.
Today we hear gold and silver being advertised for sale either in coins, ingots, or jewelry with guarentees fof their percentage of purity. So mnay products are being labeled as pure: cooking oils, spices, salt, and we musn’t forget water. The advertisements for bottled waters are described as coming from fresh mountain streams, filtered mountain springs, unpolluted water from distant unspoiled lakes, or from exotic, far away islands.
Purity is prized by God. Moral purity is God’s standard. What God has defined as sin is still a sin no matter what mankind now says. Words that were not so long ago were considered crude and not fit to be said in normal conversations now flow out of even babies. The words are the crux of many of the popular songs and have gained entrance into television and movies. Wholesome movies with interesting plots have been replaced by salacious perversions of entertainment.
Music videos are just another way for musical hacks to sell their perversions to the younger generations. The advertisements and half time shows pander to sins and perversions. The everyday television advertisements all seem to try to use double entendre or perverted leanings to sell their products.
The perveyors of perversions are indoctrinating children by instilling false views on gender to children who are still learning to read. They are filling libraries with verbal pornography. They are contorting children’s thoughts into ideas that were considered a mental illness a decade ago. What was once a hidden sin is now openy and pridefully flaunted as normal.
The book of Philippians says to think on these things, truth, honesty, things that are just, pure, lovely, and of good report and virtue. The peace of God shall keep hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

What Are You Looking For

 What are You Looking For
With so much turmoil in the world today, people are looking for something secure, something safe, something that satisfies, but if they are looking for those things in the physical world, they will be sadly disappointed. If they are relying on health, see how quickly that has disappeared with the Covid 19 scare. If they are relying on finances, look how rapidly businesses were restricted or closed and jobs were lost. Knowledge and education, the schools were closed without warning. If people were trusting in the government, see how quickly they lost control to anarchists who looted and burned their cities. The very same government that refuses to take a stand against these criminals are trying to remove guaranteed Constitutional rights such as our freedom of speech (hate speech laws), the right to life (tax funded abortion clinics), the second amendment right to bear arms (government’s constant push to infringe with regulations on guns and ammunition), the assault on the first amendment of freedom of religion (not the false interpretation with freedom FROM religion, the assault on the biblical definition of marriage, of sex, of worshipping when and where we deem necessary). It has been proved over and over that anything worldly is built on shifting sand. It is only temporary, fleeting, and may crumble at any moment.True contentment, real joy, deep peace, genuine satisfaction, lasting delight cannot be found in these temporal things. Temporal things will be destroyed by rust, decay, and will continue to be worn away until they become useless and are cast aside.
God in His goodness has offered a gift, a generous gift. He offers this largesse of love to all who willingly accept it. It is the greatest gift ever given. God allowed His only begotten Son, Jesus to take on the form of a man, bear our sins, and die on the cross of Calvary. Jesus became the ransom for our sin debt that needed to be paid. Although He was sinless, He died to pay a debt he didn’t owe, that we accumulated, and a debt we couldn’t pay.
Through the death and resurrection, Jesus became the sacrificial offering that secured our joy, our peace, our security, and our home eternally. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more disappointments, no fear, and no more death. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh to the Father, but by me.” John 14:6.
Salvation is a gift. We can do nothing to earn it. All we need to do is to believe that Jesus paid that price and to accept it. “For God loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

Mirror Mirror On the Wall

 Mirror Mirror on the Wall
While I was talking on the phone to a cousin, we reminded each other of a few of our memories in the past. Her parents, Melvin and Estella Strawderman lived in the house next door to my grandparents, Edson and Anna Beck. Their homes were located in the small town of Indian Head, Pennsylvania. My grandparents’ home was brown Insulbrick and the Shirley’s parent’s home was sided with red Insulbrick.
Both homes were constructed from a larger farm house that had been torn down. From the lumber rescued they were able to build two. Estella and Shirley were caught in a flood in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. They almost perished when that home was destroyed by the rush of water. Erecting the new houses was necessary.
In the house Granddad Beck built was a short hallway connecting the kitchen to the “parlor.” The parlor was a room that was only used when “company” came. I guess we were company, because that’s where we sat when visiting. The itchy maroon material of the sofa would scratch my legs and yet I was expected to sit quietly without fidgeting when visiting them.
One redeeming quality with the visit was a pair of matching ornate gold-gilded framed mirrors that hung on opposing walls of the short hallway. It was the only exciting thing about the visit to my grandparents’ home. Looking into one mirror, I was able see an endless parade of receding reflections of myself.
My grandparents Ray and Rebecca Miner owned a farm. Grandma Miner had the same itchy material covering her sofa, but in blue. I was glad that we weren’t required to sit on it. I could play elsewhere in the house. Here, I was ablr to roam more freely. Knickknacks and other immensely interesting drew me to check things out. Grandpa Miner was known to tussle with the grandkids…even in the parlor.
Their sitting room was supposedly off limits all kids, but entering the forbidden territory was tolerated if I was quiet and just looked around. Grandma had a large mirror that hung above the floor model wood case radio. The mirror had three connected sections. The center part was a normal silver reflecting mirror, while two blue beautiful etched mirrored panels flanked each side. I was in awe of the deep blue color and impressed that it reflected an image as well. On top of the radio sat a shiny black ceramic cat that peered into a globe shaped glass fish bowl. The bowl was always empty, but iIt glistened when sunlight shone on it. The sunshine danced on the cat’s ebony surface.

Everyday Patriots

Everyday Patriots
We run into everyday patriots everywhere. They surround us: when we shop, when we go out to eat, or when we go to church. These people are for the most part go about their business everyday without thought of the important ideals they uphold. From farmers to food service workers, from truckers to teachers, from healthcare workers to hairdressers; all contribute to the fabric of society. We literally bump into them as we go to work, come home from work, and when we vacation. We may meet them when we have problems. If we need someone to repair a leaky roof or a leaky faucet, we can find them. In times of disaster or extreme weather conditions, we have linesmen, we have those who drive the snow plow trucks, and we have the National Guards. If we need emergency care they come to us: firemen, police, ambulance drivers, and paramedics. These men and women work, earn money, pay taxes, and create a stable environment. They form a national entity, a form of government, a national language, and core values that hold a country together.
An everyday patriot may be the postman that faithfully delivers the mail, the person who delivers fresh bread to the grocery store, then person who provides the produce at a roadside stand, or stocks the snacks in our minimarts. They are the folks who grease the gears and keep the cogs engaged that suppliy our daily needs. They are the checkout cashiers. They are the men and women who fill the shelves. They may be the butchers, the bakers, and the candlestick makers. They could be our vehicle’s mechanics. They could be mothers, grandmothers, fathers, or grandfathers. They can be the people uoi meet on the streets walking their dogs.
These everyday patriots are not superheroes in bold costumes, they are everyday patriots. They work, vote, raise their families, and make a community. They can be neighbors, workmates, and even strangers who do some kind deed or show a courtesy. They do their best to create a better world and share it with others. So I say, hooray to our everyday patriots and heroes. May God continue to bless their daily efforts to keep America strong and independent.

Nobody Loves You Like...

Nobody Loves You Like…
The words “I love you” sometimes easily tumble out of our mouths, almost meaningless in today’s society, but they are words to be held precious when they are uttered with real meaning. Like when a parent holds a newborn close and softly whispers those words or when a child hugs a parent’s legs, looks up, and says, “I loves you, Mommy” or “I loves you Daddy.” How about when we’ve found the perfect match and our hearts sing those very same words until they spill out and we take the step to draw that person even closer to us. Sometimes we use these words when a friend becomes so very close and dear to us.
There is another being who loves us with a love that is nearly impossible to describe. It is the love of God. It has existed from eternity past to eternity future. God has shared his desire to adopt us into his family, to make us one of his own. Just like the Prodigal son, God says come home. I allowed my only begotten Son to die that you can have eternal life.
What was unusual about God’s love…he sought us out when we were undeserving of love and not looking for his love. Our Creator offered it to us. We are his creation. He shaped us out of the dust of the ground. This Almighty being now pays attention to us who are only specks of dirt.
His love is universal, offering it to the entire world. The Bible says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. John 3:16, even though we were still steeped in our sin. Romans 5:8. The Bible also says, “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us…” 1 John 4:10.
It is a gift freely given. It is unearned and unmerited. Isaiah 64:6 says, “But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.” This is God’s view on what mankind can accomplish without him.
Hollywood and the laxness of our vocabulary has cheapened and diminished the power of words like awesome, glorious, and yes… even the word love.
 

Cowabunga Dude

 Cowabunga Dude
For those who are as old as I am or for those who are up to date on television history, you will remember the Howdy Doody Show. It was a kid’s program with a smiling freckle faced marionette named Howdy Doody and the emcee Buffalo Bob. Howdy was dressed in jeans and a gingham shirt while Bob had a fringed buckskin jacket. Later when television shows were colorized, we found out that Howdy had red hair and freckles.
Supporting characters we grew to love were the silent Clarabell the Clown, Chief Thunderthud, and Princess Summerfall Winterspring. One of the key words was Cowabubga to express surprise. There were other marionette and human characters as well as an audience of children.
This phrase word popped back into my vocabulary when Stephen the summer intern was helping to prepare for our church’s summer vacation Bible school. Once the theme for the skits and lessons were decided by our pastor, we began the task of rounding up and creating the props necessary to decorate the dais and classrooms. The theme was “on the farm,” with areas to represent silos, barns, farm market, and the interiors of farmhouses.
Sheep from past Christmas plays were extracted from storage, but our Pastor wanted life-sized cows to peer out of the baptistry. I was helping decorate elsewhere when I stumbled on Stephen and Pastor trying to create the cows. Their idea to use 2 x 4’s for the frame and heads of the cows seemed to be way too heavy and bulky. I saw several gallon-sized water jugs and noticed their shape of the bottoms was nearly the same shape as a cows nose, thus our “cows” took shape.
Since then I’ve teased Stephen with cow items like the candy Cow Tails, a cow greeting card, and Milk Duds. Last week I found a cow costume, full sized and adult. I couldn’t resist. It’s on its way the North Carolina where Stephen is completing his senior year at Ambassador Baptist College in Lattimore, North Carolina. Cowabunga dude, I hope you like it and that it brightens your day.

At the Point

At the Point
Have you ever arrived at a point in your life or a point in a task and you ask yourself, “What am I doing? Am I doing this task well enough, am I doing the job correctly, or has the task become so familiar that I can no longer tell the difference anymore?
Sometimes when I try to write the next pagees in a new book about a trapper and his dog, I am concerned about the writing. Not the plots, because the plots usually are good, but am I being too wordy as I explain and share my thoughts. Are they well enough for my readers to understand what I want them to see or am I sharing more than I need?
I try to share what my characters are thinking, what they are seeing, and their emotions. I want my readers to see things through my eyes. I want them to feel the same emotions that I am feeling. I want the story to seem real to them. I have friends who proof read. They help me to eliminate some of the extraneous thoughts, but occasionally, it will shallow the character and lessen the impact or the emotional connection with the character. Oh, well, my friends don’t always have the last say. I don’t mind when it streamlines the story by eliminating unnecessary rabbit trails and cuts out the tangents that occur when I write.
I have been collecting a number of stories. The themes in each are pieces of nostalgia with the plots cenetering about and around the time of the Christmas holidays. It is to be a series of short stories set in the 1940’s. Each tale shares the emotions of a lost husband or wife. The person who is left behind is drawn back to remember the lost loved one by an accidental scent, a song, a letter, a Christmas ornament, or a Christmas card.
I will continue to write these short stories hoping and praying that I can create something that is enjoyable with a touch nostalgia tossed in to prevent boredom. I pray that I can think of enough plots to actually put them together to complete a book even if it is like the holiday time magazine Ideals.
 

Autumn Chill

 Autumn Chill
The bright sunny days of summer have somehow slipped away. It’s yielded to slightly cooler days and even chillier nights. An extra blanket feels more comfortable when I allow my bedroom window to be cracked open in an otherwise stuffy room. I’ve decided to bring out the flannel sheets; washing and air drying them to remove the stale stored smell. I also need to wash my king sized, hand-sewn patchwork quilt. It’s in the tumbling block pattern. The material is recycled double knit fabric, yarn-knotted to a flannel sheet. Almost every diamond shaped piece has a family story attached to it. The blocks were at one time, someone’s skirt, pants, shirt or blouse. They are easily recognizable by the color or the print pattern. Each block reconnects to a page in my brain’s book of memories.
Apples hang on the trees in the back yard waiting to be picked. Those that are pecked by birds or have fallen to the ground will be tossed to the horses in the pasture behind my house. I really don’t want to make applesauce, apple butter, or apple schnitz this year. I offered them to my kids and had no takers. I may gather a few of the better ones, pare, slice, and freeze someor I may keep a few of the grimes golden to eat. The rest that fall or are damaged I’ll share with the bees or chop them up when I mow my lawn.
It seems each time I try to downsize, I end up storing something else. To those people who say a person can’t take belongings with them to the grave, I’m sure my kids will make room in my coffin. Just teasing, my kids are sorting through some things and getting rid of some of the clutter.
I have one room in my house I describe as decorated in early depression. There are old tools and enamel pots that hang on the walls. They’re too good to throw away, but no longer used for cooking or for work. I have several old photographs hanging to keep the room from looking like a hoarder’s hideaway. Because I’m thinking about getting a smaller house, I kept the Christmas decorations in that room rather than lugging them to the attic. The tub that has the artificial tree is huge and heavy.
The leaves are beginning to turn and it will soon be time to fry sausage for the Ohiopyle Volunteer Fire Department’s Sausage and Buckwheat Festival. This year it will be held October, 11, 12, and 13. I’m waiting for my call to join the ranks. I have volunteered for nearly fifty years, working my way up from dishwasher, to cake fryer, and finally to frying sausage.

Ashamed

 Ashamed
Recently, I have been very concerned and upset with the candidates running for the Presidency of the United States of America. I have clashed heads with my friends because I find one candidate more repulsive than the other. I have wasted time sharing my views that have been turned aside by the concerns of the world and not focused on prayer.
I know that God is in control and whether or not I like it, He will choose the next President of America. God has raised up rulers and removed them. He has raised up countries and has laid waste to them. Proverbs 8:15 says, “By me kings reign, and princes decree justice.”
In Daniel 2:21 the Bible says, “And he changeth the times and the seasons: he removeth kings, and setteth up kings: he giveth wisdom unto the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding:”
Israel, God’s choosen people wanted a king like the pagan nations around them. God granted their wishes, gave them a king, and the Jews have struggled with the men God allowed to ascend the throne to rule over them. He sent them into captivity when the king turned the Jews’ hearts toward evil and away from worshipping Him.
All throughout the Word of God, the LORD shows the reasons for placing some rulers or keeping rulers in office. Sometimes it is to bless those who call on His name and sometimes it is to punish those who have Ignored Him. My time and energy has been focused on something that I in my own strength I can’t change. I have been ignoring my responsibility of praying for God’s will to be done and ignored sharing with my friends and neighbors, the need to have an intimate knowledge with the Lord Jesus Christ. I need to share God’s mission to show His love by sending His Son to earth to carry each of our sins to the cross and to bear the pain and agony of the punishment for the sins we’ve committed.
Let this be my message to you, if I am less vocal and seemingly less concerned with the outcome of the election, it will be true; it will be replaced with concern about and prayers for my friends.

Button, Button, Who Has the Button

 Button, Button, Who Has the Button
    Last night as I crawled into bed and was wondering what I should write about for my blog spot, my eyes fell on the old Ball canning jar filled with buttons, sitting on the top of my chest of drawers and it gave me an idea about some nostalgia that I could share. The jar itself is large, approximately one and a half quarts and the glass is aged, no longer completely clear. It is topped by a zinc lid. Stored inside is a myriad of buttons of different colors and shapes. Many are antiques, passed down in the family to the following generation. Some are new, either bought for a sewing project and never used, while others have been carefully removed from garments that were worn beyond use. Many of these tiny clothing fasteners were toys that kept many grandkids amused for hours, struggling to put them on a string in just the right order. Or when several children gathered, Grandmother Miner would start the game, “Button, button, button, who’s got the button?”
    My grandmother kept her buttons in a metal tin, like many still do, but I put mine in a jar to display their beauty. Like a kaleidoscope, if I get tired of a pattern or wish to see different buttons, I can rotate and shake the jar. Instantly the view has changed. Many of the colors are subdued, white, gray, black, or brown, but even those hues vary. Pops of color, reds, blues, clear rhinestones, polished brass, and silver play hide and seek. Some buttons have two holes pressed through their body while an equal number sport four holes. Then there are buttons that have no holes in their body, but are flat buttons that have a single hole attached and protruding from their backsides. There are a few from my naval uniforms, dark blue with the anchor design pressed into them.
    There is at least one furniture button covered in a coarse, brown nylon material from a couch my mom and dad had when I was a kid. Many of the buttons were old before I was born and many of the buttons bring back memories. Some are plain white or black, removed from shirts or pants. I’m sure that they have stories to tell, but common tales of work and play.
    I have tried to share my thoughts of the beauty I find in the simple, common things that so often we overlook. Instead of saving these memories of metal, plastic, wood, and even ivory, some simply toss them away, used, forgotten, and of no consequence.

Still Visiting Some Old Joints

 Still Visiting Some Old Joints
Aches and pains got me to seek information about the pain in my knees and lower back. After my initial visit to my dctor and voicing my increasing pain, she wrote a prescription for xrays and an echcardiogram. The reason for the echocrdiogram happened when she was listening to my chest. She heard my heart’s irregular rhythm and asked if I felt that. I said it is just a PAC. (Premature atrial contraction) I’ve had them most of my adult life and I’ve learned to ignore them unless there are several in a row. I wore a heart monitor ffor 30 days in the past to rule out atrial fibrillation or flutter. The ineffectual beating of the heart’s atrium (upper chambers) can cause blood clots and strokes which is not good for me or my circulatory system. The test results came back okay. She also scheduled for me to see two specialists for the pain in my knee and my lower back.
Tuesday I saw an orthopedist for the pain in my knee. After reviewing my x-rays, talking with me, and examining my knee he believes it is my old enemy arthritis. The x-rays revealed the bone spurs in my knee joint were growing larger. One of the options he recommended was total knee replacement, but the other was a less invasive option. I chose the latter. I am doing exercises and taking an anti-inflammatory drug.
Wednesday I spent at the Historical Society reviewing the proposed newsletter for mistakes before it goes to the printer and filing more obituaries. Filing obituaries isn’t fun, but it’s a necessary chore that we do. In the evening we drove the church van route and collected two relatively new boys. One was anxious about going with “strangers” but by the return trips we were friends.
Thursday was my appointment for my back pain. I’d always assigned the origin of my pain to a sciatic nerve impingement, but after the doctor reviewed my x-rays and examined me, he feels it is the same enemy arthritis. The area for this arthritis wasn’t in my spine, but in my pelvis at the sacroiliac joint. That joint is fused, but sometimes the arthritis in that joint causes pain. Although the pain was less when he examined me, it was because I’d started on the anti-inflammatory drug the day before.
So for now this old couch potato is to take the new medication and exercise.
Still Visiting Some Old Joints
Aches and pains got me to seek information about the pain in my knees and lower back. After my initial visit to my dctor and voicing my increasing pain, she wrote a prescription for xrays and an echcardiogram. The reason for the echocrdiogram happened when she was listening to my chest. She heard my heart’s irregular rhythm and asked if I felt that. I said it is just a PAC. (Premature atrial contraction) I’ve had them most of my adult life and I’ve learned to ignore them unless there are several in a row. I wore a heart monitor ffor 30 days in the past to rule out atrial fibrillation or flutter. The ineffectual beating of the heart’s atrium (upper chambers) can cause blood clots and strokes which is not good for me or my circulatory system. The test results came back okay. She also scheduled for me to see two specialists for the pain in my knee and my lower back.
Tuesday I saw an orthopedist for the pain in my knee. After reviewing my x-rays, talking with me, and examining my knee he believes it is my old enemy arthritis. The x-rays revealed the bone spurs in my knee joint were growing larger. One of the options he recommended was total knee replacement, but the other was a less invasive option. I chose the latter. I am doing exercises and taking an anti-inflammatory drug.
Wednesday I spent at the Historical Society reviewing the proposed newsletter for mistakes before it goes to the printer and filing more obituaries. Filing obituaries isn’t fun, but it’s a necessary chore that we do. In the evening we drove the church van route and collected two relatively new boys. One was anxious about going with “strangers” but by the return trips we were friends.
Thursday was my appointment for my back pain. I’d always assigned the origin of my pain to a sciatic nerve impingement, but after the doctor reviewed my x-rays and examined me, he feels it is the same enemy arthritis. The area for this arthritis wasn’t in my spine, but in my pelvis at the sacroiliac joint. That joint is fused, but sometimes the arthritis in that joint causes pain. Although the pain was less when he examined me, it was because I’d started on the anti-inflammatory drug the day before.
So for now this old couch potato is to take the new medication and exercise.