That Drains Me

 That Drains Me
Because the Everdry Company missed an appontment for Friday to evaluate as to why I was still getting water in my basement. The second time it happened, I thought back and could ot recall hearing my outside pump work for quite awhile. I have a two pump system. The sump pump is in a collection well on the outside of my basement to capture and pump away any water that flows down my driveway. I have a second sump pump in the corner of my basement that collects the water from my French ditching and shuffles it away. The water from the recent heavy rains ran down my driveway and without the outside pump not working, the overflow poured under the grage door and into my basement. The water wasn’t deep, it did wet the floor because of the inside sump pump sucked away the water.
The representative arrived, introduced himself and quickly got down to business. After he first ascertained that the sump pump was actually non-functioning, he lifted the protective cover and removed it form the well. He disassembled the old pump from its mooring and slid the new pump into place.
As we talked, I gave him a Gospel tract. It was the testimony of a friend on mine. I’ve shared his testimony before. His foot became caught int the spikes of a manure spreader. He tell of his rescue and the peace he felt from God. The repairman ssaid that he was a Christian, saying he became saved when on tour in Afghanistan. He said that he did two stints. When I mentioned that I’d been a Navy corpsman during the VietnamWar, he said that he’d been an Army medic. I’d never gone in country in Vietnam, but cared for the men who returned to the States.
Tuesday I drove my friend forr her chemo treatments at Ruby Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia. It’s always an all day affair. Arriving early for blood work, and visiting her physician, before we went upstairs. My friend made a wooden name plaque for his desk and he loved it. My friend hooked to IVs for the infusion of herchemotherapy. The nurses were astounding. She had Abbey for the second time. She was extremely busy and yet made time to see to all our needs. Alternating bags of fluids and syringes of medications were pushred. The care that the nurses gave was impressive to me as a retired nurse.
I sat most of the time from 630 am until I got home at 530 in the evening. This inactivity drained me too.

Rainy Days ad Mondays Always Gets Me Down

 Rainy Days ad Mondays Always Gets Me Down
The decreasing daylight hours and the rain always make me feel sluggish and sort of depressed. It makes me want to hide inside knowing that autumn and winter is just around the corner. I’m glad that I have retired and don’t have to go out when the winter winds blow and the snows fall. I won’t say I like the rain, but I guess it is better than the snow and ice.
I do have a metal roof and have heard others say how much they like to hear the rain falling on the roof, but with the windows closed, all I hear is thunder and the dull roar of a barrage of raindrops hitting the roof. There is no music of the drops dancing on the metal roof.
When the rains make everything soggy and water filled, it really does make me want to remain inside where I am dry and warm. When mankind started to build shelters I’m sure his wife wanted to be warm and dry as well. He would do all he could to keep the rain, wind, and snow outside and to keep their dwelling snug and secure. They had to carry water from a stream or well to cook, drink, and to clean. I’m also sure that fetching in the water day after day became more and more burdensome, so the woman of the house probably shared the desire to have water brought into the house with pipes and pump. After years of wanting to keep water out of the house, now it became a luxury, then a necessity to have water brought into the house and then a way to allow it to escape. Need I mention yhe need to go outside to use the privy?
Well, it’s Monday again and the sun has pierced the early morning mist with a golden glow. Even though the temperature is predicted to magnify that sunny warm feeling and turn the fog into another humid day, I have some small chores to do around the house. I am thankful that I did the mowing Friday. Friday was a fry-day and even with my Amish straw hat, I cooked. Today I am waiting for the representative from the Everdry Company to replace a sump pump because I got some water in my basement with the not-so-gentle downpours that we’ve had recently.

Mower Grass Clippings

 Mower Grass Clippings
Isn’t it strange how a normal everyday happening or a chore leads down past paths into a series of memories? As I mowed my lawn, I thought of my first riding mower. After struggling with a walk behind mower on my days off as a nurse at Frick Hospital, before or after work for many years, I finally decided to buy a ride after saving money from the family budget. It was red, which led me to two other memories. My dad, Carl Beck told us kids to always buy a red lawn mower because they ran like a son-of-a-gun. The other memory was of my son, Andrew. He was pestering my wife Cindy and me about needing a 4 wheeler. Other schoolmates had one.
When he came home from school, I told him that we finally bought one for him. After going over some basic rules, I tossed him the keys and said it was parked behind the house. We watched out the back window. He didn’t hesitate, but jumped on, turned the key, and mowed the lawn; not only ours, but the neighbor’s as well. Although we’d played a joke on him, he didn’t complain. That made me proud. It did have four wheels and an engine. I guess that was all that mattered.
My uncle Theodore Miner cut grass to earn money. He wouldn’t buy anything but a Lawn-boy. He dragged them all over Indian Head area to mow lawns as far away as 3 miles, pushing and pulling it along with the gas can and bottle of oil. Uncle Ted was assaulted as a child and he never developed beyond a third grade education. He did menial tasks to earn money like collecting soda bottles, finally turning them in for cash to buy his first lawn mower.
My uncle Dale Miner was very creative. The only thing he had at a higher level was his foul language and his laziness. I was never sure which of the three traits would win, but one mower memory that tops the list is one that he scratch-built from other machinery’s spare parts. It looked like a garden tiller with two large wheels and its controls on the handles. The front had a contraption attachment like the cutter bars that horses or tractors once pulled to cut hay. Sharp uncovered teeth swished from side to side loping off the blades of grass. It was a Mad Max, mismatched machine.
Before I retired and before I bought my riding mower, one of my workmates asked why I didn’t hire my neighbor boy to mow. I snickered and said, “My neighbor boy was 80 years old with hip replacement, he has difficulty breathing and his wife had a heart attack.”

All Around the Campfire

 All Around the Campfire
One of the young men and teen youth leaders at Mt. Zion Community Church decided to make an evening where all the men of the church could gather for a time of fellowship. We’ve had several out door activities for the youth with games and food, but this was a little bit different. The evening was intended to draw the men of our church into a closer bond to be able to help and support each other. The young man who suggested it brought his propane grill for cooking the hot dogs, hamburgers, and pork steaaks to grill.Other men brought soda pop, Kool-aid, and ice water to drink, baked beans and macaroni salads, chips and pretzels. Whille that was being set up, others build a campfire inside the metal rim from a truck tire and sevearal metal folding chairs were set out around the campfire.
Shade from the trees at the rear of the church was chosen for the site. The evening was warm while a gentle breeze cooled the men and seemed to defeat the high humidity making the gathering more comfortable and welcoming.
Small groups of men gathered, talked then shifted, forming new groups.We were learning more about each other creating new bonds and hearing stories of each others’ past. The conversations were nothing of great importance, but it made us more aware of each other and the things that shaped our past and who we were now. We learned tidbits from each person’s past. Laughter often accented the evening’s conversations.
After a time of smelling the aromas of meats on the grill, food became a welcome interlude and the conversations were interspaced between bites of food. And of course once the edge to our appetites was dulled, there were several desserts from which to choose. A guitar appeared and soft music filled the air. As we settled to digest our foordd, the young man who thought of this gathering spoke, sharing the way a person’s perspective on life could change when focused on God. He used the shifting happenstance in the book of Ruth to illustrate as examples. Although it seemed odd that a biblical book about a woman was the inspirattion for this men’s retreat, but it was the lesson.
Clean-up was anticlimatic, but it was a great evening of fellowship.

Telemarketers Had No Chance

 Telemarketers Had No Chance
I was nominated to host the meal at my house for one Thanksgiving. Since I live alone, I don’t always keep the cobwebs out of the corners and dust off of the pictures on the wall. It meant the cleaning crew of my kids and grandchildren decided to attack the accumulated dust and grime. It was amazing. Furniture was actually moved and rearranged. The refrigerator was pulled out and cleaned behind. Seven miniature cleaning tornadoes whirled through my house. The smell of cleaning products lingered.
What was I doing while my family was finding things to spit-shine? I was ensconced on my recliner sorting through a box of newspaper clippings, photographs, booklets, and souvenir pamphlets that had been tucked under a desk. Stored with those things were tattered handmade cards, report cards, and even a story that I forgot I’d written. I’m waiting to read it when I’m less likely to be bored.
In the box were other keepsakes. I plan to distribute as many as I can. These personal items can clutter other homes. Some are souvenirs, photos, obituaries, funeral cards, and newspaper clippings accumulated by my wife’s mother Retha, and her grandmothers Pearl and Mabel. I hope to pass them along to the kin and share a few on line. Now I will wait to see if the bait works. Maybe someone will want them and claim them. The military clippings, I’ll donate to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society.
We talked and laughed as we worked. My kids were my guardians. It was difficult for me to move the paper-sorting project from my lap and climb out of my recliner when the telephone rang. My recliner’s in the living room and the phone’s in the kitchen. My daughters intervened and answered the calls. One telemarketer with a very pronounced accent asked to speak to me, mentioning my name. My youngest child Anna asked what the call was regarding, then before he could respond she rebuffed him saying, “If you’re a telemarketer, we’re on the no-call list,” and he hung up without another word.
When the second telemarketer called to take a poll, my other daughter Amanda answered the telephone. He was a little more persistent asking to speak with me. She fibbed by saying she was my nurse and I was asleep. The caller asked, when could he call back? She told him that “I was taking new medications and slept often. I have no idea when he might be awake.” My son-in-law Eric and daughter Anna were in the background saying, “Tell them he’s on hospice.”
Sheesh, I’m not young, but isn’t that a bit severe.

Random

 Random
Today my thoughts spill out in random sequence falling into no pattern. They dodge the raindrops of my everyday life. The time between those set dates of promises and appointments come with random thoughts, but what concerns me is that I am having and remembering dreams. Usually I don’t remember my dreams, but lately remembering dreams have become routine. My phantom smells weave into these weird and unreal illusions. Now I’ll share what concerns me. Last night my night time dreams have connected with sensations. This feeling had no substance, only the feeling that it was the dream. If you have ever worn contact lenses you will understand the constant nagging sensation of having a foreign body under the lens irritating the eye. That was in essence last night’s “dream.” I was wakened with a feeling of having a dry, irritated eye or having something under my contact lens. Upon waking the feeling would disappear and my eye would feel normal. After a sip of water and a bathroom run, I would crawl beneath my blankets and fall back to sleep, only to be wakened again by the miserable chafing sensation. It wasn’t painful, just a nagging annoyance.
Last year our area was in a drought situation with the wells of many people having gone dry. The gardens were begging for relief from the dry spell and in need of rain. This year it is completely the opposite. Rain here and through much of the country has an overabundance with areas of flooding. The old adage of “Take care for what you ask, you may just get it.” Laewns are lush, long, and green because it has become a real challenge to get several days to allow the grass to be dry enough to mow. The most curious thing is that the days are extremely hot, muggy, and humid making the chore of mowing more difficult. The blessing that I have is that I have a riding mower. I don’t know what my yard would look like if I had a push mower.
Last evening was the annual picnic of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. It was to be held outdoors in a pavillion, but it was quickly moved indoors because of the threat of rain. That turned out to be a blessing. Although a bit crowded, the room had air conditioning. Many of our members are older with breathing problems and the air conditioning made the meal more enjoyable. My thoughts today are as random as was the menu for the picnic. 

Van Hauling

 Van Hauling
My friend John and I drove the church van to Servants Heart Camp to retrieve the three kids from a week at summer camp. Servants Heart Camp is located north of Altoona, Pennsylvania near a small town named Ramey. It is still being shaped into a modern facility with rustic charm and grandeur.
The site overlooks a large lake and is secluded from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. It is a haven of peace and quiet where people are able to get in touch with God and make decisions about Jesus and the salvation that He offers. It has been a steady progress in creating this woodland retreat. Slowly from a tent dining room with a trailer truck kitchen, it is being transformed into a comfortable place to enjoy the time of being with others seeking God.
Cabins that are very similar to the KOA log cabins with showers and toilet facilities line the lake front and delve into the wooded areas. They surround the under-construction, two story lodge that faces the beauty of the lake.
The camp has a small store for snacks, camp-embossed shirts, and other souvenirs. There is an auditorium for folks to gather for skits and to listen to evangelist speakers. There are a multitude of eager staff members who care for the campers’ needs.
As John and I herded the kids and gathered their belongings into the van for the trip home, we were given a rousing send-off by the counsellors saying goodbye and wishing us a safe trip home. Two of our kids were upset that they were needing to leave. The third, I’m not sure of what he was thinking. He is always so quiet, I couldn’t hear much of what he was saying, but slowly I found out that even in his shyness, he had a wonderful time. He said that he enjoyed the mmany games and although he was initially afraid of the tower’s height, he rode the zip-line five times.
The van was often filled with the kids singing songs they had learned at camp. The trip home was uneventful, but we had to take care to avoid the many deer that would emerge forn the forest and dart across the road.
Once the kids were reunited with their parents at the church, our task was complete.

She Pushed My Happiness Button

   She Pushed My Happiness Button
Tuesday started out as an almost depressing day. I needed to wake up early to drive my lifelong friend to Ruby Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia. She was being treated for cancer of some lymph nodes. This was the third in a series of her chemo trearments. The drive was uneventful and we arrived before the registration clerks manned their positions. As we walked toward the entrance, I noticed a small “herd” of people in scrubs coming across the parking lot like stampeding wildebeasts. It was like films on the nature channels. Workers were heading to their designated areas.
 My friend needed to have blood tests before she had her chemo treatment. There was a delay when the technicians had difficulty starting an intravenous line. They needed it to draw blood and the cancer center upstairs would have an open line to infuse the chemo therapy. With one of my friend’s earlier appointments, the hospital had inserted a PICC line for easy access that could be reused for each visit. But the PICC line developed a clot shortly after its insertion and had to be removed.
They finally found a vein, blood was drawn, and we were sent upstairs. The physician assistant, nurses, and pharmacy aid spoke with my friend asking her about some adverse symptoms she had with the last round of chemotherepy. Everything seemed to cause a delay. The nurses needed to talk qith her doctor to get orders for the dosages for the next infusion. Orders needed to be relayed to the pharmacy so the correct drugs and dosages could be mixed and sent to the cancer floor.
Abby and Heather were the two wonderful nurses assigned to my friend. Although very busy, they couldn’t have been more friendly and attentive. Kudos. After the several delays, the infusions were started. The dose of the drug which caused the tingling was reduced. Bag after bag of medications were infused. How the nurses kept the diffferent medications separate really impressed me.
I sat by the bedside watching all of the activity and read. My only complaint was although the chair was soft, my sciatica acted up and I had to stand and walk in the room.
Eventually Dr. Shultz came to visit and talked to her about the drugs and her progress. She had had a PET scan the week before and anxiously waiting to hear the results. It was not only good news, it was great news. Her scan said that she was cancer free. She would need to return in three weeks for a last treatment, then a schedule for follow up visits. I had my happines button pushed and could hardly contain my joy on the drive home.

 

I Should Have Remembered

 I Should Have Remembered
After seventy-six years of living, you would have thought that I would have remembered at least one thing…to stay out of the sun, but no not me. Monday I washed a load of towels with only plans to hang them outside on my clothes line to dry. I was shirtless in the basement when the washer stopped and decided to slip outside to hang them up. The sun was shining brightly. It was hot and humid, but there was a nice breeze. They’ll dry nicely I thought.
The weatherman said it was to rain later and.the back part of my lawn is sometimes boggy. I wanted to get that part mowed before it became swampy. It was looking like a thick hayfield. I dsecided to hop on my John Deere mower and do several quick loops to clip the grass to a managable project for the next time I decided to mow. Again I tackled the small chore without wearing a shirt and no sun screen. Can you see the problem?
As I mowed the boggy area, I noticed that the rest of my lawn looked shaggy and unkempt, so smart me decided to finish mowing the rest of the lawn. The e front side of my lawn already looked a mess due to the trench that the water company dug to repair the main waterline’s leak frpm several days ago. I decided I would use the lawn mower to trim that area and perhaps get it to blend in with the rest of my lawn.
Instead of blending, the grass in the rest of my lawn was too long wit enough fast growing weeds that the “rest of the lawn” looked ratty, so I thought, “What the heck” I’m already on the mower, “What’s to stop me” from finishing the rest of the lawn?
As I nonchalantly tooled around my yard, I’m sure the satellites overhead were blinded by the sunlight reflecting from my chubby white body. I feel blessed that wasn’t the cause of any drivers who were in an accident blinded by the glare as they drove by my house.
What should have stopped me was the memory of my pale skin of ginger colored beard and sandy hair that has in the past, blistered under the sun’d rays. The ginger has long ago faded to silver and white. It now matches my pasty skin color but the ginger in my soul remains. Needless to say, my neck and shoulders gained a warm but painful rosy glow.

Splish Splash Making a Path

 Splish Splash Making a Path
Splish splash, making a path…that’s what happened Saturday evening. My day started out as a normal day. After I woke, checked my blood sugar, and ate breakfast, I watched some television, waiting for the pharmacy to open. My doctor ordered a new medication for the heartburn that I was having. She decided that it was what I needed instead of popping a few antacid tablets when it occurred. Some of the medications that I am on have the side effect of heartburn.
After I came home, I did a few chores and then the old couch potato in me sat down to watch some television and catch a nap. That’s my normal day. My phone rang. It was my daughter. She said that the water line in front of my house had sprung a leak. I can’t remember how she found out. I went to my front door and it was true. There was a fountain shooting out of the ground. It was onll about eight inches high, but the stream was flowing down the road several inches deep and anout five feet wide. Cars were running through it shooting rooster tails of water into my yard. The splash was more of a whomp as the splash hit the undereside of the vehicles fender. I could hear it inside, but there is a bump in the road. The sound was similar to vehicles pulling a trailer and I dismissed it. It was a common noise that I’dd gotten used to hearing.
I called the water ccompany to report it. The voice answering my call said that it had already been reported and the repair crew waas on it’s way.True to their word, the repair crew arrived about 5 pm, shutting off the flow of water. Several more vehicles trickled in, one was a truck towing a flatbed trailer. On the trailed was a bright yellow Deere back-hoe. Unlooaded they began digging a trench about 20 feet long. Mud, shale, and water was scooped from the hole and hauled away. Another vehicle arrived. It was very much like a vacuum cleaner. It sprayed water to loosen the soil and thenn sucked it up into a tank.
Slowly the men cleared a hole to about 5 feet deep, exposing the punctured pipe then cutting out the damaged piece and replacing that section with a repair pipe. Finally they refilled the trench with more gravel fill. The crew finished at 9 pm. I went from sink to sink freeing the trapped air. I was glad that I remembered the last time and took the top of the toilet tank off. If I hadn’t, the tank top would have been in orbit.

Flashing Red Lights

 Flashing Red Lights
Wednesday night my friend John and I were drivers on the van route to pick up kids for evening services at our church. As we started to leave the parking lot, an emergency fire truck came into the lot with it’s red overheadd lights flashing. It turned around fight in front of us and parked.
I looked at John and he looked at me wondering what was happening, He shrugged his shoulder and we left. As we drove in front of the church, our Pastor and other people on the front porch expressed that they had no idea as well. We left to pick up the two young boys who needed a ride to attend the evening service. They have been faitthfully attending. John and I wanted to be sure that we weren’t late in picking them up.
At a road to the community of Bear Rocks, we saw another emergency firetruck with its lights flashing parked at the opening of the road. I glanced past it down the road and saw several private vehicles of volunteer firemen with their blue lights flashing. I saw in their midst a state police vehicle as well. John and I were wondering what was going on, but we drove on. We had kids to collect and didn’t want to be late
As we drove down Kreinbrook Hill road, a state police SUV with its red lights flashing came speeding upward to the area that we’d just left. It almost clipped the front fender of our church van. Again John and I were wondering what was going on to cause all the furor.
We picked up the boysat their homes and began to return to church with the boys fastened in their seat belts. I fully expected to point out the confusion of the flashing lights and emergency vehiccles, but I was disappointed. The street was empty. No lights and no vehicles.
We drove the van into the church parking lot. No wonder the street into Bear Rocks ans bare, they were all at the church aand had gained anotherr policce car and several ambulances. There was a plethors of flashing red lights.
At the back of our church is a large field that the church owns, mows, and maintains for outdoor games. The emergency squads decided to land the medical helicopter there to pick up a person who had been in a quad vehicle accident. We parked the van and hustled the boys inside. Slowly the parking lot emptied after the helicopter collected their patient.

Banned From the County Courthouse

Banned From the County Courthouse
Several years back I answered a call for jury duty at the Fayette County Courthouse. As a citizen of the United States and Fayette County, I felt it was my responsibility to go. I was retired and didn’t have anything else exciting to do. That day arrived and I was blessed when I found the gate to the parking garage open. I was able to park for free. I made my way to the courthouse then entered the courtroom for roll call. I was amazed at the inefficiency of the officials. Instead of someone checking people as they entered, marking them on the roster, and assigning a juror badge number, the juror pool sat and waited until the room was full. One by one the names were called and given badges. It was more than an hour wasted and sitting on those hard oak benches irritated my sciatic nerve.
Our group was assigned to report to another courtroom. We sat on hard oak chairs for another hour. The ache in my back worsened and my foot began to go numb. After the judge sat on his throne and lawyers made plea deal one after another, we were excused to wait in the hall. By then it was lunchtime and we were dismissed to find food nearby. When I returned, my pain had worsened. I hunted the office of the lady who was in charge of the jurors and told her about my problem with the progressive numbness in my foot. She said if I stayed until three PM, she would excuse me from jury duty.
While I was talking with her, I mentioned, “The last time I was here, the prosecutor didn’t do his job.” She looked startled. I shared, “The accused stole an air conditioner for the aluminum and the prosecutor failed to say whether it was commercial or home model and whether it was functioning or not. We could only judge the accused with scrap metal prices for the aluminum.”
At three I left AND would you believe it, the very next week, I received another jury duty summons. I sent back a scathing letter telling the courthouse that they could send the sheriff and all his deputies, but I wasn’t coming back. I also explained that I’d already been there and my sciatica problem. They sent a return letter saying it was no longer necessary for me to serve as a juror. I’d been banned.
Because my address is Acme, I also get jury summons from Westmoreland County. When I received one from Westmoreland, I returned it saying I lived in Fayette. When they responded I needed a doctor’s excuse, I phoned them. The reason for the continuing snafu is the list is generated in Harrisburg. Enough said.