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?