At Night

It started as a prank, but it soon went wrong, terribly wrong. The old Wheeler house had been abandoned for years. Most of the windows were broken and a sea of brown weeds swayed in the wind like dried husks of deceased souls. Paint peeled from the walls like the skin from scalded Zombies. The fitful breeze played songs accented with moans and whistles coming through the cracks and openings of the abandoned house. A scrap of curtain fluttered at the window, a ghostly beckoning hand.

Suzie’s older brothers Nathan and Reuben dared her to go into the Wheeler house and spend an hour, before coming back out with a souvenir to prove that she’d been inside. She took the dare.

“Tonight, at midnight?” Reuben pressed.

“Remember, it’s Halloween,” Nathan said. “And the moon is full.”

Suzie swallowed hard. “Yes,” she squeaked. What else could she do? She’d already accepted the dare. “I’m no chicken. No problem. Tonight, be there to watch me,” she said with a feigned bravado that she didn’t feel.

They walked along the roadway until they neared the decaying building. Their shadows danced beneath them as they walked beneath the light of the full faced moon. The wind stirred the curtain welcoming them.

“Stay here,” Suzie said. She didn’t want them close to the house trying to scare her. She sidled up the overgrown walkway. The porch steps groaned a loud warning as she climbed. The door was ajar, open to the darkness beyond. She hesitated, then eased inside. She waited until her eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering inside. Overstuffed furniture was spread haphazardly around the room; all too large for the needed souvenir.

She shuffled across to the kitchen. The counters were bare as were the cupboards and drawers. One drawer was firmly closed. It was stuck. She gave a hard pull and it shot open. Her bottom hit the floor and the drawer was in her lap. Inside, she could read the envelope of a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Harold Wheeler. She lifted it out and pushed the drawer aside. Rising from the floor, she started to tuck the letter into her jacket pocket. A voice whispered in her ear, “That’s mine.”

The boys waited outside for the hour, then began to worry. They were afraid to go into the house to look for their sister. They waited another sixty minutes before rushing home to tell their parents that Suzie was missing.

Their mom was still up reading when they got home. In a jumble of words, they explained what had happened and said, “Suzie is missing.”

Their mom laughed, “No she’s not. She’s upstairs in bed. She came home nearly two hours ago.”

Feeling Puzzled

As a corpsman working in the emergency department of the Naval Training Center’s Hospital in Orlando, Florida, I was allowed to suture many of the lacerations that presented themselves. The emergency room doctor viewed the laceration before the corpsmen started to sew it, then after the suturing was complete. It was rare that the physician ever had to repair a wound. There were exceptions. The doctor repaired women when it involved the face.

I loved to suture wounds. Each wound posed a specific challenge. It was like putting all of the pieces to a jig saw puzzle back to its proper place. As I finished, I had the satisfaction of a job well done.

Although others didn’t like to deal with children, I loved the challenge of repairing a child’s cut. I took my time with each child. As long as I could talk to them with them and they could understand, I shared what I planned to do. I could usually close the cut without having to fasten the child to a “Papoose” board. A Papoose board was a flat board with Velcro straps that would hold a child securely in place.

I’d first ask the child if they’d ever seen their mommy “sew up a hole in their pants or shirt?” When they said “Yes,” I would tell them that was what I wanted to do with their boo-boo.

Then I would follow up by asking, “Did you ever bump your elbow and it made your arm feel funny?” When their answer was “Yes,” I would ask “Have you ever had a mosquito bite or a bee sting?” If they would say “Yes,” I’d tell them that was exactly what I was going to do to them. “The tiny needle that I use will make your cut go to sleep.” I would gently tug on their hair and tell them “That is what you will feel when I fix your boo-boo.”

I talked to them the entire time I was working on them, explaining as I cleaned the wound that they would feel coldness.

I eased the needle inside one side of the cut, slowly injecting the Lidocaine to numb the laceration. The nerve endings there were already injured and most times it wouldn’t be felt.

I’d talk to the child or to nervous parents’ for a few minutes to allow the wound to “fall asleep.” Finally, I’d be able to deal with the laceration and suture it shut. No muss, no fuss, then I’d put a bandage over it and send them on their way.

We Gather Together

When the family would gather at my grandparent Miner’s home, it was often glorious confusion. Most of their children would be there which also meant that there was also an abundance of cousins. We often talked, laughed, and of course there were games. Red light stop-Green light go, tag, hide and seek, climbing trees, and occasionally we would play ball when the flat area of the hay field was cut short. We couldn’t trample the hay that Granddad needed to feed the cows.

When we played inside it was with toys we brought with us, although Gram had a set of Lincoln logs for us to build. She had a plastic ranch style doll house, but it only came out at Christmas as decoration under the tree. Sometimes the girls would slip into the “sitting room,” lift off its blue roof, and rearrange the miniature furniture inside.

Cotton batting under the tree was the nesting place for the cardboard village and the zigzag wooden fence made of twigs. Gram had 8 lead reindeer, one for each of her children. The deer were about 4 inches high with wide spreading antlers. The antlers bent easily and had to be handled with care. There were also 8 bisque dogs, white with black and brown spots. The tree limbs had fluffed aluminum roping, colored lights, and the old aluminum icicles. Some of the lights looked like candles that bubbled when they became warm. The hanging ornaments were of all shapes, colors, and sizes, balls, glass beaded stars and bird houses, foul snowflakes, and a few handmade ones of cardboard and cotton.

Although we gathered at Thanksgiving and Christmas, I can’t remember Gram serving turkey. It was always beef, chicken, or ham. Everybody brought covered dishes, too many to identify and remember. One thing Gram made was always orange Jell-o with sliced bananas. With so many types of food, the Jell-o was relegated to the front porch with other cold dishes to keep cool. It was a surprise when it was brought inside to serve when several Tootsie Roll looking items were lying on top. A cousin who was being potty trained had a potty of pink enamel that resembled the Jell-o bowl and showed she had learned too well. Gram always said, “It was good that she number two-ed or we may have never known.”

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 other staff members to comply. Most often it seemed that there were many more steps involved 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’ve seen is an increase of generated papers and an increase of repetitious questions. The 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 again. These 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 become a huge problem, so much so that stores were beginning to enforce reusable shopping bags. Then the Corona virus hit and using “contaminated” bags suddenly became taboo. The reusable bags would save stores money, and from what I understand, stores plan to pass that cost along to the consumer.

And so it goes. There are too many people that make the regulations that govern our everyday lives that have absolutely no idea what is necessary once outside a boardroom or outside the virtual created computer world. Anyone else feel like an armpit hair?

Sybil-lings

As I waited at the Sheriff’s Office for the processing of my Concealed Carry Firearms permit at the Fayette County Courthouse Uniontown, Pennsylvania, I was reminded of some things about my mother Sybil Miner Beck. Several other people were already waiting for the criminal record clearance in obtaining a permit as well. Although strangers, I was loquacious as I sometimes get when I am bored or anxious and struck up conversations with several of them. One thing I said loudly to all was, “If my mother could carry, I can too.”

Our family home was located along the busy highway of Route 711 between the two small towns of Normalville and Indian Head. It wasn’t quite remote or isolated, but it was in a rustic area. My mom was Justice of the Peace, did taxes, and kept accounting books for several local corporations, so she often had people stopping at her office. Back then traveling salesmen and hucksters were the norm and our home was a frequent target.

Fort protection, my brother Ken kept a Doberman Pincer named Sam that watched over her. Sam had a special bond with our mom. If he wasn’t napping, he was near her side. If he heard a strange voice, he stood between the perceived threat and Mom. My brother still didn’t think that was enough protection and bought a small pearl handled pistol for her. I don’t recall her ever having to use it, but it was there if she needed it.

When I shared that my mother carried a pistol, it brought quite a few smiles, even from the one sheriff who was processing the request for my permit.

While I was there, I made room for a woman to sit at a table and fill out her request. She was a slender young woman named China. She is the second person I’ve met who carried that name. She pronounced her name like the country while the other lady who was from Puerto Rico pronounced her name like Cheena.

After nearly a two hour wait, I left with my permit and a smile on my face. I was so hungry when I left that I decided to stop at a Burger King restaurant, my least favorite eatery, hoping to snag a chicken sandwich and fries, anything but the Whopper. Its flame broiling doesn’t agree with me and I taste it for days afterward. I stepped inside and everything was cordoned off. There was no inside dining. I tipped my hat, and said, “You just lost a customer.” I turned and left. I had no plans to eat in the parking lot like a pigeon.  It was just another strike against Burger King.