Stormy Weather

Stormy Weather
This spring has been unusually wet. There has been more rain than sunshine. Gray clouds have filled the sky competing with the white ones. The rain has come in slow mists or sheets of blinding rains that are pushed by powerful winds. The music of the rain has been accented with rolling thunder and flashes of bright lightning. Sleet and hail join the orchestra with the rat-ah-tat-tat on my metal roof. I’m just glad that the hail and slleet at my house have been only small pellets and not the huge ones elsewhere. The winds have been strong at my house, but I have been spared the damaging powerful wind that has caused trees to be ripped up and roofs to be torn off.
Not so very far from my house, huge pines were toppled and homes were damaged. There have been assaults by the storms but God has given me protection. There have been tornadoes in the southwestern corner of Pennsylvania with power outages, but not the multiple days locally and unlike places like Pittsburgh. The power interruptions at my house were a few minutes to several hours only.
Early this spring we had a teasingly warm week. It was a taste of the summer to come with hot days, cool nights, and a bit of sunshine. That didn’t last long. A cold snap came in. The temperature became cold enough to make me break out a heavy jacket and gloves and aall the while the rains continued and the grass grew. Everything was green. It was difficult to keep the yard mowed with the extended periods of wetness.
Last year we were begging for rain because of drought-like conditions. This year is just the opposite makinf delays in planting gardens and crops. I will say that my apple trees and flowering plants have really been filled with bright blossoms.
 

Alone Now

 I was thinking about D-day and the invasion of Normandy Beach. I pulled this poem from my files to honor the fallen soldiers and sailors that sacrificed so much to keep evil in check and to keep the torch of freedom burning brightly. This is my salute to those fallen heroes who never returned. This is my post for Memorial Day.
Alone Now
She weeps
Tears fall
Folded flag
Held tightly
Remembering him.
Tall and strong
Young and alive
But no more.

She weeps
Broken hearted
Inconsolable, empty
Ribbons and medals
Clutched in hand
Remembering him.
Gentle lover
Protector
Helpmate
But no more.

She weeps
No comfort
Grief stricken
Unbearable pain
Remembering him.
Tender hero
Valiant knight
Blessed hope
To return no more.

America’s Sins

 America’s Sins
There was a time in history that America was a God fearing country. The first men and women came to our shores seeking religious freedom; searching for the ability to worship God without interference from a king or government.  The foundation of the Constitution was based on biblical principles that God described in His Word. The Constitution of the United States is the document that separates a freedom loving people from peoples in the rest of the world.
America has been blessed. The face of God has looked favorably on our nation to make it a powerful entity and a haven for the oppressed. God has allowed our country to intervene when evil men attempted to rule the world. America has given the lives of its men and women to secure liberty for those who were being enslaved.
But year after year America has turned its back on God and year after year God has been saying, “I love you. Come back to me.” The government’s been straying from the principles on which our nation was created. Too many politicians have come to rely on their own strength and wisdom instead of seeking the face of God who is the source of all wisdom and strength.
Morality is on the decline and depravity is on the rise. Our government cannot legislate morality. If the hearts of our citizens remain unchanged, laws will do little to restrain evil or to limit its effects.
I believe God has been showing His displeasure by the increase of earthquakes and weather disasters. When mankind is unwilling to recognize the Creator of the Earth and the weather concerns, but gives credit to “Mother Nature” or “Climate Change” it will only increase. When men do not give God the credit for creation nor see it as a pronouncement of judgment, He will continue to weigh those people and allow that nation to be brought down in defeat.
History shows that when a country removes God from its daily life other than to think of Him as a servant; only to be beckoned when something is needed, that country fails. God will use the same hands that produced the many years of safety and blessings to also deliver the wrath of His judgment on the people of that nation.
It is time for Americans to be less proud and more humble. God is the only strength and refuge in times of trouble and fear. He is our buckler and our sword. God can bless America again if only we turn to Him and seek his forgiveness and face.

USPS Losing Ground in Service

 USPS Losing Ground in Service
If you can’t tell, I’m upset. The ever increasing prices for their postal service’s postage stamps and their continuing decline of service have made me irate. Let me set the stage; I have lived at the same address for over thirty-five years and have not had many issues with the delivery of my mail. I just had a misdirested bill from my water company. The bill had an attached tag covering my home address saying that the bill was “unable to forward/ for Review/. When I received the bill, it was delivered late and because of the late delivery it caused my payment be late. Even though I sent the check out when I recsived the bill.I sent my check to the water authority on Aprin 12, 2025. I received a second bill from the water company saying they’d added a late fee because they hadn’t received payment. So I called the water company to ask about the payment that I just sent in. They hadn’t received that check in the mail which caused to initial late fee.
I drove to the water authority today and was disturbed that they’d not received the check I’d written on the twelfth. It’s a good thing that I did because I would have had a second late fee entered. Although I was upset that the water company was unable to waive the fee, I decided to pay the double month fee to avoid a second late fee. I had no choice. The USPS failed to deliver a local mailing after ten days. What if it didn’t arrive on time?
The lady suggested I go to the local post office to see what they were abe to do. I drove to the Acme post office which is where my rural delivery is distributed. The postmaster was also unable to help but did give me a 1-800 telephone number.
When I dial the number, I am hit with a barage of “if you want… Press number 1, 2, 3, 4 etc.”There were about eight of r so options. Then you are directed into another volley of selections that are voice activated or by pushing a corresponding number. After listening to the offerings for a second time, I chose one that I had a concern about a delivery person, which wasn’t true, but it was as close as I could get in an attemp to talk to a real person. The first option was to give them a phone number so they could send a text message, but I hung in long enough to talk with a real human.
She couldn’t do more than to register my complaint because there was no way to track my mail. I did calm down a bit once I spoke with a human, but suggested that they sell the USPS to an entreprenuer and out of government’s hands.
USPS Losing Ground in Service
If you can’t tell, I’m upset. The ever increasing prices for their postal service’s postage stamps and their continuing decline of service have made me irate. Let me set the stage; I have lived at the same address for over thirty-five years and have not had many issues with the delivery of my mail. I just had a misdirested bill from my water company. The bill had an attached tag covering my home address saying that the bill was “unable to forward/ for Review/. When I received the bill, it was delivered late and because of the late delivery it caused my payment be late. Even though I sent the check out when I recsived the bill.I sent my check to the water authority on Aprin 12, 2025. I received a second bill from the water company saying they’d added a late fee because they hadn’t received payment. So I called the water company to ask about the payment that I just sent in. They hadn’t received that check in the mail which caused to initial late fee.
I drove to the water authority today and was disturbed that they’d not received the check I’d written on the twelfth. It’s a good thing that I did because I would have had a second late fee entered. Although I was upset that the water company was unable to waive the fee, I decided to pay the double month fee to avoid a second late fee. I had no choice. The USPS failed to deliver a local mailing after ten days. What if it didn’t arrive on time?
The lady suggested I go to the local post office to see what they were abe to do. I drove to the Acme post office which is where my rural delivery is distributed. The postmaster was also unable to help but did give me a 1-800 telephone number.
When I dial the number, I am hit with a barage of “if you want… Press number 1, 2, 3, 4 etc.”There were about eight of r so options. Then you are directed into another volley of selections that are voice activated or by pushing a corresponding number. After listening to the offerings for a second time, I chose one that I had a concern about a delivery person, which wasn’t true, but it was as close as I could get in an attemp to talk to a real person. The first option was to give them a phone number so they could send a text message, but I hung in long enough to talk with a real human.
She couldn’t do more than to register my complaint because there was no way to track my mail. I did calm down a bit once I spoke with a human, but suggested that they sell the USPS to an entreprenuer and out of government’s hands.

Lube Job

Lube Job
Yesterday I spent the morning with my friend,. the friend who uses me as her service dog. It’s a good thing that she did. It was her first appointment to see her cancer doctor at Ruby Memorial Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia. Most times I go along to keep her ccompany and to drive back if she should have a problem. We started out okay. As is her custom, she stops at Sheets for something to drink and a cup of ice cubes. When sh returned to her truck, she was very pale and looked confused. She climbed into the cab and sat there for several minutes. I asked if she was okay and the only response was that she didn’t feel right. Finally she said, “Can you drive?”
We exchanged places and I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital? She said “No.”
My friend is very bull-headed and she would want to keep an appointment even if I had to drag her dead body into the doctor’s office for him to examine. So off we went. She sat quietly sipping a soft drink. After about ten minutes, sha asked, “Do I look any better?” Her color had reurned and she said that she was feeling better. She explained that her morning blood sugar was slightly elevated and she had taken a higher dose and that was affecting her drop in her blood sugar. Drinking the root beer alleciated much of the problem. I’m a slower driver and she was worried about being late. Later in West Virginia, she said that she was able to drive and again we changed places. We pulled into the parking lot with only a few minutes to spare.
Inside they checked her blood sugar and it remained a little low, but came back up after orange juice and Graham crackers. When her evaluation was over, we drove back home, stopping for lunch. She wanted Wendy’s so Wendy’s it was. I usually eat light for lunch and ordered a Dave’s Double hamburger and a drink at the Uniontown, Wendys. Let me preface this next park by saying I’ve eaten not so great burgers before, but this was the very most greasy hamburger that I’ve ever eaten in my life. The inside of the wrapper and the outside of the bun was oily and the meat had an old oil flavor to it.
Now I wish that I’d have said something, but I didn’t and I don’t need my insides will ever need to be lubricated… EVER. P.S. Later that day the stale oily taste reappeared many times.

What Is a Woman?

 What Is a Woman?
What is a woman? That seems to be one of the most important questions being posed to people today. Not so long ago it had a very simple answer. That was until the intelligencia began to alter, accept and include different definitions. By changing the meaning of words to define a person’s sex at birth with the word gender, they opened a Pandora’s Box. With the introduction of the word gender, it allowed a crack to open where slight variations could be inserted and finally recognized as acceptable. What was once diagnosed as a mental disorder was now being legitimized as real.
For some reason, it reminds me of a child who has been given the toy of a wooden workbench consisting of a board with holes in it. The rest of the toy is made of square pegs, cylindrical pegs, and a small wooden hammer. The child is expected to put the square pegs in the square holes and the round pegs into the round holes with the assistance of the wooden hammer tapping them into place.
Sometimes a child will try to fit the round peg into the square hole or the square peg into the round hole, but soon learn what they are expected to do. Some children become frustrated and angry when they pieces don’t fit. Instead of the child using the pieces of the toy as the Creator intended, the child tries to force things, pounding harder and harder with the hammer. In a last attempt to get its way, the child may trim the corner edges of the square peg or remove the curved surface of the round peg to get them to be inserted into a mismatched hole. At best, the pegs can be go into the hole, but the pegs may not be functional as the toy was designed in the first place.
Now with great pride, the child shows another child the finished product. The other child may make a comment about the pegs in the toy are misplaced not fitting correctly. In anger the toy is snatched back and the first child is offended that the other child doesn’t see the work that was necessary to make the parts fit. Irate, the offended child can’t see that the other shild sees the correct way to enjoy the toy is the way the Creator shaped it and intended it the toy was to be used. The offended child wants the adulterated toy to be accepted as the normal way for all children to see and to believe that this toy is fitting and proper for anyoone who says so.

Making Time to Make Friends

 Making Time to Make New Friends
Sometimes it isn’t the close bonding of a deep friendship that will arise, but doing little things for strangers that make a big difference. Things like talking to a cashier as I check out at a store. They slowly change from being a stranger to become an acquaintence, then to a friend who recognizes you, returns your smile, and is friendly in return. It becomes better if you remember something that they’ve shared with you about their family.
Sometimes it’s just doing something unexpected for someone who needs help. I am taller and when I see a shorter person, especially and older person, trying to reach a product from a higher shelf, I ask, “Can I get that for you?” Most times the person ssays, “Thank you, yes,” returned with a smile.
Recently a new family has been attending our church regularly. As most often, new people are cordially greeted by other members and welcomed to join us in our worship services Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday evening in Prayer Service.
Slowly as they got used to my face, I began to talk with them, finding more about them, their occupations, their likes and dislikes, and family histories. I found out from one of the kids the name of a great grandfather. When they mentioned his name and his occupation, I remembered that we had information at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society in Stahlstown, Pennsylvania.
Last Wednesday as I put in my hours of volunteer work, I took photographs of a book we had about their great grandfather, several other photos, and a rocking butter churn. I sent them to the family, hoping that they might be entices to visit the society’s show room.
This weekend we are having a young Ambassador Baptist College graduate visit our church in a “Meet and greet” session. Our church is searching for an assistant and youth pastor. The meet and greet is an event to allow him to see if he might be led to and interested in being a candidate for that position. A game night Saturday, then he will be able to give the sermon Sunday morning. It will allow the congregation to visit with him and if he is interested, it will allow him to candidate and for me to pssibly make a new friend.

Catch a Falling Star

 Catch a Falling Star
Almost seventy years ago, the song “Catch a Falling Star and put it in your pocket.” It was a catchy little ditty that was sung by many artists. In 1958, one of the most prominent artists to release it was Perry Como. His crooning voice made the song a hit.
I have no idea what its actual meaning is, but for myself it means to capture moments in time before they fall away into obscurity. Like meteors that streak brightly across the dark night sky, memories will flare intensely for a moment before they begin to fade and finally disappear. So many things that my dad, Carl Beck and my mom Sybil Miner Beck have said or done have now slipped into dark crevices and may never be recalled again. Many stories of my grandparents Edson and Anna Kalp Beck or Ray and Rebecca Rugg Miner have been lost to my recollection. Sometimes someone will breathe on the embers of a memory and I can quickly fan it into a flame. When that occurs, I hurridly write about it in my BlogSpot. I try to recall as many of the facts from the incident before it dies completely. Sometimes it’s not entirely accurate and another relative will furnish more facts. I’ll go back and correct the mistake or expand the scope of the story. I’m trying to pass this torch along to my children and grandchildren.
I wish that I would have paid better attention to details that were passed down in an oral tradition. It’s a struggle to record pieces of my heritage and pass it along so my children will have them. I don’t have the patience or the ability to do the research of the genealogy of our family like some do. I let that task to others. To me, that path is dry and dusty. I try to remove the cobwebs of my family’s history and add flesh to skeletons of the past. I like to stir our family histories and make them more interesting and complete.
Catching a falling star is what I am attempting to do. I want to create a verbal picture to share the beauty, the sadness, and the joy of our family’s past. I share some of my own stories of my life from the time of my youth, through school, enlistment in the Navy, college, and days of work. Not too long ago I shared a story that I hadn’t shared with my children. They were surprised to hear that when I was in the Navy my “friends” planned to kill me thinking I was a snitch, but as you can see, they didn’t.

Beginning to Write

 Beginning to Write
I can remember in kindergarten of my attempts to write. I was given a thick blue pencil that I could almost rest on my shoulder as I learned to print my numbers and letters. They must have thought the pencils were too heavy enough, because there were no erasers. Perhaps they knew that if I tried to erase and correct mistakes, I would wear holes in the paper.
Now, let me tell you about the paper. It was coarse and off colored white, having lines of blue drawn on it to keep my lines of printing straight, as well as knowing the height and depth of these English hieroglyphics. The teachers pressed me to learn to make them just so. This task is difficult for a five year old learning the fine art of writing and the fine motor skills needed with the log of a pencil. The paper was of the lowest quality and frequently I would have to write around chunks of tree bark or large splinters imbedded in the paper.
Once I mastered that, I was required to learn cursive. Cursive was wonderful. The flow and the beauty of the written word made me ecstatic. It was so much less cumbersome and slow than printing the block letters. I don’t understand why schools want to eliminate this necessary skill. If people lost the ability to read cursive, how could we read the documents written by the great men of the past? Anyone could substitute words on a printed page and say “this is what our founding fathers said.” They are already twisting many meanings of words and if I could’t read cursive, I would never know.
My grandfather E.T. Beck’s cursive writing was a true delight to behold, although I must say his writing as a squire and justice of the peace was much more flowery than his writing in his accounting books. I didn’t inherit that elegant skill from him. My writing, especially in high school was much more pinched and small, I was always frugal at least that is what I tell myself.
So, letters became words, words became sentences, sentences became paragraphs, paragraphs became stories, and stories became books.

To Arms

To Arms
Thursday was a long and stressful day. I knew that it was going to be a long day, but the stressfull part unfolded during the day. My friend asked me to accompany her to Ruby Hospital in Morgantoen, West Virginia. It is about an hour drive. She usually has a service animal, but the service animal can’t drive, so she has me to go along in case she doesn’t fell well enough to drive back home.
The trek started out from her house. I drove over there. I was early as usual. That was one of my Father E. Carl Beck’s commandments, “Be early of you’re late.” We left her house at 11 o’clock am. About fifteen minutes into the drive, she figured out that she was leaving home too early. She recalled the time of her appointments and we were leaving an hour earlier than we needed to leave. There was no need to return to her house and we continued on our way.She did want to leave a little bit early because of road construction in Connellsville and near Morgantown, but not that early.
The trip was after the morning rush hour. Traffic was light and we arrived at the hospital just a few minutes less than an hour. (PS When we left home gasoline was $3.69 a gallon and in Morgantown gasoline was $2.72 a gallon. Something is really fishy here. Could it be the “much higher” gas tax in Pennsylvania?)
So we arrive at the hospitaal and are directed to the srea for her first test. NO problems. Actually they took he in aboout half an hoourearliier that her appointment. And that made the wait time for her second test much longer.
The area for her second test had signs directing us to that area. Several places along the corridor were signs advising “No Weapons.” I remembered that I was carrying my pistol in my pocket. I usually keep it there and had forgotten about it. On the way into the area, I mentioned it to the receptionist. She didn’t seem alarmed and I went in, sat down, and began to read my book. Fifteen minutes later I looked up to see three uniformed security guards. One asked me to step into the hallway to talk. They asked that I accompany them to the emergency department to relinquich my weapon until we were leaving. They wore pistols at their sides and were heavily armed. I wasn’t going to argue. It was an odd feeling being escorted down several hallways. People along the way were looking and wondering what had I done to have three guards with me.
When my friend’s test was over, we left after stopping to collect my pistol only stopping for a meal on the way home. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now 6 pm.

Bounderies

 Boundaries
    As children, we all grew up learning by testing the boundaries that were set by our parents and grandparents. It was a way for us to know what was right and what was not acceptable. It was a way of learning how to think for ourselves. It was a way of determining and setting the moral compasses of our lives. These boundaries were placed so we might understand what was expected of us and what the norms of society are. These limits taught us to respect others and be responsible to authority, of property, and for the laws of the land. Punishment for crossing those landmarks showed us that there were consequences for those trespasses.
    Each generation has become more lax, lessening the pressure to comply with societal limits and have widened the acceptable boundaries. Look at the clothing worn today. Many of the youth wear garb that barely covers what underwear covered just a few years ago. They go to school showing more flesh than a butcher shop display window. I’m not saying that some changes weren’t necessary. No one wants to be covered from head to toe in Lindsey-Woolsey, but there should be a point that it’s not acceptable. I won’t blame it on the kids. They see what the celebrities are wearing and do their best to emulate them. The media pushes the boundaries of decency to wean people away from practiced standards toward a culture where everything and anything is tolerated and accepted.
    Respect for others was once taught in our homes, churches, and communities, but violence has now become rampant. The act of abortion and the elimination of capital punishment have lessened the value we place on life. Mass shootings and the “knock out game” shows a true lack of empathy for helpless victims. Removing corporal punishment from schools have allowed many schools to become battle zones where the student often goes unpunished for bad behavior.
    There have been recent judicial rulings that go against the United States Constitution and our established American rights. More and more these judges try to force their views on American citizens by teisting their judicial powers. These rights were previously guaranteedsacrosanct in the Amendments. The assault on our rights continues as they try to ban the ownership of weapons and ammunition. Marriage has been redefined, its standing as a chioce has been raised to a right, and if I should say something against it, I can be prosecuted for a hate crime. That ruling infringes on my previously guaranteed rights of freedom of speech and religion. I know that many cannot or will not see how this one ruling impacts others, but it does and it will continue to cross boundaries into other guaranteed rights.

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 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 2113 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.
I also edit the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society newsletter and have passed the newest copy along for approval from several other members and add photos.

Heidi

 Heidi
Tuesday is my light activity during the week. Tuesdays are usually free of any major projects and my schedule is light. This past Tuesday I decided to indulge and make it a day for myself. A day for me to relax and to do exatly what I wanted to do. I did make mental plans to drop something off to my son Andrew’s home. His house is on the other side of Uniontwn, Pennsylvania. I also planned while I was out to make some stops on my way home after the visit. He told me that he wouldn’t be home, but my Granddaughter Celine would be there.
My son has several acres. He keeps chickens, several ducks, and a small but growing herd of goats that he raises to sell. His younger daughter Moriah has a cow-milk allergy and I believe that they are also aiming to raise a few goats for their milk.
I took my time driving along the roads to his home keeping the car a couple of miles under the speed limit the whole way. Why not? I had all day. When I arrived Celine was feeding bottles to a pair of the youngest goats. We had a great time talking as she finished and then introduced me to the other animals sharing the names of the goats. I was able to relax with her and enjoy the sunshine.
I stopped at the Uniontown Mall to visit an antique storre, but was sadly disappointed. It was no longer in business. I made one lap around the interior of the mall to see what businesses remained. But nothing interested me.
My next stop was at the Grocery Outlet. The variety of foods with some name brands and other foods with odd aand off the wall names filled the shelves. Some prices are exceptionally low, while others are about the same as my local stores. I did buy a few items, then climbed into my car and returned home, my relaxing day was over.
Later, when I was talking on the phone with my son that I felt like the Grandfather in the book Heidi and Celine was the little goat girl. I imagine everyone has read the book or seen the movie of the little girl Heidi visiting her Grandfather in the Swiss Alps. Grandfather had just visited the Alps.