Summer’s Almost Over

We talk about someone who is aging as someone who is no longer a spring chicken. His youth and the spring in his step have slipped away. For me, summertime has escaped as well. Springtime is the time of growth, maturing into adulthood. Summertime is the part of my life that has been the productive portion. My time in the Navy, my time earning my degree at Penn State, my short work experience at Monsour Hospital in Jeannette, Pennsylvania, and my career at H. C. Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania were all a part of my summertime.

The summer of my life wasn’t always a picnic, or the enjoyment of an amusement park, but there were many times that it was amusing and sometimes the ride was long and tiring. The sunny memories of my life were found in my marriage and raising my family. There were times of tremendous storms of sorrow. The death of family members was a major contributor for the gathering of thick clouds of grief. The days of summer have passed as did the depth of those sorrows. The days were lightened by my children’s weddings and the birth of grandchildren. Just as the sun parts the clouds, the joys in my summer have tempered the cold feelings and warmed my heart again.

Retired now, I am enjoying a vacation before the leaves change hues and I evolve into the autumn part of my life. I write, volunteer, and mow my neighbor’s yard in an attempt to stave away that inevitable part of my future and still be a productive citizen. Aches and pains have slowed my body and have pushed me closer to the foreseeable autumn pages of my existence.

Our church just hired Christian, a young man and his newly wedded wife. The juxtaposition of meeting them on Wednesday and on Thursday talking with my older cousin Larry Stahl caused my mind to wander along these lines. Christian and his bride are just stepping into the first days of their summer, while Larry was stepping into the days of autumn.

Each day turns a page of the calendar forward. There is no guarantee that there will be another month when I flip the page. I may only get a small taste of autumn weather before the leaves of my life wither and fall from my tree. I have no guarantee that I will see the first snowflake of winter. Each day is a blessing. Each friend I meet is a Godsend. Each breath that I take is a gift from God. To my friends and my readers, each day is precious. Use them wisely.

Heroes

We have heroes all around us; common people that do something uncommonly brave. At the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society we recently received a booklet in French that was forwarded to us about a radioman Robert “Buttons” Hauger. On the return from a successful bombing run into Germany, his plane was hit by antiaircraft shells and was forced down in France. The booklet described his escape and return to Great Britain. His story tells of just one of the many people that fought to protect America.

There is a lot of media coverage of John McCain’s death. Eulogies wax eloquently about his military and political careers. Like any hero, there are certain incidents that are less than noble and in hindsight the person would have resolved to change them.

I was reading about a gentleman named Colonel Fred V. Cherry. He was another Air Force fighter pilot that was shot down on his 100th mission. He was in solitary confinement for 53 weeks and was tortured and punished for 93 straight days. Col. Cherry was held as a prisoner of war for 2,671 days and finally released February 12, 1973. We don’t hear the story of the heroic black pilot, but is another of the unsung heroes who fought for the flag and our country.

All around us are veterans that sacrificed their limbs, their lives, and their mental health to keep America and their families safe, because our government asked them to risk all. Each day we rub elbows with heroes while grocery shopping. Meek and mild people that we wouldn’t guess exhibited bravery are out there, police, paramedics, nurses, doctors, maintenance men, road workers. There are too many to list. They faced the dangers of auto accidents, armed criminals, and other types of dire situations calling for immediate action and they responded. Sometimes we see them for an instant, captured on a camera phone pulling someone from a burning car, tackling a thug, or doing CPR on a drowned child or a heart attack victim. Heroes are not defined by their color, sex, age, or religion. Must we diminish their sacrifice by perpetuating these divisive views? We may have that someone standing beside us today that we need.

Centurian

Our Pastor mentioned that the age of the oldest woman alive was 117 years old. She passed that milestone of existing last year in 2017, but I’m not sure if she is still alive. We marvel that she achieved that age, but even if I should live until I reach the one hundred year mark, what is it when compared to eternity. We measure time in seconds, minutes, hours, day, weeks, months, and years. It is all a way that man can see the fleetingness of his existence here on Earth.

In comparison to eternity, one hundred years is merely a small nick, a scratch and barely noticed. One hundred years in the eternal calendar of our Eternal God is merely a speck of dust, yet this Ever- Existing Being takes notice of each nanosecond of our lives and records it.

We begin to die the second that we’re born; each breath moves us closer to the grave. Mankind was meant to be an eternal being. He was to live forever. God created him sinless and pure. The Creator gave him intelligence to rule with only one rule, Do not eat the fruit of one tree or you will die, and yet Adam did. That act allowed sin to enter into him and age now became a factor in his life. Just as radiation can change our genes and warp our DNA, I believe the chemicals in that fruit somehow altered our genetic make up to shorten our lives, allow aches, pains, and diseases to have influence on our flesh.

My body is wearing down, muscles don’t work like they once did, aching after I complete some task. I don’t think as clearly as I once did, making the recollections of things I once learned or once did a struggle. I think that is one of the reasons that I blog. I have put down many memories from my childhood through school, factory work, my military service, college, and my career as a nurse. My life may not mean much to anyone but my children. I am saddened like most people that I didn’t listen more closely my dad as he shared stories from his past.

As I age, I believe my aches and pains are calls to step beyond that door of death, a desire to reach eternity and be free of this mortal shell, a wish to be free of sin, its temptation, and the increasing limitations of my flesh. It is a desire to live beyond the grave in that heavenly city God has prepared and Christ is the key that allows believers to enter.

Tired Eyes

Wednesday I spent the morning at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society gathering the items for our display table at the LHTC Broadband Customer Appreciation Day on Saturday. The Society has had a table display each year. They also have a booth at the annual Flax Scutching in September. I made a few suggestions at earlier meetings and found myself in charge. I’d never been responsible for putting together the display or arranging the manpower for the booth. Thank goodness for other older people. It was an eye opening experience for me.

Wednesday evening I went to prayer meeting; a normal service with nothing out of the ordinary happened. Finally to bed, eyes tired. Lately my one eye would seem slightly blurred after wearing my glasses all day and I made an appointment for Thursday, to see what was happening. It was time. I hadn’t been examined in quite some time. My vision was only blurred when both eyes tired and tried to work in tandem. I wasn’t seeing double. When I covered each eye, the blurring went away and had good vision, but the hazy eyesight returned when looking with both eyes.

The exam went well and I found that my glasses were now too strong for my near-sightedness. Age may be improving at least one part of my body. The medication that the optometrist dropped in each eye stung for a bit, but soon the blurriness spread to both eyes. Back into the chair after about 20 minutes and the bright light exam of my inner eye started. She found nothing out of the ordinary and sent me on my way.

At home, I grabbed a snack, then headed outside to mow. Thank goodness for sunglasses. I’m not sure I could have finished my lawn in the bright sunlight without them. The pupils of my eyes were still dilated from the drops. I was glad to be back inside. My eyes were very tired and burning followed by a mild headache. It was an early night for me, uneventful except for the normal middle of the night bathroom runs.

Intrigue

Intrigue…what a wonderful way to end to a busy day. Yesterday was just another one of my fun filled days in a busy, seemingly never ending schedule. I ate breakfast and made my posts on Facebook, read my Bible and headed off to my daughter Amanda’s house to babysit my granddaughter Hannah… that much was routine. When I was driving to Mt. Pleasant, I stopped for breakfast sandwiches. I remembered that I’d left my bedroom window open and the weatherman called for rain. I wasn’t driving home and be late for my starting time, so I thought it was only one window and continued to my waiting job.

The day was routine, watching some television, watching Hannah, and doing silly things to keep her amused. Just before lunch, the heavens opened and the rain came down in buckets. The wind howled and thunder rolled. One loud clap made Hannah jump and cry. After calming her, I told her that thunder was only a noise and it wouldn’t hurt her.

Amanda came home for lunch and the rain continued. When she returned to work, I loaded Hannah into my car and we drove to Wal-Mart for a few groceries. There, much to my wandering eyes was an aisle end of Christmas ornaments…in August…really? I stopped to get gas and I found my money clip and card case was missing. Thankfully, I kept a spare $20.00 in my wallet and could pay. Another deluge delayed our exit. With my gas tank filled we drove home.

Still worried about the open bedroom window, I called my other daughter Anna to close it. Some good news; it hadn’t rained in.

At shifts end, I hurried home to eat and to go to the monthly meeting of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and speakers from the upcoming Flax Scutching. My daughter called. She’d found my money and card case. The missing was located and I relaxed.

Almost as soon as I arrived home, the phone rang. After saying hello, a woman’s almost frantic voice began to share the details of a missing gun. She knew that it was still in the holster on the table, but now it was gone. There was a pause. I don’t know if she was waiting for an answer or what she needed. I was at a loss for words, not sure if I wanted to know more. I merely said, “I believe you have the wrong number.” I fell asleep wondering what the end to this intriguing mystery would be.

I’m Getting Older I Told Her

That is my excuse I am now using and I’m sticking to it. It’s not very original, but I’m learning to wield it quite well. If I forget my car keys inside the house and have to devise a surreptitious way to gain entrance, I don’t get mad; I just blame it on getting older. When I get to the grocery store and start to gather items on my list only to discover the list was still at home beside the spot where I found my keys hiding, it’s because I’m getting older. When I get up from my easy chair and my knees snap, crackle, and pop, it’s because I’m getting older.

Grabbing a nap during the Sunday morning service, I blame it on getting older. I haven’t tried this excuse with the pastor yet, even though I’ve nodded off on occasion. I’ve nodded off in the middle of a television program and missed the ending, now I can lay the blame on getting older. Making a meal out of a hot dog because I don’t feel like cooking for myself…I just blame it on getting older. When my new carpet and flooring were installed several months ago, I emptied two barrister cabinets and a large china cabinet and hutch. I stored them on my enclosed back sunroom and vowed that nothing would go back in the cupboards until my kids had a chance to sort through them. I was getting used to them being out there and almost forgot about them, because I’m getting older and wanted to ignore the work involved in returning then to their homes on the empty shelves.

My granddaughters have been using the empty shelves as a desk and to display their artwork. Today, that changed. The Herculean task has been started. Actually the precursor started yesterday. The packaging and storing of items stored in the upstairs bedrooms, were packaged, condensed, and stored in only one bedroom. The second hand stores are going to get a boost in their inventory this week. This gives me a room I can offer as a resting place for friends who might stop by to visit. I can offer them a place to sleep without worrying about them getting lost among the boxes and me forgetting that they’re in my house, because I’m getting older.

I was able to sort through the boxed items, selecting the ones I wanted to retain and return to the cabinets. The much lightened items were returned to the back porch for distribution at a later date. Perhaps it will happen before I’m unable to get any older.

Let There Be Light

For quite some time I’ve had difficulties with the electric panel in my basement. Whoever mounted it to the wall used only a 1/2 inch thick piece of plywood attaching it to a cinderblock, outside wall. When the warm air from the oil heater or the heat from my wood burner came in contact with the cooler surface of the metal of the electric panel, the moisture in the damp basement air would condense and collect at the bottom. There was no way I could keep the cover on the panel, it intensified the problem. With the cover off, it allowed air to circulate, but wasn’t enough. I used a small fan, hanging it to play the sir current over the wires and the inside of the box. That kept most of the moisture at bay, evaporating any condensation before it could cause a problem.

The inside bottom of the panel had developed a thick flakey layer of rust. The electric box was old, original with the house built in 1974 or 1975. It was outdated just for the amperage. I decided that it was time to update the house, add a few new receptacles, and the new electrical panel installed.

Wednesday was the day. The contractor and three others arrived with the bucket truck and began the task. They also had a portable generator to provide their own electricity for light. After the crew was given instructions, the contractor drove off to receive a delivery at his business. The crew dug in and soon I was sitting in the dark. Not really, it was 9:30 am. Willow, the cat didn’t like the noise of saws and drills, sticking close to me. The panel box was attached to a 3/4 inch square of plywood, with air space between it and the wall.

The contractor came back to check on the progress and to present the bill. It was $1,700.00, the agreed on price. Shortly after, he drove off again to his farm. As the job neared completion, the young men began to peel off, no longer needed. The last workman fastened the last few wires and placed the cover on the panel. I checked the electric upstairs. Everything was fine, but one line of lights in the basement wasn’t turning on. I showed him which lights were on that string. Troubleshooting, he discovered that a light switch had gone bad. Once it was replaced, he cleaned up and departed.

Now, my house is light and so is my bank account.

Separation of Religion and State

At first glance, this statement almost seems true, but every document from the pacts and founding statements from each and every colony, before we united to become a nation was based on the tenets: of the Scripture, the Word of God, the Holy Bible. These absolute truths were prominently expressed and written down in no uncertain terms, limiting any government from interfering or infringing on the rights of the s, which includes the freedom of speech and the right to worship as they choose.

Every colony has the basis for their establishing foundation the mention of Christian faith and liberty. The document they cite is the Scripture. Our colony of Pennsylvania was established by William Penn in 1682 and although a Quaker, “He avowed his purpose to be to institute a civil government on the basis of the Bible and to administer it in the fear of the Lord.” He also said, “so to serve the truth and the people of the Lord, that an example may be set to the nations.”

When the Continental Congress convened, it was daily opened with prayer. When these Colonies decided to break the ties with England because of the tyrannical rule of King George III, they approved the import of 20,000 Bibles because “the use of the Bible is so universal, and its importance so great…” The legislation of Congress feared with shipping lanes closed, Bibles wouldn’t be available to be imported from the British printers.

As the Constitution of the United States was being written, the Christian faith and character of men shaped its words with express delineation keeping it under the providence and protection of the Christian religion, the Christian faith being fundamental to the well-being of society and government. They appealed to the Supreme Judge of the world for a firm reliance and protection of His Divine Providence.

So freedom of religion limits government intervention of worship and prevents it from sanctions against worship. It does not restrict the impact of the Long-held Christian beliefs on government of ALL levels. Rules that are based on the absolute truths of the Bible prevent laws based on the ever-changing whims of mankind and the deceptive imaginings of the heart.

* Information cited gathered from Gary DeMar-God and Government

Afraid Very Afraid

While working at Chestnut Ridge Historical Society this past Saturday, several things happened; some were very good and one of which gave me pause to think. First I’ll share the good things because they came first during my day volunteering. I arrived just before opening time, waiting for it to open. I don’t have a key to the facility and was waiting for the “on duty” person. When I am to be the one on duty, I have to remember to take the “communal” key home with me to later unlock the building.

I was glad to see Tom, a white-haired gentleman in his early 90’s. He still has a sharp brain and recalls many of the details and recognizes the names of people from the area. He always makes retrieval of information easy when a guest has a question.

On the desk was a letter addressed to me as corresponding secretary. It was the first return response from a sister society. A thank you from one of the historical societies we sent booklets to try to get artifacts to their proper area. It was a good feeling moment to know that at least one booklet arrived safely and would help another group.

I began cataloguing a myriad of documents a lady brought in a week ago. The stack of receipts, notes, and papers were all from the 1800s. I’d sorted them into stacks earlier, but now the real work began; measuring them, reading them, recording the information found in the document, and finally securing them in plastic sleeves for storage.

During the day, several people wandered in, escaping a child’s birthday party next door. Several were surprised to see our collection and stayed to talk with us. One gentleman was related to my great uncle. I toured with the group, sharing information about our different pictures and displays, occasionally guiding them to a related item. Because they were interested, I stayed about 1/2 hour longer than closing time, but my cohort Tom had to leave.

Then it hit me, I was as talkative as my uncle Dale was at sharing stories and tall tales. I pray I don’t start stringing curse words together making word necklaces like he did. If you’ve read past descriptions of Dale or if you actually knew him, you can understand why I am worried and afraid that I don’t become a modern version of him.

Dinosaurs Still Live

I have an extremely Liberal friend who argues with me about almost everything: my politics, the Bible, building the wall, and even to what type of car, American versus foreign made. Other than being Facebook friends we have very little in common. One of his remarks today made me think that I may be a dinosaur; but there are millions of other dinosaurs like me; we’re not extinct.

When I say something that he disagrees with, he says “everybody” thinks the way that he does. What he means and what I try to explain to him is that the people he associates with may see things in the same light, but that isn’t everybody. Most of the people I associate with think in the same channels as me in politics and for the most part the Bible. Cars versus trucks are another matter.

Today, when I said something that suggested that America was better than is is now and at one time it was much less divisive, he said that America no longer exists. I thought about that and  shared, when the country wanders away from the principles upon which it was founded, it ceases to exist and becomes a country barely recognizable that leads to decay. Again he argues that America has gone on beyond that and will not go back. I proposed to him America’s forefathers based our Constitution and our laws on the absolute truths and the God given rights found in the Bible.

He uses the Bible by cherry-picking the verses and taking them out of context of the Scripture, to “prove” his point. When I share what it should really mean, connecting it to the verses that surround it, he says I twist the meaning. I still consider him a friend, but I’ve stopped trying to open his eyes.

Most of the time, he is so Left leaning, he’s almost horizontal. He argues that his views are always correct and much better than mine. So now, I refuse to argue with him. If he messages me with a CNN, MSNBC, DNC “truth,” I merely agree with him saying. “You’re so intelligent... If you say so” and a myriad of other phrases agreeing with him. The peace is a balm to my soul.

Several times before, I have tried to ignore his messages. When I didn’t answer, he became testy and argued on line in Facebook. I am hoping this attempt to avoid arguing with him while acknowledging him will suffice.

Going to See Jesus

Before you get anxious and believe that I plan to cross over the Jordan River to the Promised Land, I need to share I was on a bus trip to the Stroudsburg/ Lancaster area to the Sight and Sound Theater to see the play called Jesus. The coolest thing was that I reconnected with a few old friends and made a few new ones. Out and about early Tuesday morning to catch the bus at 8 am, I was early and the bus was on time.

The ride out was uneventful. We stopped at Sideling Hill on the Pennsylvania Turnpike and Toll Road for restroom, stretch the legs, and grab a bite or something to nibble break. We boarded the bus again and were off, to make Lancaster and eat lunch at the Good and Plenty Restaurant. The food was plenteous and served family style. After a sumptuous and varied fare, I ate my first piece of shoo fly pie and ate seconds on the homemade ice cream.

Then we were off to the Sight and Sound Theater. Our tickets were in peanut heaven where the air is rarified and nose bleeds were a danger. The actual presentation was beautiful with the drama interspaced with singing and animals moving across the stage. The side wings of the theater were staged as villages and used as part of the play. I’ve said before, the human voice is the most versatile and lovely instrument created by God. The music and singing were wonderful

One idea I’d long held was that Lazarus was an older man, that he died and Jesus called him from the tomb, but in this rendition, Lazarus was a young man and Mary and Martha were older sisters. This was as easily plausible as my thoughts and that thought gave me pause.

During the intermission, a young man traveling on the bus with his grandmother said that I couldn’t get the passengers in the bus to sing a song together. I don’t like to be challenged and just let it lay, so I began to ponder the dilemma as we left the theater.

On the return trip, just before we stopped at Sideling Hill, a diabolical idea popped into my head. As the bus parked, I stood and announced that it was the young man’s birthday and asked everyone wish him a happy birthday. It wasn’t of course, but everyone obliged, much to his embarrassment, and I won the wager. The reward? I earned the satisfaction of winning. No money was ever mentioned. Several other passengers even wished him a happy birthday as he exited the bus.

New Tasks New Insights

Saturday at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society, I spent another day learning the ropes of the facility. The menial task of filing funeral announcement cards are finally finished after many frustrating and stressful hours. The frustration came in when some “thoughtful” person misfiled or multiple copies were separated by dozens of cards requiring me to backtrack to find the proper spot. When I was almost 2/3 of the way through the collection, I came to several cards that were folded so the name was showing instead of the picture on the front. From that point on I opened each card, then went back through to make them all match.

Saturday, I started another chapter in tasks that needed done. When an item, document, or photograph is donated to the society, it has to be given a number and catalogued to simplify its location of storage, the donor, the date donated, its condition and a short description of the item. It’s not a difficult task, but can be time consuming, especially if multiple documents or articles are given to us at once.

With less than 2 hours before closing time, a lady carried in a small blanket. It was obvious that she had something inside. I was unprepared for what she had inside. She opened the bundle after sitting it on the desk. I could see why she had the items protected. It was a stack of old documents, ledgers, bills of lading, and letters that were found in her attic. The stack was nearly 6 inches high. She also shared there were more and wanted us to visit sometime and remove the remainder.

The house was one of the older homes in Stahlstown and the documents reflected that. Other than trying to decipher the fancy cursive writing on the documents, most were legible. Some of the papers were fragile and I was almost afraid to touch them. I knew that I wasn’t able to catalogue them all, so with freshly washed hands, I began to separate them into piles to facilitate the cataloguing process later. Notes were placed in one pile, papers with the same name in another, bills of lading and order forms in a third. Tucked into manila folders, they would be safe until the task of completing the forms and inserting them into protective plastic sheets can be accomplished. I was thrilled to see some of the dates on them were into the mid to late 1800s.

Not the SAMA Old Evening

Last Friday evening was the launch of The Loyalhanna Review. It is an annual publication that collects and shares the talent of writers and photographers it its glossy pages. The magazine has been able to gather, spotlight, and focus attention on these skilled and gifted craftspeople of pen and camera. Each year, this magazine gains in prestige and distribution.

Friday’s gala event took place in the Southern Allegheny Museum of Art located just outside Ligonier, Pennsylvania. Ruth McDonald is the Editor in Chief of The Loyalhanna Review and was the emcee for the evening. Several of the writers were chosen then introduced to share their words of art with the gathered crowd. This year, as the reputation of the magazine spreads, so do the writers who enter. This year, we had a writer from Baltimore, Maryland submitted and was accepted for publication. She drove to join us at the event. Writers from Rhode Island gave submissions.

The stories and poetry of 30 page magazine is interspaced with colored photographs. Copies were distributed to the attendees, giving them first chance to hold the freshly printed literary collection. They were given the opportunity to see and later hear the offerings inside. Several younger authors had articles accepted and they read their submissions to the crowd.

This year, I submitted a photograph of a sunset behind my home instead of a written article. The sunset on the clouds and contrails created a gold colored beauty I dubbed as a “Crown of Glory.” It won the coveted back cover page.

A tantalizing buffet of dainties filled one corner of the art gallery and as people mingled before and after the presentation and readings, sampling the varied foods and drink. The variety of foodstuffs was able to tempt the taste buds of the pickiest of palates.

The inside walls of the museum was lined with wonderfully beautiful paintings of aboriginal art on loan from its tour of the United States. The somber colored paintings added an air of formality to the event.

Life Is a Carousel Old Chum

My life isn’t quite the gaily painted horses prancing around in a circle while a calliope sounds out circus style music of pipes, organ, and whistle. The rotating drum rumbles beneath their feet. The world of spectators gathered to watch children and other loved ones smile as they become spinning tops. The riders cling to their steeds, then smile and squeal gleefully while watching the observing crowd blur and whirl in ever changing kaleidoscope patterns.

What I’ve just shared are the echoes of memories from a nearby amusement park that still remain vibrant in my mind. My life at times mimics that carnival-like ride. Today’s memory carousel is moving from one appointment to another in a whirlwind of time and effort. Granted, I do take on those tasks willingly or accept the spur of the moment invitation that often manages to squeeze itself into my already crowded calendar.

Sometimes I feel like butter that’s been worked to be spread thinly on a fresh slice of bread. So far the bread hasn’t ripped and the butter has managed to cover the slice of me. I have sometimes missed a luncheon date with the Grand Dames of Frick for their monthly luncheon, but I hope to correct that that today. It often competes with my duty at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and I am forced to make choices, “which to attend.” I love to be bust and forced off this potato off the couch. I wish I could get more accomplished on my off days.

Laundry lurks, the grass grows, dust descends, and cat hair collects demanding my attention. SIGH, sometimes the television calls and I heed its siren song. There are times my legs get puffy and cramp. I not only heed their whimper, but relish that I am able to claim a spot in front of the boob tube.

Yesterday was a combination of two. My granddaughter Hannah needed a babysitter. She’s old enough to keep herself amused and while there, my brain was being elevated by historical television programs, I was able to elevate as well. Sipping a soda, I could stay dry, out of the rain while avoiding the chores waiting at home. Ah well, today’s another day.