When It’s Time

 When It’s Time
My grandfather Raymond Miner sometimes shared stories of things that happened in the coal mines of Southwestern Pennsylvania. One story was stirred when we saw on television a news story of an airliner that had a door pop open during a flight over Hawaii and a stewardess was sucked out and killed. She was the only person that was harmed during the incident.
He said, “When it’s your time, it’s your time. We started to dig a new mine shaft and still close to the surface. Normally we worked underground, but were always willing to leave the darkness, go outdoors, and eat our food in the fresh air when we could.
“This day we gathered outside the mine entrance picking spots to sit and eat. I‘d just opened my lunch bucket when one of the other miners cocked his head to the side as if someone had called his name. He laid aside his sandwich and walked back into the mine. He’d barely stepped inside when the ceiling of the mine collapsed. The debris and rubble buried him. It was as though God had called his name, told him to come into the mine, and then drew him home.”
Most of the veins of bituminous coal in Southwestern Pennsylvania are not very thick and even though my granddad was a short statured man, he either had to stoop or crawl through the mine to swing his pick and loosen the coal. Once the coal was freed, he would shovel it out, loading it into the mine carts that would haul to coal to the surface.
He worked the night shift with my uncle Dale. What I didn’t know until after my granddad and my uncle both had died was that my uncle was lazy, often sleeping during the night and my grandfather did the work of picking, shoveling, and loading the coal for two people.
Granddad’s labors didn’t end at the end of his shift at the mine. He worked on his farm during the day, catching sleep whenever he could between chores. He worked to provide for his wife Rebecca and his eight children: Rachel, Violet, Cora, Ina, Sybil, Cosey, Dale, and Theodore. He had little time to rest, but loved my grandmother and his children so much. I don’t think he minded. I imagine my uncle didn’t take the time to help Granddad on the farm either.
When the time came for my grandfather to end his time on Earth, he was seventy-six years old, diagnosed with hardening of the arteries, but I think that he died because he was worn out from burning the candle at both ends, working in the mines, and on the farm. Although my grandfather was a man short with a quiet nature, he stood tall in my eyes.

Whoville

With the recent anniversary of my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s death, I thought of this previous post and thought I would share this story.
Whoville
An advertisement on the television shared the information that this year, The Grinch That Stole Christmas special would be celebrating its fiftieth anniversary of airing on the television. It is so hard for me to believe that this wonderful Dr. Seuss Christmas classic has been around as a part of the holiday season for that long. I can remember my kids spellbound and growing up to the message of the Grinch’s attempt to steal the joy of Christmas. He, of course failed, and finally joined the residents of Whoville, realizing the true spirit of Christmas. When the Grinch saw that Christmas was a celebration separate from the gifts, food, and decorations, he returned all the outward trappings that he had stolen, mistakenly thinking that they were the essence of the season.
One central character was named Cindy Lou Who. She was the major reason for the changing of the Grinch’s mind about the holiday. Her innocence did much to change the Grinch’s undersized heart and misguided view of Christmas. It caused him to return the roast beast, the wreaths, and the assorted toys and gifts.
My wife’s name was Cynthia Louise Morrison Beck, but preferred to be called Cindy. So each Christmas she would get the additional moniker of Cindy Lou Who and it lasted until the last Jing Tingler, Flu Flooper, Who Hoover, Gar Ginker, and Trum Trumpet were unwrapped and enjoyed by our children.
The title of Cindy Lou Who was put away after each Christmas and was resurrected as soon as The Grinch That Stole Christmas would march across the television set. Happy fiftieth anniversary to the Grinch, to Max his dog, and to Cindy Lou Who. 

Are You Catholic

 Are You Catholic This incident occurred while I was still working in the emergency room at Frick Hospital, Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. It was the B.C. era, meaning it was in the days before computers, so when a doctor ordered an x-ray, the nurses would have to write the patient’s name, birthday, cubicle number, what part of the body was to be x-rayed and why it needed to be x-rayed on a small chit of paper. Then the nurse would have to hand carried the requisition to the radiology room and given to the techs inside.
One day I carried a request into the radiology room and as I turned to leave, one of the techs said, “If you see the priest, tell him to stop in and give us ashes for our foreheads. We also want him to bless the x-ray machine.” It was then I recognized that it was Ash Wednesday.
Just as I reached the door my warped sense of creativity and humor kicked in. I said, “You know, when the priest comes in, you guys could set up a confessional booth in the dark room. He can open the doors for exposed sins and unexposed to give you your penance.” As in all radiology rooms at that time, there were film storage bins with doors marked as to whether the films had been exposed or whether they were yet unexposed. My mind made the comparison to the Catholic confession chamber with confessed and un-confessed sins.
I heard them laugh as I exited. Later in the day, I carried another chit for an x-ray to the techs. When I opened the door the priest was already inside. He had already placed ashes on the techs’ foreheads. One of the girls pointed to me and said, “There! That’s the one.” Apparently they told the priest what I had said about the darkroom “confesional.”
The priest turned to me and asked, “Were you an altar boy?”
“No.” I replied.
He tried again, “Are you Catholic?”
“No.” I answered again.
He tried one last time, “Do you want to be Catholic?”
My reply was again, “No!”
My response was almost lost in the two technicians’ loud laughter. The priest didn’t laugh, but I’m fairly sure that I saw a smile on his face.

Shoulders Hips Knees and Toes

Shoulders Hips Knees and Toes
Wednesday I helped to distribute food “baskets” to veterans. It is a rewarding experience to see these men and women who have sacrificed so much to serve our country’s wishes be rewardeed in some small way. We have those who’ve fought in the different wars that American politicians have asked them to fight. One of these men who come fought in World War II and is 100 years of age. Many of the people who come for the food baskets were once wounded. Many are older and can barely shuffle in. Some of these veterans have to be driven to the food share, but they all deserve the respect and the food that we distribute to them.
The boxes of food are stacked on pallets. The pallets are unloaded for volunteers to carry to the vet’s car. The boxes of food weigh about 12 to 25 pounds depending what has been prepackaged. Some are lighter when they are filled with mostly dried goods, (Cereal, noodles, macaroni & cheese, etc.) or they are much heavier when they have canned goods placed inside. There is usually a box of various frozen items: meals, hot dogs, French fries, lunch meat, chicken, or ground beef or ground turkey. When a veteran arrives, the volunteers hustle to load the vehicle with the various boxes, bags, and jugs of milk and drink portion that is to be dispensed. The boxes are hefted and carried about fifty feet to the awaiting vehicles to be loaded into trunks, truck beds, or back seats.
There are times that the veterans arrive in multiple numbers and it is often difficult to know who arrived first to serve them first. For the most part, the veterans are of good sorts and accept if we make a mistake, unlike shoppers at nearby grocery stores if someone mistakenly “jumps the line.”
The hardest part is getting the drivers to line up into spaces for loading. If anyone has driven lately, you know the experience level of drivers on the roads today. Getting them to maneuver and stop where they are to be is sometimes tricky. Add to that those whose eyesight is fading. So far we’ve avoided parking disasters and we are thankful for that, but it does create episodes of confusion especially in peak arrival times. All in all it went fairly well.
I was very tired on Wednesday evening, but waking up Thursday morning soreness arrived: shoulders, hips, knees, and toes. I almost forgot to mention my back.

Travel Brochures

 Travel Brochures
When I first started to write, I became part of a group of amateur writers who met at a local library sharing pieces that we’d written for comparison. Others would evaluate our writing skills and point out errors and hints for improving our texts. It was as the Bible says, “Steel sharpens steel.” The observations and suggestions were to help us become better writers.
I label myself as a descriptive writer. I want my readers to understand where I am coming from and to see what I’ve sene, smelled what I’ve smelled, taste what I’ve tasted, and heard what I’ve heard. I would occasionally write in excess because one of my fellow writers told me that I “should write travel brochures.”
The story I wrote was about a gambler from New Jersey who was on the run because he had a dalliace with a casino owner’s wife. His escape led him to book a cruise from Newfoundland through Labrador. I used the sights, scenes, and smells that I encountered from a trip I took on the Northern Ranger. The Northern Ranger is an ice-hardened ship, 236 feet long that plied the coast of northern Newfoundland to the town of Nain, Labrador. The ship was taken out of commission in 2021.
In telling the murder mystery tale I’d written, I described each port-of-call, the people that I met on the journey, things that I saw, and the way the people of Labrador interacted with the crew. The Northern Ranger wasn’t a passenger ship, but provided berths for a few passengers and a large passenger seating area for passengers that would travel between the different towns. The ship also hauled supplies to the ports, collected, and their transported products of fish and other seafood items in its hold.
The description of the different ports and varied people added to the flavor of the story. I did omit almost one entire chapter because it was a sidebar of a married couple that added human interest to the tale, but it had no bearing on the plot. I was reluctant to do so, because it was a wonderful piece of descriptive writing about this older couple. I wanted to include the couple because the main character met her on the plane flying to Newfoundland.
Now to share with you another group of descriptive writers, they are pediatric nurses. If you have ever read thee charting of a pediatric nurse trying to describe the bowel movements of a child, you will understand what I mean. Color, consistance, odor, amount, etc are all part of the information that they want to share, although I doubt if a nurse’s descriptions of a hospitalized child’s bowel movement would be included in a travel brochure.

A Very Special Anniversary

A Very Special Anniversary
    Today was a very special anniversary. It’s a date that I don’t like to celebrate, but it’s an anniversary none-the-less. March 24, 2003, my beloved wife Cindy passed away. She had been ill with upper respiratory tract infection symptoms for about a week. Her wheezing was getting worse and I gave her no choice, it was time to be seen at the hospital. After much testing it was determined that she had fallen victim to the silent killer, ovarian cancer. It had quietly invaded her body to the point little could be done. Ten days later she was in the loving arms of Jesus. Cynthia “Cindy” Morrison Beck had passed through the veil from life into death and into heaven beyond earth’s shadows.
    The irony of the date is that is the second anniversary that I am forced to celebrate on the same date. It’s the anniversary of my mother Sybil Miner Beck’s passing. After many years where her mind and body held captive by the insidious grasp of Alzheimer’s disease, she died on the third anniversary of my wife’s passing. On March 24, 2006, she was freed from the shackles of the terrible disease that had been stealing her mind and ravaging her body for so many years. The symptoms of tha disease had gotten to the point she could no longer remember how to eat.
    There is sadness with this anniversary, but there’s also a blessing. In the brief window of Cindy’s illness, she had no pain. It was difficult for us who were left behind, but in retrospect, she didn’t have to suffer the agony and terrible pain that so many cancer victims have to bear.
    After so many years of my mother not knowing what was happening to her and the horror of having her memories swallowed up by the black hole of Alzheimer’s, she was finally free. In heaven she was again ablto be the person that we remember.
    Though neither of them are still here their memories remain alive in the hearts and minds of those who knew them.
 

Armpit Hairs

 Armpit Hairs
Before I retired coworkers were sharing a flyer with the drawing of a mushroom and the caption, “I must be a mushroom, because around here, I’m always kept in the dark and fed fertilizer.” Recently I thought it was more like being an armpit hair. I worked as middle management and we were always kept in the dark, compelled to enforce decisions that often smelled badly, even when senior management made an attempt to use deodorant, it still smelled.
Too often it caused me to sweat with attempts to get staff members to comply. Most often it seemed that there were many more steps added to accomplish a simple task which was already being done satisfactorily. Those decisions often mimicked the “common core math” fiasco that was forced on schools to obtain financing.
I’ve had school teachers support “Common Core Math” by arguing that with some children, it was the way they learned. My reply was, then teach those children separately. Children learn in different ways. Some children understand by touch and by feeling, some learn by audio input, while others learn by visual stimulation. Teachers use various methods to reach children who need alternate methods of learning. They don’t force all the other the children in the class to learn by one method only.
Computers were supposed to eliminate or at least reduce paperwork. Hospitals swarmed to join the rush toward a paperless society, but what I have seen is an actual increase of generated papers and an increase of repetitious questions. This unnecessary work causes a decrease in productivity. It doesn’t matter if the doctors or hospital is in the same system and it doesn’t matter how close the appointments are: the very same questions are asked over and over and over again. The computer programs were created for the ease of the bean counters. Each click registers a corresponding charge to make the calculation of billing easier.
Who remembers paper bags for groceries? Stores were compelled to use plastic sacks to save the environment. While paper bags are from a renewable resource and biodegradable, plastic is not. Plastic bags have now become a huge problem, so much so that stores were beginning to enforce reusable shopping bags. Then the Corona virus hit and using “contaminated” reusable bags suddenly became taboo. The reusable bags could save stores money. From what I understand stores plan to pass the cost of plastic to the consumer charging a few cents for each “disposable” bag.
And so on it goes. There are too many people that make regulations that govern everyday lives that have absolutely no idea what’s necessary outside a boardroom or outside the virtual created computer world. Anyone else feel like an armpit hair?