My Newest New Year’s Resolution
It’s not too soon for me to think about changes in my life style. I shared this post in 2017 and many more changes have occurred. Back then I shared my New Year’s resolution, “If I am grumpy, I don’t leave home. No one wants to deal with a grumpy old man.” I still use this resolution on occasion. I’ve shared this resolution with the cashiers at the checkout counter. Usually they chuckle and thank me. Some of them actually share some of their horror stories. It makes me happy that I am not on their black list. The good thing is, it is one resolution that I’ve been able to keep so far.
As this year is drawing to an end, I have been ruminating what I’ve done and what I have to do yet. This past summer and fall I helped several of my friends with canning the harvest from their two gardens “putting up” over one thousand jars of fruits and vegetables.  During that time I developed double vision that lasted three weeks. The stress of the unknown cause of the double vision caused my triglycerides to skyrocket to almost three times the high normal. I thought I might be having a stroke, so after quite a few tests and a visit to an ophthalmologist, it was thought to be a problem with either my blood sugar or blood pressure that affected the muscles of my eyes. Because it was canning season, I still drove myself to my friend’s home to help with the processing of the produce. My primary care doctor sent me to a dietician to try and curb the elevated triglycerides. Between diet changes, more exercise, and a change in my diet, I hope to bring my triglycerides under control. I’m sure some will say why doesn’t my doctor prescribe statin drugs to help? She has and each one has caused side effects that I wasn’t able to tolerate.
I also spent some time with friends baking and candy making for Christmas. We pool our time and resources, then divide the goodies. This year someone donated chocolate discs and poppy seed paste. It was hard to say no and allow it to go unused.
 I want to make more positive changes in my life, but I refuse to do the trite “New Year’s Resolution” that is often forgotten within a week. I may join Dr. Vandyk’s view of keeping the Christmas spirit all year long, “Bah, humbug.”

 Crayon Box
I was reminded of the colors in a Crayon box as I put away a Christmas gift. The box of colored pencils stirred my childhood memories. Each time I sit in front of my computer or pull out my writing pad and pen, I am forced open my brain’s Crayon box. Sometimes I stare at the rainbow of waxy tips trying to decide which one I will pull out and begin to draw the picture I see in my mind. What word will I start my story today? Which order will I place the ideas so they make more sense? Can I place them properly so others can share the picture I see?
Actually I can physically paint and draw well enough to satisfy my needs, but I am in no way an exemplary artist, so I have reverted to presenting a picture by shaping and designing a tale with words. Choosing the correct “colored” word is sometimes a long process, requiring me to erase, change, and intensify a single word to portray what I really want to express. I know the adage says, “A picture paints a thousand words” so I have my work cut out for me each time I try to share a memory, a vision, or a story. There are kits that are “paint by number,” but painting with words is more difficult. I have to consider that you must use your own thoughts and imagination to fill in the shades of colors between the outline that I’ve drawn. I try to share ideas that resonate with others past experiences or that stir their imagination.
Each time I sit to write, I stare at an empty white screen or a clean yellow and blue lined page. I open that brain box and allow my thoughts wander before pulling out the chosen Crayon to make the first stroke. Often my ideas swirl like a kaleidoscope or a maelstrom and I have to wait for something to fall out or wait for something to tempt me, or to impress me enough to put it down on paper. I must choose what to share it with you and then attempt to express it thoroughly enough for you to see my vision.
The cool thing about a Crayon is no matter whether they are old and worn down, they can still be used to create something beautiful. I often feel worn and old, but I do my best to create something beautiful for all.

Post Christmas Blues
The Christmas gifts have all been opened. Our afternoon meal is just a memory and I turned on the outside decorations, but they seem to have lost much of their shine. I started to remove a few of the bulbs and other decorations from the Christmas tree. It juts out into my living room and people in only two seats can see the television. I found several wadded up Christmas wrapping “snow balls” caught in the boughs of my artificial fir tree and put them in the trash. The house is empty but for me. The kids and grandchildren have gone back to their homes. The silence in my house seems almost deafening.
The jaunt up and down two flights of stairs to my basement to feed the ever hungry wood burner distracts me for a few minutes about five or six times each day. But that fills only ten minutes every four hours. The television is a temporary attraction, but the tree is in the way if I want to claim the couch. Since I can’t use the sofa, I have the plastic storage cartons on the couch waiting to be filled with the rest of the Christmas ornaments.
The Christmas cookies and candy are squirreled around the house and tucked beneath the tree, but if I succumb to their lure my morning blood sugar will tell the tale on me, so I will nibble a cookie or piece of candy only occasionally. I was feasting on carrot sticks as a distraction. Whoopee! Not only do I have to watch my sugar intake, my dietician wants me to eat healthier with more fiber in my diet.
I have begun to work on the next edition of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society’s newsletter. I know what I want to write about; it’s just looking at the blank page and not wanting to start the prolonged editing. I do have a couple of other society members that help do research to add to my scribbling. They will also submit articles which help me a lot. I like to have a common thread throughout that tie the entire newsletter together without becoming boring or repetitious.
What I enjoy compiling the newsletter is that I have found so much forgotten local history from southwestern Pennsylvania; the Laurel Highlands, and the people. In the upcoming newsletter I plan to combine the oral history of an older lady and information gathered from published historical accounts. The trick is to weave them into a seamless story that holds the reader’s interest.

A Cold Wind Blew
I wasn’t able to do my morning walk the past few days. I take the possibility of frostbite and falling quite seriously. The blowing snow whipped by wind gusts almost made blizzard conditions and the visibility almost nil. The weather did little to woo me from my wood burner warmed home. Snow and ice does nothing to entice me to do my morning walk, even when I am sure there are some beautiful scenes to photograph. The blood of the Norsemen or Vikings must not course through my veins.
The most unusual fact of the entire storm system was that the snow drifts that were routinely plowed to the side of the road and dumped into my driveway didn’t occur. The drifts were not nearly as high because there were fewer snow plow trucks pushing the drifting snow into higher and higher drifts. I tried to remove the small amount of snow deposited by the plow trucks, but it was frozen solid and I had no desire to chop it loose. It was only about three inches high and solid. My car and the vehicles of my visiting kids drove over it easily.
Although the wind was extremely strong and cold, it did shift the snow across the road and away from my driveway. I was layered and bundled up, but hauling in some firewood and the time I spent outside was more than enough.
I was blessed Sunday morning when my daughter Anna Beck Prinkey and her husband James came by and picked me up. The roads were snow covered and very slippery. Even his Chevy truck had a few sliding episodes, but we made it safely.
All my kids and grandkids gathered at my house for a late lunch; ham, cowboy caviar, fruit and/or broccoli salads, with desserts of cookies, chocolates, and nut rolls. Our appetites sated, we moved to the living room to open gifts. Before all of the presents were opened, the annual wadded-up wrapping paper “snowball” battle began. It was a slightly subdued battle with only two “snowballs” ending up in the Christmas tree. Amid hugs and kisses, my family gathered their gifts sorting them into carry-alls, the food was divvied up, and goodbyes were said, my house settled into its quiet routine.
I drove to evening church services. The road seemed less snow-covered and slippery. It was a full day, Merry Christmas to all.

Are Those the Brakes?
The severe weather front is teaching us one thing, when God speaks we take notice. There are folks who call Him “Mother Nature,” but He is the being that created everything we can see: the Earth, moon, and stars. He created the land, the seas, and the air that we breathe. He divided the time into the day when the sun shines and gives light and the night when it is dark, God allows the moon to reflect the light. When He spoke, water and land were formed. He filled the oceans with fish and the land with animals and birds. God fashioned mankind after Himself. There is nothing that we can see, taste, or touch that He hasn’t designed…NOTHING.
In the past, God has used weather phenomena to punish, to save, or tell of His omnipotence. He flooded the entire world in Noah’s day to destroy the sinners. He used fire to judge and destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. He parted the Red Sea to allow the Jews to escape from Egypt all the while keeping the Egyptian army at bay with a cloud of darkness, then collapsed the water to keep the Egyptian army from following. He fed and watered the Jews for forty years and caused their clothing not to wear out.
All throughout the Bible there is a record of God using weather to prove He is supreme. It is nearing the time that we celebrate the birth of His Son Jesus. It is a time that people have warped remembering that gift into rushing around buying gifts for others, hanging lights and decorations, baking, cooking, and in general rushing around, forgetting the real reason that we celebrate Christmas.
With the extreme cold, ice, snow, and wind, is it possible that God is saying, “Slow down. It is My Son’s birthday that you are celebrating and have perverted?” Is it possible He is saying, “Slow down. I have given you the greatest gift ever.” Can it be that God is trying to make us aware the gift of eternal life is found when we believe on His Son, Christ?” Jesus, the Creator of all we have died on the cross to remove our sins and gain an eternal blessing. Yes, this Babe born in Bethlehem and laid in a manger is that gift that God the Father is offering, All we need to do is to believe and accept that gift.

The Christmas Cactus

My grandmother’s house was always filled with plants. In the vestibule of the hallway front entrance were two snake plants, their sharp, green spears guarding the glass panels at each side of the doorway. Their variegated and yellow edged leaves twisted as they rose up from their soil filled ceramic planters.

In the formal sitting room, where kids were not allowed, were two huge Asparagus ferns that filled a cream colored wood and wicker “fern stand”. The leaves of the ferns’ leaves were fine and wispy. The hairs cascaded over the sides of the stand in pale green clouds.

The window sills in the kitchen, the bathroom, and a built-in porch sported Geraniums of all colors, but were predominantly red. They were planted in shiny silver aluminum foil covered tin cans to survive the harsh winter. Some were being started from cuttings and others much, much older. She would grow them all winter until she could replant them in her dark green, wooden porch planter boxes in the spring. I can remember sitting on the toilet, reaching up, and touching their dark, dull green leaves. The heady and spicy aromatic oils would cling to my fingers for hours.

But the plant that impressed me the most was the gigantic Christmas cactus that dominated the hallway at the top of the second story stairs. It was very old. My grandmother had probably started it when she was young and just moved into the house. It had been replanted into larger and larger pots until it now filled the stainless steel chamber of a milk and cream separator. This pot was nearly fifteen inches deep and about twenty-eight inches across at its widest part. It was huge and Grandma kept it centered on a dark Mission Oak library table. The desk’s lines were straight, plain, and smooth. The top surface of it was covered by an inlaid piece of black leather.

As large as the separator top was, the Christmas cactus was much larger. It rose nearly twelve inches above the top of its creamery planter. The thick, ropey branches draped over the sides until the tips of the longest rested on the table top. The flat oval green leaves looked like a waterfall pouring over the smooth silver sides. When the cactus bloomed, the pink and white multilayered blossoms looked like small, frilly petticoats. They were so numerous tha they often concealed most of the flat green leaves. Because it was cool and dark at the top of the stairs, the blossoms seemed to last for months.

Getting Awfully Close to Christmas

Too close and too busy; I’m feeling worn out. Three days of baking over several days is too much. I helped two friends bake. Sharing the costs and the workload is a great option, but it does wear a person down. They were two of the three who shared the harvest canning season with me. One of the ladies has painfuGetting Awfully Close to Christmas
Too close and too busy; I’m feeling worn out. Three days of baking over several days is too much. I helped two friends bake. Sharing the costs and the workload is a great option, but it does wear a person down. They were two of the three who shared the harvest canning season with me. One of the ladies has painful arthritis and like a snowbird flies south for the winter. As a matter of fact, her 2023 calendar has the pages missing until April. We use her house to can and to bake because it has a larger kitchen and is centrally located. Other than the work load, the most difficult situation is it isn’t heated in the winter. It’s mostly underground and rarely goes below 40 degrees, so it is chilly until we get a coal fire going in her cook stove. By the times we’re nearly finished and ready to leave, the house is warm.
The baking list included fruit filled cookies, pineapple, cherry, and blueberry. We baked peanut butter blossoms with kisses and some with Reese’s cup miniatures. Rows of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, and chocolate peanut clusters covered the cooling table. We baked several nut rolls and several poppy seed rolls. Having some dough left over, we decided to use caramel apple pie filling in the dough that was left over. The flavor was great, but the roll was lumpy and out of shape. If we ever try to do that again, we’ll need to chop the apples much finer.
I’m almost able to claim my bed fully. It’s been the “Santa’s workshop” for several weeks. Initially it was only the repository for already purchased gifts, then it’s slowly evolved onto a wrapping station. The gifts are staked on my dresser waiting for me to haul them downstairs and be placed under the Christmas tree. I placed many items in gift bags. It’s much easier for me. These presents are small things for them to unwrap and open. I found it’s easier for me to give them money. Let them figure out if it’s something they want or need.
I put up the Christmas tree myself this year. I got the artificial tree put together and the lights and garland on. Suddenly it dawned on me as I started to hang the bulbs on the tree, “In two weeks, I’ll have to tear it down and remove all of these bulbs.” I ended up putting on about one third of the ornaments before I called it quits. Oh my word, I am becoming a Grinch. I’m just keeping the Christmas spirit, “Bah humbug.”
l arthritis and like a snowbird flies south for the winter. As a matter of fact, her 2023 calendar has the pages missing until April. We use her house to can and to bake because it has a larger kitchen and is centrally located. Other than the work load, the most difficult situation is it isn’t heated in the winter. It’s mostly underground and rarely goes below 40 degrees, so it is chilly until we get a coal fire going in her cook stove. By the times we’re nearly finished and ready to leave, the house is warm.

The baking list included fruit filled cookies, pineapple, cherry, and blueberry. We baked peanut butter blossoms with kisses and some with Reese’s cup miniatures. Rows of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, and chocolate peanut clusters covered the cooling table. We baked several nut rolls and several poppy seed rolls. Having some dough left over, we decided to use caramel apple pie filling in the dough that was left over. The flavor was great, but the roll was lumpy and out of shape. If we ever try to do that again, we’ll need to chop the apples much finer.

I’m almost able to claim my bed fully. It’s been the “Santa’s workshop” for several weeks. Initially it was only the repository for already purchased gifts, then it’s slowly evolved onto a wrapping station. The gifts are staked on my dresser waiting for me to haul them downstairs and be placed under the Christmas tree. I placed many items in gift bags. It’s much easier for me. These presents are small things for them to unwrap and open. I found it’s easier for me to give them money. Let them figure out if it’s something they want or need.

I put up the Christmas tree myself this year. I got the artificial tree put together and the lights and garland on. Suddenly it dawned on me as I started to hang the bulbs on the tree, “In two weeks, I’ll have to tear it down and remove all of these bulbs.” I ended up putting on about one third of the ornaments before I called it quits. Oh my word, I am becoming a Grinch. I’m just keeping the Christmas spirit, “Bah humbug.” 

All Aboard Smorgasbord
Friday evening was our annual church Christmas banquet at Mt. Zion Community Church, Acme, Pennsylvania and what a feast it was. I don’t believe I have ever seen the serving tables so filled with such a wide variety of delicacies. It was remarkable. Approximately 60 people attended, each family brought a favorite tasty food item. I don’t know if the menu would impress a gourmand, but the flavors were delicious ranging from appetizers to an impressive array of desserts: pies, cakes, and cookies.
There was so much food that two extra tables were needed to hold the meats and many other dishes. A huge ham, baked chicken, turkey with stuffing, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, pigs in the blankets, and macaroni salads covered much of the space. The gaps were filled with many other vegetable dishes set out buffet style. Bowls of sweet corn, green beans and potatoes, cranberry salad, lasagna, and fresh rolls found room on the tables. There was such a selection that just taking a teaspoon sized sample overfilled the plates. It was necessary to edit my appetite. I limited my tour of the dessert table, only choosing a few fresh pear slices. That was more than enough. I was stuffed.
Saturday afternoon was our annual Christmas dinner for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. It was a catered affair held in the old Stahlstown Elementary School cafeteria. Since most of our members are over 50 it was suggested that we gather early instead of at a restaurant later in the evening. Driving after sunset on dark and twisting roads can be difficult for those with diminishing eyesight.
The caterer prepared an excellent meal of fried chicken, roast beef au jus, mashed potatoes, thick beefy gravy, mixed vegetables, rigatoni in tomato sauce, mixed green salad, and fresh dinner rolls. It was another meal where I had to confine my selections to a small serving of several items. The dessert was a large chocolate marble cake decorated with white icing and large red icing poinsettias. I avoided the icing clad cake.
A silent auction for multiple baskets filled with beauty supplies, car care items, food stuffs, wine and cheese, handmade wooden items, and crocheted afghans. There were over twenty baskets from which to choose. Each person could deposit their tickets into numbered bags that corresponded to the basket that they hoped to win. Numbers were drawn and winners were announced. Each table centerpiece was a red poinsettia. They were given away as door prizes as well. I had too much to eat in the past two days, I should waddle.

 

Catch a Falling Star

Almost seventy years ago, the song “Catch a Falling Star and put it in your pocket.” It was a catchy little ditty that was sung by many artists. In 1958, one of the most prominent artists to release it was Perry Como. His crooning voice made the song a hit.

I have no idea what its actual meaning is, but for myself it means to capture moments in time before they fall away into obscurity. Like meteors that streak brightly across the dark night sky, memories flare intensely for a moment before they begin to fade and finally disappear. So many things that my dad, Carl Beck and my mom Sybil Miner Beck have said or done have now slipped into dark crevices and may never be recalled again. Many stories of my grandparents Edson and Anna Kalp Beck and Ray and Rebecca Rugg Miner have been lost to my recollection. Sometimes someone will breathe on the embers of a memory and I can quickly fan it into q flame. When that occurs, I horridly write about it in my BlogSpot. I try to recall as many of the facts from the incident before it dies completely. Sometimes it’s not entirely accurate and another relative will furnish more facts. I will go back and correct the mistake or expand the scope of the story.

I wish that I would have paid closer attention to the details passed down in an oral tradition. It’s a struggle to record pieces of my heritage and pass it on so my children and grandchildren will have them. I don’t have the patience or the ability to do the research of the genealogy of our family, like some do. I let that task to others. To me, that path is dry and dusty. I try to remove the cobwebs of a family’s history and add flesh to skeletons of the past. I like to stir family histories and make the readings of them more interesting and complete.

Catching a falling star is what I am attempting to do. I want to create a verbal picture to share the beauty, the sadness, and the joy of our family’s past. I share some of my own stories of my life from the time of my youth, through school, enlistment in the Navy, college, and days of work. Not too long ago I shared a story that I hadn’t shared with my children. They were surprised to hear that when I was in the Navy my “friends” planned to kill me thinking I was a snitch.

 

Accidental Dale

            Besides lying and swearing, Uncle Dale Miner had a penchant for gossip. When he didn’t know what was going on, he went out of his way to find out exactly what was happening. He had an obsessive need to know what was going on everywhere in the mountains. He would relentlessly pursue a rumor until he was sure that he had the whole story.

My brother Ken and I used to run with the Saltlick Volunteer Fire department and Ambulance Company. One night we responded to an accident call in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. It was a two car accident at an intersection.  I was directing traffic at the one arm of the cross road standing among the burning flares.

My brother was just lighting flares and directing traffic along another of the main branches of the highway. Dale approached my road, stopped until I motioned to drive him ahead. He pulled off to the side of the roadway to park, then walked back to me. He didn’t day “Hi” or anything other than “Who was in the accident?” I was too far away from the accident to know any of the details, isolated in my job of directing traffic. I watched him walk away from me toward the accident scene, when he couldn’t get the information he wanted from me. I could see him silhouetted in the lights at the accident site.

When he neared the collision, he recognized my brother and turned away from the accident site where he would have been told to leave and walked toward my brother Ken. Ken saw Dale coming. He’d already lit two flares to control traffic, but as Dale drew near, my brother started walking farther and farther away from Dale, lighting flares as he went. Dale kept following. Dale finally caught up with Ken when he ran out of flares to light.

Dale asked the same question, “Who was involved in the accident?”

Ken gave Dale the same answer, “I don’t know, Dale.”

Disgusted, Dale walked back to the accident scene where the firemen were clearing the collision site. He hovered around the edge of firemen until he got the information he was after.

Later Ken told me, “I ran out of flares or I’d still be walking to avoid talking to that man.”