Dream Land

Dream Land
I am certainly glad that dreams sren’t really real. Lately I have been having dreams. Most times I don’t deam or if I dream, I can’t remember them when I wake up. This morning it was a really weird one. For some reason I was upset with my brother Kenneth Beck. I was so upset that I stole his trailer truck and ddrove it away.
The strangest thing was that my brother isn’t a trucker and he doesn’t own or drive a big rig. On top of that, although I can drive a stick shift, I wouldn’t know how to shift all of the gears in one of those huge trucks.
I remeember getting off a four lane highway and pulling it into the parking lot of a diner at an iinterchange. As I climbed out of the big rig’s cab, I checked pockets and had no money. I had no money because I had no pockets in my scubs or my flannel shirt. It was almost as if I was in a pair of pajamas. I don’t recall what I was wearing on my feet, but it didn’t feel like shoes, it was more like bedroom slippers or moccasins.
I entered the diner. It was filled with people eating. (Big surprise right?) I headed to bathroom. There were side-by-side doors to wach restroom with a single entrance to a single stall with a commode only. As I sat there contemplating my next move, I heard someone coming into the restrom stall beside me. I could see through the wall between us. It was a glass partition. If she could see me, she paid no attention to me, so I did the same thing and hurried out to wash my hands in a lavatory sink at the corner of the diner.
I was still trying to figure out what to do when a sweet voiced young lady called my name. She was sitting at a table with a young man. She recognized me, but I didn’t recognize her or the young man. I explained my circumstance and the man fished a few coins from his pocket. I didn’t bother picking then from the table, but went back out to the truck and headed it back onto the fourlane highway. I drove back into wakefulness. I hope I got the truck back to my brother, if not I know he’s gonna be upset. 

Windows of Gold

 Windows of Gold
A house with golden windows sits on a hill
Their bright morning beauty erasing the chill
The view from my windows as sun wakes from night
Each morning I’m greeted with this wondrous sight
Rising each day my soul feels drawn to that view
Grass pathway adorned with frost or sparkling dew
Always changing yet always the same to see
They sail on green grass ocean and sky blue sea

As the sun rises gold windows disappear
Reflections of morning sun fading to clear
Slowly the windows lose their rich golden hue
The windows dull and lose their enticing view
Day passes, darkness falls, lights inside now burn
I’m overjoyed when the gold windows return
Not as lovely with an electrical stream
And not nearly as bright with the man-made gleam

The full moon appears with its pale ghostly face
Imparting its light with soft milky-white trace
Casting deep blue shadows on tall drifts of snow
Weathered barns turn silver in the moonlight’s glow
The mundane becomes an ethereal sight
Old things become new in the magic moonlight
A crystal path shines in the dark and the chill
To silver windows of the house on the hill

Mountain silhouettes rise in the eastern sky
Subtle dim band appears as daybreak draws nigh
The horizon turns pink at the break of dawn
Waking a mother deer and her spotted fawn
The band grows stronger painting the clouds with light
First crimson, then flaxen, and finally white
The light overspills growing stronger until
It gilds the windows of the house on the hill

It's a Circus

 It’s a Circus
I’m not talking about the present political situation in Washington D.C. although some may not agree. What I am referring to is this year’s vacation Bible school at Mt. Zion Community church located at the top of the Kreinbrook Hill. The theme this year is the circus. The stage is decorated with all sorts of circus props including a six foot tall, dark gray elephant with a three demensional trunk. This year we have Evangelist Foote and his wife with their ensemble of puppets to present biblical based entertainment for the kids. There is the opening segment with the Footes and another lesson presented a bit later.
Each classroom is decorated as is the lunch room with a circus theme items. Popcorn balloons, cotton candy, carosel horses, circus cars filled with lions, and tigers, and bears. Trapeze artists hang from the ceiling. A seal balancing a ball perches on a shelff along with multiple stuffed animals placed around the lunch room.
There are rooms where the staff helps to create crafts. It keeps the hands and minds of each student occupied with something constructive and give them a souvenir to take home. There is another class for learning Scripture and earning prizes. Several leaders direct the kids to the gym. They are separated into appropriate age groups so the games don’t overwhelm the younger ones.
Then there is the break and snack time following the play time in the gym, the kids do a quick washing of hands and grace is said. Each night there is a delicious snack and drink pouch provided. Each night a different snack will have a star snack from ice cream, to cupcakes, or servings of fruit. There are the usual standby of individual packages of chips, pretzels, cheese puffs, and Kool Ranch Doritos. We also offer a wide selection of cookies, and the all-time favorite, finger Jell-O.
Then there is time for clean-up then the kids escape to the sanctuary for the closing ceremonies. It seems that the kids as well as the adults really enjoy all of the activities and the proffereed snacks. VBS is a great time to gather to serve the Lord.

We’re Having a Heat Wave; a Tropical Heat Wave

 We’re Having a Heat Wave
We have had what seemed like an endless cold winter with winds that have made going outside a real chore. The snowfall kept the road crew and snow plow busy filling and refilling my driveway. It’s noot fair that they have such huge machines and my only weapon is a scoop shovel, but I was able to hold my own and managed to keep my emergency exit passable.
Even this spring seemed to be an extension of the long, damp weather. Rain and sleet came in and stayed after a brief reprieve. It was a teasing glancce at warmth and sunshine until the curtain of rain and chilly temperatures moved back in. It was as though springtime was trying to commit suicide and drown itself. It was reluctant to share the sky with sunshine.
However, spring has tossed aside its wet blanket and has blazed forth into summer without warning. Heat and humidity have replaced the reluctant spring. Although I haven’t been plagued by the fierce storms that has caused the severe flooding like neighboring states, the storms have wreaked havoc nearby uprooting trees and damaging homes.
I usually mow my lawn once a week, but wasn’t able to do it this past week. After I finished mowing only about one quarter of the grass, I heard a “thunk” and the blades were no longer engaged. I called the local John Deere shop to schedule an appointment. When I spoke to a salesperson, he thought it might be a belt. They called back Saturday while I was away, so I’ll find out today when they will be able to come and repair it.
Bah humbug, even on a riding mower it will be a hot chore in these hot days. I heard the weather man pass along all these heat warnings and thought when I was a kid, we ran an played during similar “heat wave” days with only the shade and water from a garden hose as protection. We didn’t have sun protection cream. If we stayed out too long, we burned, turned red, and our skin peeled. Mom would dab on vinegar or Sea Breeze liquid to cool the burn and ease the sting.
We’re Having a Heat Wave
We have had what seemed like an endless cold winter with winds that have made going outside a real chore. The snowfall kept the road crew and snow plow busy filling and refilling my driveway. It’s noot fair that they have such huge machines and my only weapon is a scoop shovel, but I was able to hold my own and managed to keep my emergency exit passable.
Even this spring seemed to be an extension of the long, damp weather. Rain and sleet came in and stayed after a brief reprieve. It was a teasing glancce at warmth and sunshine until the curtain of rain and chilly temperatures moved back in. It was as though springtime was trying to commit suicide and drown itself. It was reluctant to share the sky with sunshine.
However, spring has tossed aside its wet blanket and has blazed forth into summer without warning. Heat and humidity have replaced the reluctant spring. Although I haven’t been plagued by the fierce storms that has caused the severe flooding like neighboring states, the storms have wreaked havoc nearby uprooting trees and damaging homes.
I usually mow my lawn once a week, but wasn’t able to do it this past week. After I finished mowing only about one quarter of the grass, I heard a “thunk” and the blades were no longer engaged. I called the local John Deere shop to schedule an appointment. When I spoke to a salesperson, he thought it might be a belt. They called back Saturday while I was away, so I’ll find out today when they will be able to come and repair it.
Bah humbug, even on a riding mower it will be a hot chore in these hot days. I heard the weather man pass along all these heat warnings and thought when I was a kid, we ran an played during similar “heat wave” days with only the shade and water from a garden hose as protection. We didn’t have sun protection cream. If we stayed out too long, we burned, turned red, and our skin peeled. Mom would dab on vinegar or Sea Breeze liquid to cool the burn and ease the sting.

Delicate

 Delicate
Today when the word delicate crossed my mind, I wondered if it was a word that was mentioned in the Bible. I looked it up and found that the word delicate is mentioned several times in Jeremiah, Deuteronomy, Isaiah, and in the book of Micah. Those meanings were interpreted as dainty or luxurious. Often the word delicate was paired with the idea of something being tender. Parallel meanings that I thought of immediately were dainty or easily damaged. Another thought that scurried through my brain at almost the same time was the fabric settings on my washing machine and my clothes dryer.
Delicate is not a word used very much anymore. At one time adults, especially parents had the idea of delicate when they were using language while they were in the presence of children. The morals of past years caused them to circumvent these harsh or vulgar words when children were in the room. Adults didn’t feel the language was appropriaate for their delicate or tender ears to hear. The child’s brain wasn’t mature enough to be exposed to the fowl utterings of a “drunken sailor.”
Slowly the language of the world has infiltrated society. Not that many years ago the street language being used today would not have been uttered nor tolerated and not said in front of a “lady.” It was uncouth and uncaceptable. Today, the taboo of curse words has all but been eliminated so that women are just as guilty of breaching that wall of protection. The language of women will often rival the roughness of their male counterparts.
This corrupt verbiage has infiltrated the homes. Parents will laugh when their children pick up the disrespectful attitudes and the gutter talk. Too often the words are uttered by their parents. They no longer seem to care about the “delicate ears” of their children. Television, movies, and modern day music seems to have no filter either. Children are exposed to these indelicate words from all sides.
Words and ideas from which we once sheltered children are now being foisted on them at a much younger age. Adults are also forcing ideas of “gender” and sex on these young people who have no wisdom, experience, or understanding of what they are being asked.
Maybe instead of allowing our children to be confused by this worldly pressure, we should return to treating our children as delicate and precious things and not allow the evils of today to crush, ruin, and damage them.

Sickening Spins

 Sickening Spins
Remembering this past Saturday and my day spent at Idlewild with my family, I thought back to the variety of rides that were available for the visitors. There were nearly a dozen that spin in circles from the Octopus to the milder carosel. I am afraid to ride in them because of an incident that occurred about three years ago. It’s not been so long ago that the memory has had time to wear down and still hangs like an old rag.
My younger daughter Anna Prinkey and I were visiting the park and chose to ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl. These hooded cages were designed to rock back and forth from a fixed pivoted spot on the floor of the amusement ride. The floor would spin around in an undulating motion causing the caged car to rotate one way and then change direction for the next few seconds. It was a ride that I enjoyed until…
The ride started out well. We sat back on the paddeds seats in the hooded car and settled the belly-bar in place. The ride started and for some reason, the car only spun in one direction with an occasional pause in its spin. Around and around it went without a break to drift in the opposite direction. There was no relief with the centrical force throwing us tightly against the back of the car.
Anna thought it was great that the operator allowed the ride to go longer than normal, but it was torture for me. Often if the riders shift their weight, they can change the direction on the spin, not this time. The direction was set and it continued throughout the ride.
There are others like me who have difficulty with spinning amusements and when Idlewild has a non-spin ride that iis down, it limits the enjoyment of the visitor. The last three times I have visited the park (Including the Tilt-a-Whirl fiasco) the Wild Mouse has been out of service. It is the one ride that I look forward to visiting. It was very disappointing.
I was able to enjoy the Log Jammer and the Scooters. The park visitors were scattered and light. We rode the Scooters and would get back in the queue, but there wasn’t a line. The operator was gracious enough to allow us to stay in our cars and have a second go at the bumper car traffic.

Rollo Coaster

Rollo Coaster
Saturday I went with my family to a local amusement Park called Idlewild. It was established in 1887. Its shaded walkways, rides, and entertainment have been a favorite for visitors. The Rollo Coaster was built in 1938 by the Philadelphia Toboggan Company. It is a wood-framed coaster built from lumber sourced directly from the park area. It used a local sawmill that was built nearby specifically for the project. It is an out and back coaster built over a hillside. The only thrilling elements are several small hills that use the park’s topography to its advantage. Built over the steep terrain, the coaster features many tight twists and turns which intensify its sense of speed and danger.
The height of the tallest hill is 27 feet with a 25 foot drop. The speed of the ride is 25 miles per hour gained during its 900 foot length. There is an increasing rumble and roar as the wheels manuever the track’s dips and tight turns adding to the ride’s attraction.
This is the basic description of the ride, but as a preteen kid who had never ridden a coaster it was a daunting unknown. My first encounter with the coaster was with my Uncle Charles Bottomley. I had no idea wht to expect. I approached the entrance where a marker read, “You must be this tall to ride.” I met the requirements and followed my Uncle to the boarding area. The line of cars slithered into place and we climbed into our seats. I can’t remember if we were in the front row of seats or not, but I was so nervous. I do remember the feeling of butterflies in my stomach as the car connected to the chain-link drive that pulled us to the top of the first hill. The butterflies multiplied as we crested the first hill. The rest of the ride was a blur as we barrelled along the multiple hills, twists, and turns. In seconds we were back at the terminal. My mom Sybil Miner Beck said that I was as white as a sheet.
While my kids and grandkids were in line to ride another amusement, I thought that I’d climb aboard the coatser. For some reason memories of the old butterflies were magnified. I decided to face them before I’d ride with the family. I wondered what my old coaster nemesis had in store for me. Butterflies burst forth as the car connected to the lift to begin its clicking.The car reached the top and the curved wooden frame glistened from the morniing dew. As I crested the hill I was surprised at how shallow the drop actually was. In seconds the car dropped, and swooped along each valley and hurtling through each curve. Time sped by and fearful memories were tamed. 

Peculiar

 Peculiar
All of us have peculiarities in our personalities. It’s what creates our character, traits, and individualities. It’s the reason we are who we are. Just like our DNA determines our physical appearance, our oddities are what make us distinct and separates us one from another.
The peculiar person I am writing about today is my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s grandmother Pearl Elizabeth Morrison. By the time we were introduced her husband Benjamin Vincent Morrison was deceased and she was renting an old converted, clapboard-sided school on the Bear Run Conservancy in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. Her closest neighbor was Falling Water, the famous Kaufman home, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
Pearl was a solidly built woman who had a tenacious mind and just as tenacious hold on life. She held her own views on life, even telling Cindy that I should “keep my shoes under my own table.” Pearl kept her home just so, hating to see anything out of place and if it didn’t fit what her imagination saw, she would cut, reshape, or repaint it to fit her liking. The value of things in her small home was reduced or destroyed by her changes. She sawed the middle portion of a hutch and fastened it to its base before shellacking it in oak varnish. She cut flannel sheets in half to fit the cot she slept on at the side of her dining room while her bedrooms remained pristine.
 Another example of her tenacity was holding onto an idea that she hadn’t fully worked out of her system with her kid’s birth. She named one of her girls Elma Jean, but wasn’t quite through with that combination, because she named my father-in-law Elmer Eugene Morrison. He hated that name and chose to go by his nickname Bud. I can see why. Who’d want to carry a name so similar to his older sister? That’s almost as bad as a boy named Sue.
Pearl had a stroke which limited her mobility. When Cindy and I visited her in the hospital, she was proud to show us how it limited her ability to raise her right arm. I said to her, “I’m going to go to get the nurses.” When she asked why, I said, “I want to see if they can find a paint brush. I’ll bet you could lift it higher with a paint brush in it.” She knew she was branded with her tendency to paint things and she quickly caught the meaning. We had a good laugh.
Peculiarities? We all have them. Take a look at your self and have a good laugh.
Peculiar
All of us have peculiarities in our personalities. It’s what creates our character, traits, and individualities. It’s the reason we are who we are. Just like our DNA determines our physical appearance, our oddities are what make us distinct and separates us one from another.
The peculiar person I am writing about today is my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s grandmother Pearl Elizabeth Morrison. By the time we were introduced her husband Benjamin Vincent Morrison was deceased and she was renting an old converted, clapboard-sided school on the Bear Run Conservancy in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. Her closest neighbor was Falling Water, the famous Kaufman home, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
Pearl was a solidly built woman who had a tenacious mind and just as tenacious hold on life. She held her own views on life, even telling Cindy that I should “keep my shoes under my own table.” Pearl kept her home just so, hating to see anything out of place and if it didn’t fit what her imagination saw, she would cut, reshape, or repaint it to fit her liking. The value of things in her small home was reduced or destroyed by her changes. She sawed the middle portion of a hutch and fastened it to its base before shellacking it in oak varnish. She cut flannel sheets in half to fit the cot she slept on at the side of her dining room while her bedrooms remained pristine.
 Another example of her tenacity was holding onto an idea that she hadn’t fully worked out of her system with her kid’s birth. She named one of her girls Elma Jean, but wasn’t quite through with that combination, because she named my father-in-law Elmer Eugene Morrison. He hated that name and chose to go by his nickname Bud. I can see why. Who’d want to carry a name so similar to his older sister? That’s almost as bad as a boy named Sue.
Pearl had a stroke which limited her mobility. When Cindy and I visited her in the hospital, she was proud to show us how it limited her ability to raise her right arm. I said to her, “I’m going to go to get the nurses.” When she asked why, I said, “I want to see if they can find a paint brush. I’ll bet you could lift it higher with a paint brush in it.” She knew she was branded with her tendency to paint things and she quickly caught the meaning. We had a good laugh.
Peculiarities? We all have them. Take a look at your self and have a good laugh.

Barefootin’

 Barefootin’
Can you remember as kids that we couldn’t wait for the snow to disappear and for the grass to become green? The winter boots were stored away and socks and shoes came off. We couldn’t wait until we could feel that newly grown green mat tickle our feet and toes. We would run joyously for no reason at all other than to have our feet freed from those heavy winter-laced, booted leather dungeons and the joyous feeling of our feet being freed from thick cotton or wooly sock cocoons. It was grand to be a child on warm sunny days like that.
Who recalls bare feet skimming over the dark ash antiskid material that had been spread on the roadway’s berm and were now left-overs from the winter or skipping across the grey gravel chips on a driveway without hesitation or a flinch? The joys of our feet experiencing freedom far outweighed the inconsequential and temporary discomfort of the small rocks. Now as adults, if we should we are forced to mincingly step onto those tiny pieces of gravel, we wince.  We dance as though we’re walking on hot coals in a fiery pit. Is it the extra weight that we carry or have we lost those carefree exhilarating moments of our youth?
My kids would sometimes fold their toes under their feet and walk somewhat like a ballerina dancing. They would often do their tippy-toe walk to impress people making a memory for themselves. Now when they come together someone will mention their feat of feet. I believe that two my kids can still walk on their folded toes.
Most often when I come in from outside, I’ll kick off my socks and shoes. My feet tire when they’re wrapped in socks and shoes, especially if I wear shoes for more than a few hours. They feel trapped and unable to breathe. I don’t know how I survived all those years of wearing shoes to work.
I still like to walk with my bare feet in the grass. It seems to invigorate my feet and toes, sending roots to somehow connect with the world around me. I can’t remember if I could ever walk on my toes as a kid, but I certainly cannot now. And don’t expect me to stroll across the gravel driveway. It’s not going to happen. I have on occasion slipped out of my house to my car for something I’d left in the vehicle because I’ve been too lazy to slip on a pair of shoes, then I’ve tortured the soles of my feet as I danced across the rocky driveway to my car.

Six days Are More Than Enough

Six Days Are More Than Enough
I finally decided yhat I’d waited long enough. At 230 in thte morning after hackg, coughing, and choking all night I decided it was time that I needed some relief. I was fighting an upper respiratory infection for six days. It began slowly with a runny nose and scratchy throat. It was very much like my normal allergies to leaves and grass. SO I didn’t pay much attention to it, but the last three days, the symptoms have been picking up speed and I have become more miserable
The major symptom has been the coughing and an irritating scratchy throat. The tickle in my throat didn’t allow the cough to take a break. The combination of the two made sleeping most miserable. The sputum that was being expectorated had taken on a dark gray green and I kneew that wasn’t a good sign. I knew the sputum wasn’t coming from my lungs. I didn’t hear the gurgle-gurgle in my lungs. The amount of mucus I was now coughing up was surprising. I finally decided that it was time that I needed to be seen. I wasn’t sleping well. I wasn’t resting at all. I was coughing so much. I was gagging and praying I could breathe better.
I rolled out of bed and climbed into my clothing. I was going to an Emergent care, but it wasn’t open, so I ended up at the hospital. My voice was froggy and hoarse. It was raspy and low pitched, but I was able to tell the workers what was wrong with me.
The doctor on duty examined me and ordered a chest x-ray.. I waited for the results. He came back into my cubicle to say, tere was no pneumonia. He felt that I had managed to latch onto a respiratory infection. I was given a starter dose of zithromax and a prescription to be filled later.
When I returned home, It was as if a dam had burst open. Gobs of the dark mucus came from ssomewhere in my head.
 

Cough Cold and Sneezing

 Cough Cold and Sneezing
Sore theoat and cough were the first symptoms of my summer cold. The smoke from the Cannadian wild fires has made the symptoms much worse. Sneezing has been exacerbated by the pale blue haze that hasfilled the sky. When I get a distant view of the hills and valleys, the images are blurred by the smokey veil.
I’m into my fourth day of the upper respiratory tract infection and I am just now seeing some progress. The harsh cough and the headache are the most intrusive and bothersome. The symptoms made me want to hide inside of my house and drink plenty of fluids, but I had obligations. Wednesday evening I was on the van route ministry with my driver and friend, John, It wasn’t fun, but I managed to pick up and return the passengers back home. I was so glad the Wednesday evening prayer meeting was over and I could go home and feel miserable alone.
Thursday I needed to pick up supplies for my Accucheck machine. With a tiny drop of blood, the machine reads my blood sugar level. I didn’t feel well enough to mow my yard, but I forced myself to mow my yard. The next few days it is supposed to rain. I hate my grass to be long and shaggy, so mow I did.
I’m praying that the worst is over and I begin to heal. I was once told that summer colds are the worst. I don’t know if they are the worst, but the miserable symptoms cause a person to feel that way.
Cough Cold and Sneezing
Sore theoat and cough were the first symptoms of my summer cold. The smoke from the Cannadian wild fires has made the symptoms much worse. Sneezing has been exacerbated by the pale blue haze that hasfilled the sky. When I get a distant view of the hills and valleys, the images are blurred by the smokey veil.
I’m into my fourth day of the upper respiratory tract infection and I am just now seeing some progress. The harsh cough and the headache are the most intrusive and bothersome. The symptoms made me want to hide inside of my house and drink plenty of fluids, but I had obligations. Wednesday evening I was on the van route ministry with my driver and friend, John, It wasn’t fun, but I managed to pick up and return the passengers back home. I was so glad the Wednesday evening prayer meeting was over and I could go home and feel miserable alone.
Thursday I needed to pick up supplies for my Accucheck machine. With a tiny drop of blood, the machine reads my blood sugar level. I didn’t feel well enough to mow my yard, but I forced myself to mow my yard. The next few days it is supposed to rain. I hate my grass to be long and shaggy, so mow I did.
I’m praying that the worst is over and I begin to heal. I was once told that summer colds are the worst. I don’t know if they are the worst, but the miserable symptoms cause a person to feel that way.

Spring and Thoughts Turn to Blossoms and Flowers

 Spring and Thoughts Turn to Blossoms and Flowers
Remembering flowers from my past, I think of my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner. She loved flowers. In the summer she had a flowerbed of pansies and the long green porch boxes filled with red geraniums. The pansies were her favorite. She would say they reminded her of little boys with dirty faces. In the winter, her windowsills were filled with cuttings of the geraniums. Their leaves had a spicy aroma when rubbed. At the end of her upstairs hall was a huge Christmas cactus with its green leaves and deep pink blossoms cascading down the sides of a stainless steel cream separator bowl.
I can’t really remember special flowers for my Grandmother Anna Nichols Kalp Beck, but she loved a huge oak tree in her side yard and would often sit in a metal yard chair enjoying the shade.
My Mother Sybil Miner Beck loved her roses, often starting them from cuttings. She would snip a rose stem, place it under a Mason jar, then cover it with straw for some time. She’d occasionally check on its progress, until it took root and began to grow. She had several colors from a pale yellow to a bright crimson. I think her favorite was a parchment color that had a large rose blossom.
My mother-in-law Retha Johnson Morrison always had bleeding heart baskets hanging on her front porch. I can remember sitting on the swing with Cindy Morrison Beck while we were courting and watching the humming birds visiting the baskets.
My wife Cindy’s favorite was daisies. It was great for me in the summer. I’d often pick the wild daisies and make a bouquet with whatever other flowers were blooming at the time. The bouquet was there as a surprise for her when she came home after teaching. I won’t say I was cheap, but I will admit to being frugal.
My older Daughter Amanda Beck Yoder’s favorite is the calla lily. She had a large bouquet of them in her wedding. I bought a large framed picture of calla lilies as a wedding gift. It hangs on their living room wall.
My daughter-in-law Renee Largent Beck carried a wedding bouquet of wildflowers and daisies to honor my wife Cindy. Cindy died in March and the wedding was in August. Renee’s favorite flower is forget-me-nots.
My younger daughter Anna Beck Prinkey loves sunflowers. Sunflowers made up much of her wedding bouquet. The sunflowers were the usual color of gold with dark brown centers, but I don’t think it mattered what color they were. Now there are so many variations available.

The Finger

 
The Finger
Several thoughts pop up when I see little kids, barely toddlers holding up their middle fingers, especially at their parents or adults. It shows disrespect. I am doubly ypset when he child’s parents think it’s cute. To me it shows a lack of parenting skills and a total disrespect and an extremelly rude and uncouth behavior. It’s a gesture that I find reprehensible and a silent version of a word if used I lose great respect for that person. I’m not perfect, but have difficulty being restrained from saying something when I hear it being used. The word and the finger have become much too frequent in everyday language.
Now on a lighter note, one year my wife, kids, and friends drove to the Point in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was for the Fourth of July, Independence Day celebration of fireworks. As we were walking to a spot on the sidewalk, a friend was talking about the area, being a sort of tour guide. She was pointing at things. One of the things that she was pointing at was the homes on top of Mt. Washington. Just at that moment a stranger was passing beside her, so instead of her finger pointing at the huge Alcoa sign on the hillside; her finger went up the gentleman’s nose. She was so embarassed and began to make appologies, but the man laughed and said that his nose needed to be picked anyway. His remark only made her feel more embarrassed.
In a similar vein, our family was visiting Sea World in Ohio. The temperature was over one hundred degrees Farenheit and the walkways were scortching hot. As we enjoyed the shows we sought some relief from the unrelenting heat, praying for a bit of a breeze. We stepped into the penguin house and felt instant relief and blessedly cool. I noticed a thermometer on the wall and checked to see how cool it was inside. I was surprised to see that the temperature was only in the mid eighties. Just that small change was noticeable.
Later I was walking with my wife, Cindy Morrison Beck, when a large group of people were approaching from the opposide direction, I moved to the opposite of side of Cindy to allow the group to pass. Another couple moved on the side that I had been on. Cindy reached out to takke hold of my hand, but it wasn’t my hand but a complete stranger. Cindy and the wife of the stranger weren’t very happy. Cindy said, “Why didn’t you tell me that you had moved?”