Beehive

When I sit to share thoughts, often there is a blank sheet of paper waiting to accept whatever I decide is a worthy subject. Too often I sit and stare at the virginal surface before me and wonder what it will be and how to express it. Sometimes my cupboard is bare and I struggle with writer’s block. But today, I am inundated with a hoard of ideas swarming to escape, like bees trying to flee their burning hive. I’m not sure whether I’ll express one complete idea or string them together like beads on a string.

I could post notes about my unique “Sign Lady” friend with whom I travel to PNC Park, but before we left home, she requested that I not don my Colonel Harlan Sanders attire. She asked that I dress normally. Since she’s a friend and the tickets were free, I acquiesced and dressed in jeans, a Pirate T shirt and wore my antique, number 21 hat honoring Rennie Stennett. Years ago, I was fortunate enough to meet him and his beautiful wife at another big league pitcher’s home. Roger Miller. Casually clad, I tried to be normal for the night.

I could also share that the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society is evaluating accumulated data, only keeping items that mention local people, places, and events. It’s an attempt gain room for storage and display. Because I “volunteered” to be corresponding secretary, the task of writing an accompanying letter of introduction and why we were directing the booklets to them fell to me. Paper documentation is too easily lost or destroyed, so it made sense for us to share with other societies and allow them to determine whether to retain the local history.

A few days ago, I had an answer to prayers. For nearly a year, I’ve been searching for a journal from a mission’s trip about 20 years ago. We left Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, driving through northeastern states into Canada, then taking a ferry into Newfoundland. When we arrived at its northern tip we boarded a ship to Nain, Labrador. In the journal I made notations and drew hurried sketches of the shore line as we sailed along the rugged coast.

The reason I couldn’t find it? It had a camouflage cover and was tucked between two larger books in their shadows. The old phrase of “hiding in plain sight” was appropriate in this case.

Sometimes the smallest of happenings like having the satisfaction of a completed task, having time out with a friend, or finding the answer to prayer can be so rewarding.

Past Playgrounds

My playgrounds as a young child were the clay banks leftover from the strip mining behind our house between Indian Head and Normalville, Pennsylvania. Now, before you think everyone in Normalville is normal, let me say it is in Fayette County and the village wasn’t named for that reason. Schools that taught teachers how to teach and what to teach in the 1920’s through the 1930’s were called normal schools. They were much like teachers colleges today. There was a normal school In Normalville and thus its name.

Those clay banks were like elongated ripples allowing water to accumulate in the valleys making perfect places for frogs to lay their eggs and raise their young. Catching tadpoles and watching them swim, grow appendages and turn into frogs from a mass of gelatinous eggs with a small black “yolk” fascinated us as kids.

The world of playgrounds expanded to the neighbor’s yard and the tinkering with old cars, building of clubhouses, toboggans, and homemade weight sets were the norm. As we became mobile by riding our bikes or walking the two miles to Indian Head it expanded even more. Collecting old soda bottles along the way gave us spending money when we arrived at Resh’s Red & White store. Usually, there was money for one quart bottle of pop, one or two candy bars, and maybe a small box of matches.

By this time, swimming holes were certainly within the circle of playgrounds. One was close while two others were at the end of a 2 plus mile walk or bike ride. One bike excursion, we surprised a woman standing in the open door of her camper/trailer completely sky clad.

Traveling by car with our parents, we were able to use the grounds of Fallingwater as a place to explore. My great uncle was groundskeeper there and while our parents visited, my brother and I saw some of the behind the scenes of the Frank Lloyd Wright house. I was given a private tour of another Wright house, Kentuck Knob when my brother-in-law delivered home art work to Mrs. I.N. Hagan. The gracious lady led us through the structure, pointing out its unique features.

While in the U.S. Navy, A bit more of the world was opened to me: Florida, Great Lakes, and Iceland. Traveling with our church group and tenting, much of the western states, northeast and some provinces of Canada became a playground. Playgrounds are what and where you make them. Life isn’t always about work.

Musical Memories

When I listen to the radio, it’s almost like playing musical chairs. I don’t know what tune I’ll dial into or what song will be playing when I exit the car. I don’t know why, but often the lyrics or just the music or a song can snatch my thoughts from the present back to the time I first heard it or when it connected to a special event in my life. I have little control over the transporting of my soul or my mind to relive that nostalgic moment. Some of the moments are magical, lifting me and extending the ecstatic feeling into the present. At times, a certain song plucks at the strings of my heart stirring grief and sadness to return me to the sorrows of some past event.

Etta James, when she sings At Last stirs emotions in me that are not connected to any specific event, while the song Ain’t No Sunshine When She’d gone makes me feel sad, because I connect it with the death of my wife 15 years ago. Hymns can bring hope and joy or they can open doors of sadness. It depends to which event in my life they cling. Bagpipes deepen the emotion when they’re played. Amazing Grace on the bagpipes squeezes my heart tightly. My wife’s best friend’s husband was a piper. That tune echoed across the hillsides and flooded the cemetery. Many times I am unable to listen to the pipes.

There are few other things that can stir the heart and mind more than music. Operas can cause people to weep or to laugh as the story line unfolds in the singing. Polkas, old Rock and Roll music, and other lively tunes cause my feet to want to dance. Sometimes the lyrics seem to be especially made for me to sing in the shower, in the car, or even on karaoke night. There are certain instruments that almost seem spiritual when played: pipe organs, bagpipes, flutes, the didgeridoo, and sometimes the rhythm of drums. Their notes reach deep into my soul.

The very rhythm of a dirge elicits feelings of sorrow and sympathy for the friends and loved ones for whom the piece is being played. It conveys a solemn somberness that is lacking in other music.

Embers of sadness, happiness, joy, and an entire range of emotions are stirred of memories both harsh and pleasant when music is played.

Is It the Memories?

Looking at the many recollections of my past, were some things actually better back then or are they just the wistfulness of lingering memories that I‘ve dredged up from the storage areas of my mind. Were the loaves of Grandma Miner’s hot and fresh bread coming out from her coal fired oven better than any recipes I’ve tried? Was the chicken salad that she made from boiled chicken, its broth, chopped dill pickle, and salt and pepper more flavorful than anything I’ve tried to remake. The salads she made and served in a green, upside down fez looking bowl were they fresher than what I prepare. The fresh churned butter was so flavorful that my grandfather slathered it onto his bread an eighth of an inch thick.

Red ripe tomatoes pulled from my grandparent’s garden and eaten after I wiped it off with my shirt makes me want to go back to that time. I recall the sharp sun-warmed flavor of the crimson orb as the juice would run down my chin. If I wasn’t snitching a fat tomato, I would stroll to the other end of the garden to snap off a stalk of rhubarb. The memory of its sharp flavor still makes my mouth water, thinking of the taste as I gnawed that raw tangy stalk. Occasionally, I could wrangle a salt shaker from the house and enhance the flavors of both.

Lemonade on a hot summer day seemed to slide across the taste buds after several hours of work or play. A huge chunk of ice swam among the bruised and squeezed lemon slices and the heavily sweetened juice and chilled water mixture that filled a large crock.

Today cantaloupes and watermelons seem to have lost their sweetness and flavor, often shipped to market before they are ripe. The same thing happens with peaches. Although they’ve gotten larger, many have lost that distinctive sweet flavor and juiciness.

I made “poodlies” yesterday. It is the dish my mom would often make for lunch. Cooked macaroni, oleo, tomato juice, and plenty of salt, steaming; hot and flavorful, the concoction filled our bowls. As I ate my attempt the expectation fell short.

Are the memories misrepresenting my past and affecting the present? Or have my taste buds aged and lost the ability to discern those remembered flavors?

God and Government

I am reading a book titled, “God and Government” by Gary DeMar. He shares that when people thing of government, they think of state or federal entities. He describes government having much deeper roots that are founded and established by God and laid out in the pages of the Bible. The basis of all governance rests on God and His truths. He should be at the center of each person’s life as guide in all parts of our life. With God as the head of each person, the next order is the family unit. Husband and wife being one flesh for the purpose of creating a home and raising a family. This unit was to still be God-centered.

Local government can be civil or ecumenical: the church or the community. Both have some jurisdiction over certain areas of those citizens of their ranks. Both have laws to which the citizens must adhere. The church may be able to even handle some legal problems within the laws set down by God.

Then there is the government of the state and on a national level. Each must have their basis on truth and justice. The Constitution of the United States was created to insure that certain God-given rights might not be impinged upon by any government entity. But “No governing document can create freedom, national stability, and security. The best political intentions are no match for the will of the people. Self-governed people who acknowledge the sovereignty of God determine a nation’s future. The choice of autonomous rights over God-prescribed responsibilities will mean the decay of a nation. John Adams wrote, ‘our Constitution was made only for a moral people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.” When self-government is abandoned for self-serving opportunism, we should expect a decline in the health of the nation.” This excerpt was taken from the book I’m digesting and closely parallels what is happening in America today.

Responsibility is being overrun by individual rights. The churches are being attacked. Free speech is considered offensive. Politicians seem to be more intent on gathering wealth for themselves without concern for the average citizen.

There are times when the government must be disobeyed, but even here, the Bible sets forth boundaries for non-compliance. It is a last resort, but when autonomous rule is in direct opposition with God’s precepts, under extreme circumstances, disobedience may be necessary. If we read Exodus 1:15-22, the Pharaoh of Egypt ordered the midwives to kill every male child, but the midwives feared God more than the Pharaoh and refused to murder them.

How Did I Ever

Five years ago before I retired, I looked forward to my days off to “get things done around the house.” Now that I’ve retired I still look for “days off” without something else to do but they seem too few and too far between. Somehow each week becomes cluttered with things to do. It’s not that I’m complaining, being busy keeps me out of trouble and Keeps me thankful that I’m still alive, although I usually have aches and pains enough to remind me of that.

This past Sunday morning I had church and Sunday school. At 1:00 pm I drove to a lifelong friend’s home for a cookout. The variety of food was tremendous and just tasting a bit of each left me quite full. I met some of her family and other friends and had a great time making new friends. Sunday evening services capped the day.

Monday became a surprise babysitting job with my granddaughter, but I had some chores to run and decided to combine the two. I needed to stop at Rural King in Connellsville, Pennsylvania for some supplies and since I was almost halfway to my son’s house, I decided to visit his family to drop off some recently purchased books and blouses for his two daughters. Hannah got to play with her cousins Celine and Moriah for about an hour before we headed back to home.

After the babysitting gig, I stopped for some groceries. Waiting at home were several loads of laundry. The one load would have to wait until Wednesday until I could hang the jeans outside to dry. My good friend and fellow writer needed a lift to a medical treatment on Tuesday, but UGH! Her appointment was for 8:15 am. It was an early rise day for me. She needed to stop afterwards for her medications. She began to feel ill and we cut that excursion short. I managed to get her to her appointment and back home without her melting in the intermittent deluges.

Tuesday evening I attended the monthly meeting of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. It combined a picnic with the presentation. Jim Maestrole spoke, shared his hobby of assembling old items that were once useful into lamps that are beautifully mechanical in appearance.

So Taxing

For many years I’ve been concerned with the government at all levels seizing land and raising taxes with little regard to the citizens that the government is supposed to protect and to represent. Their lack of concern for the burden they place on their constituents has been more and more pronounced over the years. Their continued funding of unnecessary and frivolous projects has become almost legendary.  Yet they ignore these glaring failures and continue to throw more money down the same holes or look for more holes to open.

The average citizen doesn’t have the luxury of raising taxes to cover their expenditures. They are forced to curtail spending and budget their money. They have to prioritize their needs and eliminate the waste, the nonessentials, and niceties in their lifestyle. Politicians have no such restraints.

Sunday evening our pastor shared a message from I Kings about the death of Solomon and the installation of Rehoboam as king of Israel. Rehoboam was born just before Solomon became Israel’s king. King Solomon gained power and enjoyed the wealth that his father David had amassed. Rehoboam was raised in a palace with this luxury and wealth surrounding him. An allotment of food prepared for Solomon’s family and followers consisted of 360 pounds of fine flour, 72 pounds of meal, 30 oxen, 100 sheep, besides harts, roebucks, and fattened fowl. This was the daily feasting prepared for them. The people of Israel paid for it. They had also footed the bill for the erection of the temple. This is the opulence that surrounded Rehoboam all of his life was all that he knew.

This is like the political loop of partisanship that infests Washington D.C. today where the money they spend is not theirs and they have no idea of its value. The officials surround themselves with people who have become used to this grandiose lifestyle.

Now, back to Rehoboam; when the citizens came to him and asked that the burden of their taxes be lowered, King Rehoboam asked for 3 days to consider. First, he asked Solomon’s old advisers. They suggested that he lower taxes, ease the burden, and the citizens would serve him. Then, Rehoboam asked the young men who were his companions that grew up with him in Solomon’s court. They advised that he increase the taxes, not lower them. Rehoboam followed his friend’s advice and told the people he would raise the taxes. The people rebelled and divided the country into Judah and Israel.

Tax increases seemed to be a continual plague until recently. I hope that the change will continue and actual budgeting of the taxpayer’s money really occurs.

Isn’t My Dance Card Full Yet

There was a time that ladies carried a small booklet when they attended a dance. It was a time of gentility and decorum. When a gentleman wanted to claim a dance with a certain female, he would ask to sign the book and wait his turn to dance with her. I’m sure that if the lady didn’t want to dance with the man, she would find delicate ways of refusing.

Each week when I look at my schedule, I think, “That doesn’t look too bad” and each week my dance card miraculously becomes full. I only had on my schedule my appointment to have my car inspected and Everdry Company to check out a damp patch of concrete in my basement. Although expensive, they curtailed water entering my basement. There was also the choice to volunteer or not at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society on Wednesday and Saturday.

Because of my MRI of my right bicep, I called for an appointment with my orthopedist. I was surprised that they got me in on Wednesday morning, but off I went. Finished with that, I stopped for a few groceries and hustled to the Historical Society. A surprise waited for me there. I was volunteered to be the corresponding secretary, although I refused to shave my legs. A library sent a book written by a radio operator from WW II whose plane was shot down over France. It was an autobiography in French and English. He was a local resident and I was asked to write a letter to a daughter to see if she wanted to review the document. While reading newspaper articles on the radio operator, one article popped up onto my computer screen and refuses to be dismissed. I called my computer repair guy and he squeezed me in for Saturday morning before I have to hustle to Chestnut Ridge. I get to be docent for the day.

After I came home, I worked on the letter before eating my evening meal and hurrying off to Prayer meeting. Thursday was free, or so I thought. I’d ordered another cord of firewood and they delivered. She and a friend helped to stack some of it.

Friday, I’m expecting Everdry to evaluate the damp spot. I am supposed to attend a writers meeting in the afternoon, but I may have to skip that. I almost forgot, the friend who delivered the firewood invited me to a cookout at her place after church. I can hardly wait to see what surprises await next week.

Yesterday’s Shadows

 

Yesterday's but a shadow

Remnants whisper from the past.

Memory's echoes that now show

Their presence lingers and lasts.

Sometimes faintly flickering

Or sometimes burning and bright

They still seem to be living

Or in subdued dreamlike light
Tears often wet my pillow

Saddened because of my loss

Feelings left from love's soft glow

Ever elusive emboss.

Past thoughts escape furtively

Often when least expected

Memories seek to be free

Rising to be detected

Recollections set the scene,

A knee-weakening power

With nothing to intervene,

They can strike at any hour.

The past stored as memories

Flickers of bitter and sweet

These hiccoughs cause time to freeze

Until we again can meet.

 

Much Ado About Lots to Do

It was a busy weekend, starting with Friday morning. I was scheduled to have an MRI of my right upper arm. “Arrive half an hour early” was my only instructions. For those who know me, arriving early is a given. I was having an MRI to determine why my right bicep looks like Popeye’s after eating a can of spinach. Anyway, it looks different than my left arm.

MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging and the person for the test must remove all metal from their body. Clad in oversized scrub greens, I’m led to a chamber holding a narrow cot that is in line with a large mechanical donut. After I am arranged on this bed with my left arm overhead, I’m inserted through the donut hole and the testing is started. Although the music in the headphones is of the 60’s the thrumming of the machine is heard. Long before the test is complete my left shoulder begins to ache from holding its position. My positioning enhanced a pulled muscle in my back. Oh joy.

Saturday, I decide to be a good neighbor and mow his lawn and mine. Four circuits around the nearly 2 acre lot and my mower’s belt pops off. It was my fault entirely, but that doesn’t lessen the problem nor eliminate having to use parts of my aching body. I fiddled with the belt and thinking it was still too loose, I got out my old walk-behind self-propelled mower to finish the long arduous task with my back complaining with every step. My son-in-law Lames stopped and asked if he could look at the mower. He looked under and said the belt was back on the pulleys and looked okay. I was surprised because I’d never put it back on before without disassembling one of the guards like the online video says, but  climbed on, started it and off I rolled spewing grass clippings and waving thanks to James.

Sunday, was the 98th Rugg family reunion. I’ve mentioned that I met my great-grandfather Rugg as he and my great uncle Lincoln sat on the Rugg farm front porch. They were opposites. Curtis was lean while Uncle Lincoln was rotund.

It was great reconnecting with members of the family that are only seen at the reunion once a year. A person needs to know the past roots of their family or that history will be lost. Plans for next year were started and for the 100th reunion, two years away.

Friends From Afar

The morning of the Fourth of July evolved into an unexpected and pleasurable event. It was a culmination of some possibilities, but let me take you back to the foundation of the incidental beginning. I received a friend request on Facebook. There is nothing unusual about that, some days I get six or more friend request from the fisching robots. I always check out their profile before I decide to accept. Usually, if we don’t have common friends, I decline. This request was from a young man living in Illinois and since I have relatives in Illinois, I investigated further.

I found out later that it was from this young man’s friend Daniel who’d sent the request. Daniel sent out multiple requests to a number of people with the same name as us, Tom Beck. I accepted and we began to correspond. Both men were still in college. Tom is interested in history and reenactments of battles from different wars. I know he is involved Civil war, and WW I battles. In corresponding on Facebook, he and his friend Daniel became acquainted with each me, sharing stories, family histories, and some cross currents of genealogy. I’ve followed some of his antics on Facebook and he has read some of mine. This is another connection. My grandmother’s ancestors were DeKalb. Her name was Anna Nickles nee Kalp Beck and several generations back, her forefathers included Baron Johann DeKalb who fought in the Revolutionary War.

A few days ago he and his friend Daniel on the spur of the moment decided to drive from DeKalb, Illinois through my area of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to be in Philadelphia in time to celebrate Independence Day at Independence Hall and see the Liberty Bell. He thought it would be a cool idea to actually meet. I thought so too and told him as long as there weren’t ten people in the car, I’d treat for lunch. I wanted to take them to local restaurant, but it was a holiday. They were closed, so we dined sumptuously at MacDonald’s instead. It was great to meet Tom and Daniel. They were still young and impulsive. It was wonderful to share stories and to listen to their aspirations. So much information was exchanged in such a short time, I don’t understand why people are consumed with texting when face to face is so much more exhilarating and fruitful. I loved meeting you guys. Take care and drive safely.

P.S. They texted me Thursday evening to say they made it safely home.

Sounding Fourth

When I stand quietly and if I’m still

I hear freedom's volley at Bunker Hill.

A new nation rises with growing pains;

Loss of life traded for liberty’s gains.

Brave men unite to cast off tyranny.

Breaking chains so that they might become free.

Thirteen colonies put it to the test

Sharing ideals, choosing only the best.

A Declaration of Independence

Steps they took were radical and immense.

Their challenge to authority meant war.

They wondered if freedom might long endure.

Leaving behind businesses, homes, and farms

Brave patriots heeded the call to arms.

Risking all they had: wealth, health, and life

They joined the battle fray, hardship, and strife.

Fighting to establish each blood-stained right

God-given freedoms ordained to shine bright.

Today let us honor those who were slain

Without honor, how will freedom remain?

Having the Right to Be Wrong

America was established on standards of truth and moral integrity. It was created with the idea that mankind had God-given and inalienable rights. Our forefathers were conscionable men who prized liberty and freedom more than they prized their own lives. Laws and precepts of our new nation were founded on the truths found in the pages of the Bible. These people crossed the ocean to be free of the tyranny of Europe and a chance to begin a new life with religious freedom. Religions in the old world often strayed from the Gospel message written in God’s Word.

Since then, and ever so slowly, our nation has been turning the meaning of freedom on its ear. Truth has become half truths, then outright lies. Morality has lost its meaning and facts have become “follow your heart” mentality.

The Bible says that the heart is a deceitful thing. Following our own desires has led us to a place that Americans were never meant to be. We murder future generations while the children are still in the womb. Premeditated murder is a crime. Our consciences have become calloused and our views on what is right have become warped. Today, police officers are criminalized while lawbreakers are praised. We allow indiscriminant immigration. Without an identifiable culture, language, and border we will cease to be that nation.

We have deemed the truth to be unnecessary, no longer is it be seen as a guiding force. We refuse to maintain it in our national ideals. We have rationalized our wants and wishes and moved them to a place that supersedes the truth. Romans 1:22 says, “Professing themselves to be wise, they become fools.” Many “intelligent” people have their office walls papered with degree after degree and have no common sense. They expect a different outcome just because they have said so.

If there we have no absolute truth, then why do we have laws? Any building erected without a solid foundation will collapse. We have turned our backs on truth and we wander farther and farther away. Each step takes our nation deeper into depravity. Many refuse to hear the truth, but judgment will come. When our foundation has become so decayed, it will collapse. All of our rights and freedoms will have disappeared. Indebtedness and slavery to the government will become the norm.