Prayers to Repair the Tears in the Fabric of the United States

 Prayers to Repair the Tears in the Fabric of the United States
There has been a lot of mud slinging and outright lies being hurled about one particular Presidential candidate and I am praying that cooler heads will prevail and the flames of discontent and disappointment will not be fanned by malcontents in Hollywood and in the media. Much of the derisiveness has been caused by the Left leaning populous. The assault on others that express their concern for the United States have been threatened and assaulted, in restaurants, in the streets, and there have been attempts to silence their freedom of speech the constant cry of “that offends me” has filled our eears, our work places and everyday life.
I pray this constant of assaults on the garenteed freedoms clearly defined in the Constitution of the United States will be silenced. I pray the wounds and sores caused by the constant friction between the Libeals and Conservatives can be heals. I pray that the tears in the fabric of unity can be repaired and that the ability to coexist can be instituted.
This election campaign has been ugly with the word s Nazi, dictator, and the name of Hitler have been often carelessly used. The saddest thing is the horrors that were once attrached to those terms has been cheapened and has lost the actual facts of history. The abject brutality of those terms is being lost in the battle of words. The potency of the real Holocaust is being diluted and forgotten.
It is hard to overlook the freguent use of those terms when the people who were once admired for their reporting of facts are now being told to recite and share the ideations of their owners in television, radio, and other media. In Russia the state controlled newspaper Pravda is mostly propoganda. Pravda means Truth and the Russian people often ask is it Truth or is it the truth?
Please join me in prayer that the rift caused by this election can be repaired and heal our great nation. Let the rancor that has been instigated by the misinformation be resolved and that the love of families and friends might be restored.

Saving the Innocent

 Saving the Innocent
Friday I attended the annual Veteran’s program at Mt. Carmel Church and Christian School. Each year since 1999 the teachers and students have prepared songs and recitations that share the ideals of our courageous men and women who have sacrificed themselves in past wars. These men and women gave their lives to keep the United States and much of the rest of the world free from tyranny.
This year was another remarkable celebration to remember those who gallantly gave their lives in an attempt to keep our freedom alive in the United States. These young men and women who participated in this program will hopefully recall this time that they honored and respected the valiant soldiers and sailors of Americas past conflicts and those who died to keep them safe.
Filling the pews in front of me were rows of children wearing clothing of reds, whites, and blues. These young, innocent faces would turn back searchimg for familiar people in the crowded pews of the audience of those who gathered to hear and see them recite. Parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles filled the rest of the auditorium. I met and spoke to a few who were not veterans or their spouses, but were there to join in the celebration of our brave men and women who were veterans.
As I sat there, I watched as the youngest children got restless as they gained their assigned seats. Many were searching for their parents. Their faces would light up when they recognized the people they sought. Their small hands would ezcitedly grasp the back of their pew with restless gestures, waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Innocence poured from their angelic faces.
I thought of the perverse people in the world who dared to siphon off that innocence and abuse the children. It angered me to believe that there are pedophile Draculas who would intentionally suck out the carefree time of childhood by trying to instill their perverted ways on these beautiful reflections of God. Too many adults wish to see these babes indoctrinated into the evils of the world. Leave these children alone. As parents and for those who love our children, we must become veterans in the war of morals and fight to preserve their innocence for as long as possible.

Aw Nuts

 Aw Nuts
There are many memories that I have about nuts. My Uncle Ted miner would collect walnuts and hickory nuts in the autumn and dry them in the attic my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s large farmhouse. When winter came, he would haul them to the basement, crack them with a hammer on a section of railroad rail and fill a five gallon bucket. He would carry them to the television room and pick out the nut meats. He would sell the nuts to women in the community of Indian Head, Pennsylvania for use in baking the Christmas cookies. He didn’t sell the butternuts. Grandma used them in her candied popcorn.
Another memory of nuts was the nuts sold in the department stores. Murphy’s and McCrory’s had a nut display just inside of their doors. The nuts incluned shelled peanuts, Spanish Peanuts, and cashews. The display rotated and was warmed aand illuminated by a spotliht. The aroma of the roasting nuts was like a siren song, and even though my parents, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck rarely bought them, it was nice to inhale the deliscious smell. Occcasionally someone would buy some and the salesperson would use a metal scoop to lift the chosen nuts, pour them into a white bag, and weigh the contents on a balancing scale.
I don’t bake cookies for Christmas, but instead have made different kinds of nut brittle. I have made peanut brittle, walnut brittle, cashew brittle, almond brittle, and pecan brittle. I make small boxes of the different candy to give as gifts. I no longer make the almond brittle. I think the almond nut flavor gets lost in the brittle. I’ve eaten some spiced and candied nuts and enjoyed their flavor. I may have to check out some of those recipes before Christmas.
My favorite cake is the carrot cake with the sour cream frosting and the cake batter filled with walnuts. I am a bit odd because I don’t like to have raisins in the cake. There is something about the texture of the raisins squishing as I chew. Isn’t that just nuts?
Aw Nuts
There are many memories that I have about nuts. My Uncle Ted miner would collect walnuts and hickory nuts in the autumn and dry them in the attic my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner’s large farmhouse. When winter came, he would haul them to the basement, crack them with a hammer on a section of railroad rail and fill a five gallon bucket. He would carry them to the television room and pick out the nut meats. He would sell the nuts to women in the community of Indian Head, Pennsylvania for use in baking the Christmas cookies. He didn’t sell the butternuts. Grandma used them in her candied popcorn.
Another memory of nuts was the nuts sold in the department stores. Murphy’s and McCrory’s had a nut display just inside of their doors. The nuts incluned shelled peanuts, Spanish Peanuts, and cashews. The display rotated and was warmed aand illuminated by a spotliht. The aroma of the roasting nuts was like a siren song, and even though my parents, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck rarely bought them, it was nice to inhale the deliscious smell. Occcasionally someone would buy some and the salesperson would use a metal scoop to lift the chosen nuts, pour them into a white bag, and weigh the contents on a balancing scale.
I don’t bake cookies for Christmas, but instead have made different kinds of nut brittle. I have made peanut brittle, walnut brittle, cashew brittle, almond brittle, and pecan brittle. I make small boxes of the different candy to give as gifts. I no longer make the almond brittle. I think the almond nut flavor gets lost in the brittle. I’ve eaten some spiced and candied nuts and enjoyed their flavor. I may have to check out some of those recipes before Christmas.
My favorite cake is the carrot cake with the sour cream frosting and the cake batter filled with walnuts. I am a bit odd because I don’t like to have raisins in the cake. There is something about the texture of the raisins squishing as I chew. Isn’t that just nuts?

The Hidden Miracle of Microchimerism

 The Hidden Miracle of Miocrochimerism
I found out about an event that occurs when a woman becomes pregnant. I haven’t done a lot of reading on the subject, but it’s an impressive fact. When a woman becomes pregnant and the child begins to form inside of her womb, some of the mother’s DNA crosses over the placental barrier and the infant’s DNA crosses into the mother’s bloodstream to become a permanent part of the mother’s make-up.
This fact came from a study that doctor’s made with women who had heart problems. The doctor’s initial thoughts were that the baby’s DNA was attacking the cells of the mother’s heart. They were in a quandry of what to do. But as they continued to study the phenomenon, they discovered that the infant’s DNA was actually rushing to its mother’s heart to try to heal the injury. The thought was so impressive that I had to step back. I had to think about this preservation miracle. It’s an amazing aspect of a woman’s pregnancy. The conclusion was hidden when the physicians evaluated the women by the fact that some of the women hadn’t written in their history that they were pregnant. On farther questioning, some of the women had an ectopic pregnancy, had a miscarriage, or had an abortion that hadn’t been reported to the doctors.
Those facts were astounding. It caused my mind to go into overdrive. Women who terminated their pregnancy decidin to abort a child that same child was now trying to heal and save the life of the woman who’d earlier casually aborted them. It was tragicaly ironic.
Margaret Sanger set into motion Planned Parenthood with the express purpose of destroying black children. She wanted to create an institution to carry out racial genocide. Think of the millions of innocent infants that have been terminated by this cruel and heartless woman and those who follow in her footsteps. Innocent blood remains on their hands. It saddens me to think of the mothers who are alive today even after they have chosen to kill their unborn children. I feel sad for the women who have no remorse destroying a life and actually take pride in the fact that they chose to abort a baby instead of allowing that unborn soul to live.

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 of my 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 2025 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.

If You Build It They Will Come

 If You Build It They Will Come
My daughters Amanda Yoder and Anna Prinkey are using a wooden pallet, pieces of cardboard, and furring strips to construct a fake privy. Amanda volunteered to create a replica of an outhouse for her daughter Hannah’s school. The school needed one for the Halloween float and for a school play. My basement has been the design area, laboratory, and construction site for the portable potty. Screws and staples attach the wood and cardboard. Spray paint and magic markers are being used to simulate the weathered wood of the outside toilet. I almost got a high from the fumes, but I guess it is better than if the latrine was in use and stinking. The project is about eighty percent done with only the way for the toilet door to be securely closed. A fold in a long cardboard piece made the door’s hinge. Surgery using a box-cutter made the half-moon design and v-shaped notch ventillation spot at the top of the door. I’m not sure how Amanda is planning to transport this monstrous seven foot tall privy to the school. Maybe she can convince her brother-in-law James Prinkey to haul it in his truck, if not, you may see a Subaru driving along the highway with an outhouse being sticking out of the rear end.
Before indoor plumbing came into vogue, the outdoor privy was a home’s necessity. The wooden building was constructed to give privacy to the user. The slender shed was built to cover a deep hole in the ground and for the safety of the user. Every home had one, city dweller or out in the country. If the privy was in the city where there was no land to excavate a new hole or if it constructed of more permanent material, the cess pool would have to be emptied by “honey-dippers.” Honey-dippers were men who would for a fee, empty the waste products and dispose of it.
Spinder, flies, bees, and other insects found the outhouse a perfect place to set up residency, which made the trip to the toilet scary. The stink even masked by lime was unpleasant. Weather was another factor to consider, the heat of the summer increased the smell and activity of the insects and the winter chill on bare flesh could end up with frostbitten bottoms. Toilet paper was non-existent and corn cobs or catalogs were put into another use.
There may be one more evening of work at the construction site before the travelling toilet makes its maiden voyage to Mount Pleasant, Pennsylvania.

Autumn's Amazing Palette

 Autumn’s Amazing Palette
Every time I go outside, I am amazed at the bright colors and hues that have graced the trees around my home. This year, the transformation has been extended because of the cold snaps interspersed with periods of warmth and sunshine. Oaks, maples, aspen, beech, willows, wild cherry, and apple trees form nature’s quilt to cover slopes of western Pennsylvania.
The hills that were so very recently colored in a wide variety of greens, have tossed off that lush verdant cloak and donned a Joseph’s-coat-of-many-colors, but more flamboyantly. Each tree is covered in leaves of various shapes that have been assigned to that tree. The shapes shimmered and shone in the summer sun where shadows chased each other when the breezes stroked them. Their summer attire was beautiful, but it covered the rich hues that are inherent in each leaf.
In autumn, the green slowly recedes and the hidden becomes revealed in aall its majesty. Ever so slowly the colors blend. One hue fades and the other strengthens. Each leaf takes its time revealing one color after another. The breeze shifts the foliage’s position to change the entire presentation of the tree. The changing position in the shade and sunshine almost appear as the scales on a snake.
Is it any wonder that we are amazed with the world that God has created? It is an ever changing panorama of His intelligence and creativity. When we look around, it is surprising that God can create such a difference using the same ingredients: air, clouds, soil, rocks, and plants. They vary from deserts, mountains, jungles, seashores. The beauty is remarkable and yet so different
When our church group travelled out West, we’d comment on the beauty of the rocks, sand, and cacti. There would be locals who asked, “Where are you from?” We’d say Pennsylvania and more often than not, they’d say, “Trees. That would be so beautiful.”
We don’t take the time to really enjoy the land around us, but I believe that the colors of autumn can cause us to enjoy what God has given us.