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.