Floods
I saw on Facebook memories from seven years ago photographs of the Connellsville area that was hit by flooding. The deluge filled the streams until they overflowed their banks. It flowed into many basements, pushed homes from their foundations, and washed out bridges and destroyed roadways. Cars and trucks were pushed into the water and washed downstream. Trees and the soil banks were uprooted and dislodged.
It reminded me of another deluge that happened in our area. The rain came in torrents, so thick I often couldn’t see to drive. Route 30 near Greensburg had deep, long pools that covered the pavement allowing only one lane of traffic in many areas. I tried to leave the animal shelter in Derry with a newly spayed cat, and ended up being detoured several times. One road I was on the water ran like a river pushing boulders about the size of soccer balls. It took me nearly two and a half hours to make a normally forty-five minute trip home. I was worried about the trip for the cat in a carrier on the front seat.
Now for a way back moment. There was a flood in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. Melcroft was another coal patch town in western Pennsylvania. The clapboard houses were located near the mines and near a stream of water.  My Aunt Estella Strawderman, her husband Melvin, and their daughter Shirley lived in one of the rental houses. The stream evolved into a raging flood during another storm. It came quickly. There was no warning. There weren’t the television and radio alerts and the house was swept away with Estella and Shirley inside. They were washed downstream. Aunt Estella managed to hold on to Shirley while being tossed to and fro in the maelstrom. Aunt Estella was tossed into a tree that stood steadfast against the powerful current. A person heard her cry and with help, men were able to rescue her and Shirley.
Another devastating flood in our area was the Johnstown Flood. In the hills above Johnstown was a hunting and fishing club for wealthy patrons. A large earthen dam created a lake for fishing and boating. The dam wasn’t strong enough to handle the water when the clouds split open and dumped a huge amount of rain into the hills surrounding the lake. The weakened dam burst and destroyed every building but one downstream in Johnstown. The horror and the trauma caused those who survived them to move in with relatives and not to return to Johnstown.

Antiques and Museums
I was able to go with friends into Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Saturday. August was free admission at the Senator John Heinz History Center. Six floors of history from the Pittsburgh area are on display. Each floor had a myriad of items and articles to see. We rode the elevator up and wandered our way back to the first floor. There was even an area for kids to discover interactive displays. (We didn’t go in there. We were a bit over the age; we didn’t have any kids and didn’t want the kids inside to make us look stupid).
I was personally intrigued by the displays on the fifth floor. There were story boards, pictures, and mannequins dressed in period garb of the French and Indian War: Blacks, Hessians, French, and English brandishing weapons or tools of that era. One display had two Native Americans carrying a huge birch bark canoe. It had to be 20 or 22 feet in length. One section had paintings and drawings of battles and clashes. Other displays held swords, rifles, pistols, powder horns and artifacts from the battlefields.
The fourth floor displayed scenes from the Civil War and slavery. It was another area of interest for me. Many of the displays showed the cruelty of slave trade: manacles, whips, and chains. Some walls sported posters offering rewards for the return of runaway slaves. Mannequins showed the inhumane ways slaves were transported and debased. The opposite side of the floor was the Mister Rogers Neighborhood display, Glass making and the Heinz display was a divider between the two sections.
The third floor displays old time inventions and kitchens of the era. Old tools and other paraphernalia filled the displays from corsets to wood shaving planes. Information and items of the Lewis and Clark expedition were exciting to see. A section was set aside for half of the floor of the sports displays with tribute to the Mooney family.
On the second floor is the second half of the sports display section from the third floor. It was impressive to wander among the trophies and memorabilia from the many teams of Southwestern Pennsylvania: professional, college, and high schools, giving honor to the mascots, teams and coaches.
A large section was given to display innovations developed in the Pittsburgh area. It was interesting to see the inventions and improvements that took root in our area.
Back on the first floor, we viewed the large wagons, a fire truck, and a roller coaster car from Kennywood. The staff was more than courteous. It was my first time visiting the museum. I was just thankful they didn’t put me in a display as an antique.

Cultivating Friendships
I’ve met a lot of people in my seventy-four years of living. Many were workmates, clients, or school chums, but certain people have become as close as family. What makes the difference? Sometimes it’s little more than knowing them for a long time. The length of contact reveals similarities or exposes differences. I’ve often had differences of opinion with my wife, her mom, and other friends, but the past them. That will often mean you don’t agree with their ideas, but it still allows for discussion without anger.
I a few very close friends, two of them are women. One is a workmate. That friendship developed over quite a number of years. A few years after traveling for work, she settled back into this area and our friendship grew stronger. We go to the same church and I’ve helped her can vegetables from her garden for several years. Her daughter says we fight like brother and sister, not like friends. She’s had a number of setbacks in her life, but she’s survived and I’m thankful for that. I’d miss her friendship terribly if she weren’t here.
Another friend is also female and I’ve known her for almost as long or possibly longer. She’s had a lot of trauma in her life as well. Multiple accidents has caused her to have the need a service animal. Sometimes I become her service dog. When she doesn’t want to take her dog along, I get promoted to that position. We’ve gone on several vacations, sharing the costs and conversations as we travel. A few vacations were to North Carolina and along the four borders of Pennsylvania. We’ve been to West Virginia and flew to California to visit an elderly aunt. This friend also goes to my church.
My last group of friends are my old schoolmates. Several of us gather once a month to eat lunch, talk about old times, or talk about what’s happening in our lives now. It’s a pleasant time to reminisce and to keep connections to those old friendships. They aren’t as close as the others the day to day interactions aren’t there, but I consider them my friends.
I try to be friendly even at Wal-Mart, where people often block aisles with their carts becoming immovable statues as they search for products on the shelves. I will often ask little old ladies if they need me to reach for things on the top shelf. It usually earns smile. I’ll often offer Gospel tracts and my business cards just to talk with folks. With an empty house, it’s nice to chat with someone else. Who knows, I might find a new friend.

Puddles Ponds and Pools
Somehow there is a fascination for kids and water. Mud puddles are a major drawing power nearly irresistible to children. They enjoy the splashing, wanting to spend as much time as the patient parent will allow. Jumping, dancing, and splashing often leads to the child losing balance falling into the muddy water…unless the parent is near and quick enough to affect a rescue. If rescues don’t happen, the child will most often relish their newfound liquid playground, rolling, kicking, and laughing. The parent stands helplessly by, wondering how in the world they’ll clean them or if they will ever get the mud out of the clothes. If they’re away from home the concern escalates. How can they keep the car seats from being impregnated with the muck? The blissful child only understands the innocent joy of the moment.
With all the backyard swimming pools, does anybody still swim in ponds or dammed up sections of streams? When I was younger…much younger, ponds, and streams were the only places to swim, mostly in the streams. Ponds were often muddy and for cattle to drink, not clean enough for swimming.
One stream where we swam was in Camp Wildwood, a Boy Scout camp abandoned in 1949. I’ve shared many stories other than swimming about things that happened there. Another place was at White Bridge just off Rt. 653 near Rogers Mills, Pennsylvania. It was the first time I’d ever seen the Hellbender salamander and it took me quite by surprise. I’ve also mentioned the swimming hole near Indian Head by the field where we boys played impromptu games of baseball, then would skinny dip in the cool water. Several of my past posts extol the adventures of that dammed up spot on the creek.
The last spot where we swam was the closest to my parent’s place. It was a deep pool beneath a bridge of Route 711 between Normalville and Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The water was extremely cold, if not frigid. The water flowed through the hills covered with shade from its beginning as snow melts or from multiple springs that fed the creek. It had little time to warm.
It was a show of bravado to make our first swim before the first of May. Making a fire on the rocky beach was a necessity before taking the plunge, a must to thaw us out between plunges of water torture. To one side of the arched span was the deeper channel of water and on the other was the beach; the spot for the bonfire and salvation. Snitched snacks of toasted saltines and a slather of oleo were shared as we huddled around the warming flames.

 Re-Reunuioned Out
Sunday I attended another family reunion. This was the third I’ve attended this past year. The first one that was held was the Minerd-Minard-Miner-Minor Reunion that was held at Camp Christian in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. There were relatives from as far away as California and the attendance was great. I thoroughly enjoyed mingling and reuniting with cousins from all over. The cam was quiet and conducive to sitting, eating, relaxing, and talking. There were people there that I hadn’t met before and was able to make new friendships.
Next was the Rugg Reunion. It would have been the 102nd reunion if the Covid scare hadn’t closed the gathering. It seems that this crowd brings quite a few young people to the event. It doesn’t seem that long ago that my kids were young and so was I. The unusual thing about this reunion was the food table had lots of main dishes and only one lone fruit salad on the dessert table. Usually it has been just the opposite with the tables of desserts outweighed the good-for-you foods. The auction of wrapped gifts is the center of attention where often bidding wars develops to see the contents of the bag or wrapped box. Usually there is a hint to what’s inside. It lets the bidder know if it’s for a child, man, or woman.
This past Sunday was the Nedrow-Ferguson Reunion. It was the 109th gathering. The reason for the double named reunion is that back in history of the area the Nedrows and the Fergusons had adjacent farms. They were isolated in the wilderness, so men from one family married women from the other and vice versa. When the genealogists traced the family tree, they were stumped at all of the intertwining roots. It became necessary to collect all of the branches from both trees. They also have an auction, but it’s just a little less exciting. The “white elephant” items are visible and the people know what they are bidding on. Because I have been so busy with canning, I didn’t take the time to search my closets or to shop for anything. Instead I took a quart jar of Kosher Dill Pickles and a jar of Salsa. Another item I took was two of my books. I was talking with another writer who writes poetry and songs.
I was able to share many old photographs of the Nedrows and Fergusons. They were passed down from my grandfather Beck. The best thing was that most of the photos had names on the reverse side. If you keep photos, please include the name of the person and date on the back side for future generations if you know.

Homemade Cannon
Some people say, "boys will be boys." and I am sure that I was not an exception. Our neighbor boys were older and were into much more construction and destruction than I was. They were always tinkering with cars, sleds, and cannons. Yes, cannons, but all the more dangerous. The neighbor boys had older brothers who supplied them with firecrackers. They were legal at that time.
Our neighbor's boys had some cherry bomb firecrackers that their older brothers had bought for them. This was a time when fireworks were legal in Pennsylvania. I was visiting and they were looking for an ingenious way to set them off. The loud noise wasn’t enough for them. Why waste a cherry bomb and just see it explode. An idea came to them as they started rummaging around in a scrap pile. They had already put a firecracker under a can and watched it fly into the air with the force of the explosion.
Pulling an old metal bedstead out from the other items in the pile, they carried it to a level place and pushed one end into the soft ground at a slight angle, while the opposite open end aimed skyward. They dropped a lit cherry bomb into the tube. It was cool to hear the ringing peal of thunder and see the paper and smoke come flying out of the end of the tube. It was impressive, but not impressive enough.
They found the large tomato can that they had used earlier. It was just small enough to slide down the tube snugly. They lit another cherry bomb, dropped the explosive. The can quickly followed down into the bedstead. I could hear the metal can scraping as it made its way to the bottom.
Boom! The can flew nearly twenty feet into the air. I thought it was great, but of course they wanted more.
Retrieving the can, they filled it nearly half full with the pea –sized gravel and small stones. They dropped it down into the cannon following the lit firecracker. (Cannon was what they were calling the bedstead by now.)
BOOM!. The percussion was louder than before. The weight of the can must have caused a greater compression before the can was forced out. It shot about ten feet higher than the previous shot, the gravel flew out of the can, and it ripped leaves from the oak branches overhead. The scattering gravel fell back onto our heads, down the driveway, and some hit their dad’s pickup truck parked near the house.
Although they still had several cherry bombs, they wisely chose to save them for another day and the cannon went back to the scrap heap.

Choose Me
It is the freedom to choose that makes mankind different from the animal and was the freedom to choose that caused the fall of mankind. In the Garden of Eden, God gave Adam the freedom to eat of every tree in the garden except one. It was the only limitation that God gave to mankind. God walked with Adam and Eve every day. In the cool of the evening God strolled through the garden and fellowshipped with them. Adam named all of the animals and plants that surrounded him and God saw that it was good. Satan was subtle and approached Eve. He twisted God’s word about the forbidden fruit and beguiled her into taking a bite. When she did, her eyes were opened and she was aware of sin. She took the fruit to her husband and shared the fruit with him. Adam named all of the plants. I’m sure he recognized the fruit and yet he chose to disobey God and also ate of the forbidden fruit. It was his choice to obey God or to disobey God. Since then mankind has tasted death and had to deal with sin in the world.
Mankind still has to make that choice today. God gave mankind the freedom to choose. The person must choose whether to follow God’s word or follow the path to self-destruction. Will a person choose to smoke, drink alcohol, or use drugs? Will a person choose to marry or not to marry?  Will a person choose to buy a car or to buy a house? Will a person choose to have a family or not.
Today there are choices that are being foisted on the American public as being acceptable when they are in direct contradiction to God’s word. The Bible tells that men shouldn’t wear women’s clothing and women not to wear men’s attire. Same sex partners are also forbidden. Sex outside of marriage is also decried and wrong. Murder is another taboo, and yet there are those who have changed the wording to “Pro-choice” in an attempt to make the killing of infants more palatable. Pedophilia is another evil forbidden by God’s word. It would be better for the person who harms a child to have a millstone tied to his neck and cast into the ocean.
The most important choice is whether or not you accept the gift of salvation or not. Accepting Jesus Christ as Savior is the difference between spending an eternity in Heaven or Hell. The choice is yours. Decide before it’s too late.

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 a flame. When that occurs, I hurridly 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 am trying to pass the torch to my children and grandchildren.
I wish that I would have paid closer attention to the details that were 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 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, but as you can see, they didn’t.
 

The Belt May Be Slipping
I’m not missing a cog…YET, but the belt that powers my machine’s brain is certainly slipping. All this week I have been either one day ahead or one behind. Not only was I thinking a Wednesday was a Tuesday, but today I almost missed an appointment with my dietician because I marked the appointment on my pocket calendar, but also in my cell phone reminder that it was for Friday. Alex my dietician called a few minutes after the time of my appointment and asked if I missed it and did I want to reschedule. I said, “No I can be there in about 15 minutes as long as it doesn’t interfere with another appointment.” When we agreed to keep the appointment, but a bit late, he said not to rush. I laughed and said that he was the Russian. That’s because his mother country is Russia. I’m sure he groaned, but was too much of a gentleman to admit it. I made it to his office and we focused on ways to improve my diet.
My cholesterol filled meals seem to be lessening, but he’s still not pleased with my carbohydrate consumption. If I can develop better habits there, it will help to control my blood sugars and my weight. I’m an insulin-taking diabetic. There is one thing that I’m glad about; I only have to inject myself once each day. Another blessing is that the needles have advanced to a 32 gage. That is a very thin needle. They are also only 4 mm long.
Giving myself injections was one of the reasons I never wanted to use insulin, but when I was told that insulin was necessary, I acquiesced. As Naval corpsman and a nurse, I’ve seen some of those needles we had to use. But some of longer and larger bore needles are necessary to inject thick medications deep into the muscle tissue where the medication can be absorbed properly. Other large bore needles are necessary to start intravenous fluids and medications. When a person needs large amounts of fluids, a smaller needle just won’t do. If a person has lost a lot of blood, copious amounts of fluids and replacement blood must be rapidly infused to save their life.
I’m praying that I can get my brain back on the right track next week, but I doubt it. The next few weeks will be eaten up with picking vegetables and canning them and in the confusion, I will probably lose track of time again. Any housecleaners/ secretaries available? I’m liable to need booth.

Lonely Days and Lonely Nights
The forced isolation, the mandated covering of faces with masks, threats of job loss, and social distancing from the corona virus has created a serious problem. Mankind is a social creature. The old adage of “No man is an island” is true. Depression and the suicide rates have risen tremendously with the “mandates” of the Federal and State government during the “epidemic.” The most grievous thing is that the inoculations, the social distancing, the masks, and closing schools and work places have done little more than extend the impact of the corona virus. This isolation and loneliness is crippling millions.
The corona virus is so microscopic that masks did little to stop the virus unless someone coughed or sneezed in someone’s face. The information about the immunization did little to prevent the spread of the virus and the medications to curtail and treat the disease did more harm than good. There are many other illnesses and organ failure that comes with the inoculation. There haven’t been extended time trials to study the vaccine and its long term effects. The only way laboratories could have readied the vaccine was to have known about the virus before it “burst on the scene.” Medication that was pooh-poohed by scientists actually works.
Imposed internet schooling has been a failure on so many levels, but the most appalling is that kids need to learn social skills and how to live with others. Now they have limited interactions with their peers. Without support from others of their own age, it has become a flaw in their character.
The isolation can cause feelings of loneliness. It can come from a sudden intense emotion at the loss of a loved one. The grieving person has to reshape their life. Friends often fall away because those bonds have been broken. The grieving person often becomes the third wheel on a bicycle.
Loneliness can invade slowly, an insidious malicious entity that robs the peace and joy in a person’s life. A cloud thickens until it blots out the world around them. Depression sets in. The loss of a job, loss of possessions, an injury or an illness may isolate a person from their surroundings as did the mandated isolation.
Loneliness can present itself when a certain song is played or a meaningful phrase is repeated. A certain smell can also stir a wave on loneliness. It may be as intense as the initial loss of a parent, partner, or close friend.
A possible cure, don’t expect a stranger to come to you. Reach out to others. You may find some folk are as lonely as you. They may be looking for a friend too. 

Less Than Five Years Ago
What has happened to the United States? So much has changed in the last five years. I can hardly believe the road Liberals are pushing America down. Federal and State Government have created confusion and anarchy. It’s my belief that the government wants to control all aspects of our lives; from electricity and fuel to the lives of our children. One of the worst thing parents have done is to allow the government to “educate” our future generations. They have removed Bible truths and tried to replace it with laws. We’ve allowed the desecration of Old Glory, the history and respect for our country, by sowing seeds of discord and division. The teaching of CRT is inciting more division between Americans based on the color of their skin. If that isn’t enough, they are trying to instill Socialistic ideas where all citizens are equal throughout their life, robbing from the rich to support the poor. The equality the Constitution promotes the idea that folk have an equal chance to advance throughout their lifetime not equal at the end.
Parents are now condemned as terrorists by requiring school boards and teachers to be transparent about the curricula in their classrooms. There should be cooperation on what is being taught. Unfortunately the government wants complete control of a child and the parents will end up having no rights like so many Communist countries.
Pornography has been placed on the shelves of grade school libraries. Sexual ideas shouldn’t be taught to kids in the first and second grade. Kids have enough problems deciding on what to eat or what to wear. And any teachers who will share their political views or sexual preferences should immediately have their teaching credentials removed and should be fired. It’s indoctrination and the grooming of children for politicians and pedophiles. Kids at that age are learning to read and write. They shouldn’t be bombarded with gender fluidity. At this age children have ideations of make-believe. A child may take on the persona of being a monkey, lion, or bear. It is false when they are being taught that a person’s feelings are equal to facts.
The government imposed covid rules and regulations that have isolated children from their peers and caused irreparable damage to the child’s social skills and psyche. Internet classes have lowered the child’s ability to learn from home. Common Core math has added insult to injury. Most parents have no idea what this idea is and can’t help their children when problems arise. What am I trying to say? It’s time to reduce the size and influence of the government before we lose our children forever.

 

Back in the Garden Again
Well it’s that time again. We are harvesting the vegetables that were planted last spring. Two of my friends have large gardens and need help with the canning. Last year we did over 11,000 jars of food: Half gallons, quarts, pints and jelly jars. The size of the container depends on what kind of food we have to put inside. We have even more jars stored in the attic, so only God knows how much we will be canning this year.
We are on our way. Yesterday we canned pickled beets and pickled beans (we call them dilly bean.) Earlier we pickle cucumbers into all sorts of flavors. They are pickling in their brine, kosher dill pickle spears, bread & butter pickles, and sweet pickle slices. We’ve done three bushels of peaches in preserves and peach slices. We have done a variety of beans: yellow wax beans and green beans canned to be reheated and eaten when desired. We pickled yellow wax beans and green beans in brine with a teaspoon of dry Italian dressing mix. They are very delicious. My favorite thing we can is “Marie’s Pepper Mix.” It was a recipe given to me by a dear widow lady friend Marie Ohler. The recipe consists of ketchup, oil, sugar, onions, and hot and green bell peppers. It is a great topping for hamburgers, or a roasting sauce for beef or chicken. It makes a great sloppy Joe mix for burger. I have been splitting a crusty bread loaf, buttering each slice, and drowning it in a skillet, almost like the bread for a grilled cheese sandwich. I will put the pepper mix on it to eat like brochette. It is so good.
We have gathered some blackberries to make blackberry preserves, some half the amount of sugar for diabetics like me and another lady. We have a good running start with preserving the garden’s bounty, but the tomatoes haven’t started to ripen yet. We have salsa and tomato sauce yet to make. The corn stalks are developing their ears. We have butternut squash, zucchini, carrots, and more beets. The pepper plants and tomato plants are hanging heavy with ripening fruits.
There are zucchini, pumpkins and melons spreading their leaves and shading their bounty beneath. Snap peas are climbing their trellis and sending out shoots to climb ever higher. On a nearby farm, we have access to a pear tree and an apple tree that have limbs that are drooping with the weight of the apples and pears. God has been bountiful this year, I pray He gives us the strength and time to store His blessings.

Sharing Memories with Friends and Workmates
I was at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania yesterday to have some more testing done. The person who was doing the testing was a workmate of mine when I was employed there. She and I shared some stories. I know that I’ve shared this story before, but it was one that I shared with her. I gave her one of my business cards and invited her to read my blog.
This story wasn’t quite a ghost story, but it answers if I ever saw ghosts when I worked on the third floor. I also told her I’d not seen any ghosts, but I did hear footsteps occasionally. I’ll repeat it so she can share it with other friends.
I’d just taken the body of a deceased person to the morgue and placed the cart in the cooler. I was recording information in the log when I heard voices in the storeroom through a connecting vent high on the wall. It was our maintenance man Frank and Nicole one of the female central supply techs. They were retrieving a bariatric bed. Bariatric beds are oversized beds for the larger patients. These beds were stored directly beneath the vent.
I moved across the morgue until I was underneath the vent. I cupped my hands around my mouth and making a funnel I moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”
They immediately they stopped talking. Then I heard Nicole ask, “Frank, did you hear that!”
When Frank didn’t answer right away, she persisted, “Did you hear that?”
Frank said “Yes! Yes I did.”
“What was that?” She asked.
I heard Frank shush her.
They were quiet and I could tell they were listening. So I waited. When I heard them start to move the bed in the next room, I again moaned, “W-O-O-O-O-O! W-O-O-O-O-O!”
Nicole said, “Let’s get out of here!” I heard the supply room door pop open and the bed rolling out of the room at a high rate of speed.
Later, I met Frank in the hallway and told him what I had done. He laughed and said, “I didn’t know what that noise was. I knew the morgue was next door, so I thought at first it could have been a ghost. The second time you moaned, Nicole’s eyes bugged out. She grabbed my arm and almost climbed up onto my shoulders. I think she would have if I would have let her.”
We never told Nicole and  if you read this, I apologize.