Icicles
Looking back I seem to remember a lot of icicles hanging from the eaves of homes. I don’t see as many nowadays because of gutters and downspouts. Their size ranged from little fingerlings to ones that reached the ground from the second story. Some were thin, almost transparent as a window pane to those which needed to be smacked by a hammer to loosen them and to cause them to fall safely.
Icicles can be wonderfully beautiful, clinging to edges of waterfalls, creating another cascade of beauty at the sides of a winter stream. Those icicles mirror the natural beauty of the free-falling water.
One beautiful display of icicles I remember was an annual light show at a house about half way down the Three Mile Hill along Route 31 between the towns of Donegal and Laurelville, Pennsylvania. When the highway had more curves there was a small mobile home situated at the edge of a deep curve. The folks there used a large square of turkey wire hanging between two trees. Strings of outdoor colored lights were fastened to it before hosing it down with water. The water froze into sheets of ice. At night when the lights were lit, it glowed like a stained glass window.
Another icicle story happened while I was working at Frick Hospital Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. One of the nurse managers complained all the time about being cold. Her office had been a patient room with its own bathroom. She would turn the heater on in the bathroom and in the office as soon as the weather began to chill outside. Walking into her office was like entering a blast furnace.
Outside, huge icicles would hang from the eaves of the hospital. I was working as the night shift supervisor and went outside breaking off a section. The icicle was ten inches thick at its base and extended to nearly six feet long at its pointed end. After turning off the heat in her bathroom, I stuck the thick end into the commode bowl standing the icicle up then closed the door. She was not a happy camper when she went into her bathroom. I did remove it to placate her, but it was worth her scolding to see her fuss.
Another story that isn’t quite an icicle story but occurred one year during deer hunting. It was very cold and the bottle of water I carried in the pocket of my hunting jacket froze. Several other hunters’ water did as well. We had to build a fire and place the bottles near the flames to thaw them. The fire was also nice place to warm our hands as we made rounds.

Rural Rhapsody
When I sat in the early morning hours on a log, I was able to survey the countryside around me. Beyond my feet lay muted ecru-colored tufts of dried grass that spread carpet-like to cover the forest floor. Clusters of ground-pine meandered in random whimsical patterns through the dried grass. Spiders hung silvery thin threads to sew the branches to dangle delicate webbed designs. Those spider threads glistened in the sun’s first rays. Briers sported sharp needles that snagged and tugged at my clothing as I settled into place on the log. They retained leathery green and red colored leaves amid the random brown leaves stubbornly clinging to trees around me. Tangles of fallen branches and felled trees wove a jumble of woodsy design, adding depth and height to the forest floor landscape. The trees that refused to shed their leaves wore a ragged cloak of brown. At their feet, fronds of ferns were covered in a frosty glaze that glistened as the first rays of sunlight stroked their curved and feathery stems.
Blue-green lichen clung to the trees interspaced with patches of yellow-green moss. Their interplay brightened the dark roughened bark and frosty areas. Layers of frilly fungi layers stepped down the tree trunk in rows. Nodules of decay and umbrella types of fungus found places to grow on fallen tree trunks.
The sun rose and cast conflicting ribbons of shadows and streamers of light. Interlacing bare branches stretch from the tree trunk pillars to create supports for the blue sky and white-cloud vaulted ceiling. A light wind stirred the clouds, painting an ever-changing panorama above. Vagrant puffs of icy air stirred the briar leaves causing their stems to nod at the breeze’s passing. The brown leaves shift causing them to whisper soft songs.
Earthy flavors stirred by the breeze rise to fill my nostrils. Decaying leaves cover the winter-bared ground. Their frosty glazes begin to melt as the sun’s warming fingers stroke the leaves. The thick mat of fallen leaves share the names of the trees around them, oak, poplar, beech, maple, and birch. The shapes of their discarded summer garb create an interlocking puzzle of shapes, colors, and sizes.
An occasional bird’s call breaks the morning’s silence interspersed with an occasional flutter of wings. A gray squirrel scurried into view with its thick tail flicking as is scampers up one tree and leaps into another. Finally the cold sends me back to the warmth of my house.

Times of Thanksgiving
Another day of celebrating the holiday of Thanksgiving is past. But should we ever not be thankful for the things that we have. So many other places on earth have so much less to be thankful about and yet we hear them singing praises to the LORD God from Whom all blessings flow. If they can be filled with thanks for the few things that they have, shouldn’t we step back and really look at the blessings that we have.
I’ve been trying to do just that. Yesterday my Son, two Daughters and their families came to my house for a family get together and to eat. I was responsible to roast the turkey again this year. I managed not to overcook it to extra crunchy this time. Each of my kids brought side dishes. There was so much to eat. There are enough leftovers in my fridge that I won’t have to cook for several days.
I have a house with a roof that doesn’t leak, running water, and a heater that keeps the house warm and walls that protect us from the elements. So many others worldwide don’t have these “luxuries” and must do without.
What many have is the love of God and the peace found in salvation afforded by Jesus Christ. They know that their sins have been paid for by the blood spilt on the cross at Calvary, Their sins have been forgiven and they have the promise of being resurrected to live in heavenly places where sin cannot enter in. Death has no sting. There will be no tears, no illnesses, and no pain. God the Father has mansions waiting for those who accept Christ as their Redeemer and Savior.
The hope the saved have is not found in works, not found in prayers to anyone or anything else, and not found in chanting or other gods. The way is clearly described in God’s Word, the Holy Bible. There is a ministry called Bearing Precious Seed that prints Bibles and Gospel books for distribution in many languages. Their desire is to spread the hope found in the Gospel throughout the world in native languages so people can read it in their native tongue.
The holiday of Thanksgiving is over, but our days of thanksgiving for what God has given us should happen each and every day.

 American Abundance
As we approach the holiday of Thanksgiving, it is time to think of the abundance of the things that we have in life. As Americans we still have many freedoms. Freedoms we hold too lightly. Although many altruistic politicians in our government is trying remove or at least severely limit liberty and the God-given and Constitutional guaranteed freedoms,  Americans still have them. We need to recognize them and cling tightly to them.
Too many people are quite willing to trade them for a bit of bread or some phantom promise of security. The bit of bread is like the bait covering the fishing hook to entice the hungry and willing to swallow the lies and poison of the snake oil salesmen in positions of power and the media. The imaginary promise of security by removing the freedom of speech and the ability of protecting ourselves, our families, and our property is selling ourselves back into servitude and allowing the government to have complete control of our lives.
Threat is the weapon that the government has pursued to control the population. There was once a time when the citizens directed the policies of our country. Now it seems that the government’s goals are to subdue Americans by instituting new regulations, laws, and taxes.
We need to stand firm on the liberty and freedoms that we still have. We need to secure those precious commodities for future generations. If we don’t teach our children the necessity of being free, they will slowly be eroded away by a centralized government and power hungry elites and politicians.
I started to write about the things that we should be thankful for, and I did, going back to the very basics of abundance in America. If we look around at Venezuela, North Korea, India, and many countries in Africa, we see a lack of physical comforts that are afforded to American citizens. I spoke with a missionary to Haiti. The turmoil, crime, and strife there is unbelievable. She has an orphanage there and her concern for these young men and women makes me hang my head because I’m not always grateful. Even the people who are poor in America have it so much better off than them.
So as we sit down at our Thanksgiving table, let us remind ourselves how fortunate we are. We also need to be reminder of the military men and women who are away from home and protecting our liberty and freedom. Happy Thanksgiving.

 Ladies and Gentlemen
Hearing that refrain takes me back to a time when small circuses made their circuit into local communities. They were sometimes invited by organizations as revenue generating programs. I can recall when a person usually a man would boldly step into the center of a huge tent and address the surrounding audience with the call, “Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages....”
This Emcee would be dressed in a top hat, a bright red jacket, carrying a short whip in one hand and possibly a megaphone in the other. His highly polished black boots would glisten in the light. This person was the ringmaster who would introduce the different performers who would dazzle the audience with their acts. High-wire artists would precariously balance themselves on a wire high above. Trapeze artists would swing and leap from perch to perch. Clowns would scurry out in cars to perform their crazy antics to please the crowds. There would be animal acts of lions, of elephants, and of brightly costumed riders on horses. The music combined with the flashy costumes created an exciting time for the patrons.
There was a time when women were actually ladies and men were truly gentlemen. Too often men and women have coarsened in their appearance in manners and language.  Folks today will go shopping in pajamas and clothing that covers less than underwear. Ripped jeans would never have been tolerated at one time are now in vogue. Skin tight leggings that never should have been made in those sizes are the in thing looking like sausage about to burst their casings. Some fashions are created to expose the maximum amount of flesh without the person being incarcerated for lewd presentations. I can’t understand the reason for men wearing the baggy pants. I’ve fought all my life to keep my trousers from falling down.
I think the coarseness of today’s language is even more bothersome and offensive to me. I was a sailor in the United States Navy and you know what they say about drunken sailors. I’ve heard some pretty rough language, even from the female sailors, but that vocabulary pales to the verbiage coming out of the mouths of today’s youth. Cursing has become all too common, has infiltrated “normal” conversations, and parents allow their children to hear and to use strong language. Parents do nothing to correct their kids and often laugh when they repeat the crude words. I wish we could go back to a time when biological men were men and female-born women were ladies.

Friends and Acquaintances
    Over the years I’ve met quite a few people. Some of whom became very dear to me while others have simply drifted away. Some with whom I’ve made close contact while others I have barely met at all. This may seem strange but the meeting people the internet has closed the distance and allowed those friendships to form much faster than the snail mail of old pen pal letters.
    Because of my blog and Facebook, I’ve met many people and maintained friendships that would have withered and died if left to the letters sent by mail. The books that I’ve written has forced me to go out into the public and tell people that I am an author, pass out my business cards, and that I have written books. In ways, it’s oddly different and yet the same as when I worked as a nursing supervisor. I was constantly working with the public, but on a smaller scale. It was, limited to occurrences inside of the hospital and I was a representative of the hospital and not me.
    With the need to sell my books and share my Blogspot I keep making acquaintances. Most are superficial. My close friends are few and far between. There are many people that I’ve met in school, in the Navy, and while working at my jobs that I wish now I would have stayed in touch. They were interesting people that had much to share in knowledge and wisdom. Many told stories to me and I wish I had listened more closely to remember them and to share them with others. Those who read my blog have been deprived because of my stupidity and those tales will disappear, untold into oblivion.
    That’s the reasons that I write stories of my family, thoughts from my school days, tales of my work experiences, and fictional stories that my mind recalls or creates. I am so thankful to all of those who read what I write and take the time to share their thoughts and lives with me.

Pull Up a Chair
“Pull up a chair” is a catchy phrase that you might hear when visiting an older friend or a relative as they welcome you into their home or to come up onto their porch with the invitation to “set awhile and have something cold to drink on a warm day. Maybe they’d ask if you’d like a cup of coffee. This was a casual greeting that I’ve often heard when visiting my Grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner. She would be shelling beans and ask me to help her with the words “Pull up a chair” here’s a pan. You can help me. She would say the same thing when she had her quilting frames up and she was sewing a pattern to connect the bottom to the “pieced” pattern of the quilt top. The design of the to-be-sewn lines had already been sketched lightly with a pencil. She’d hand me a threaded needle to sew the straight lines. She kept the fancy scrolls and designs to herself stitching them with her practiced arthritic fingers.
Have you ever been somewhere and a good friend enters? Have you ever saved a seat and said “pull up a chair” and join us knowing that it would be special to have them sitting with you? Then there are acquaintances that cause you to cringe when they “pull up a chair” because they either rub you the wrong way or they prattle on talking about one subject after another. Do you deny their desire to join you?
I remember while in the United States Navy Corps School of playing poker to while away the weekend. I would hover around the area where a poker game was happening until someone quit the table and I would “pull up a chair” and join the game. The pots were soda pop top tabs instead of nickels or the larger tabs from cans on nuts or Pringles instead of dimes. Because gambling was against Navy regulations, the actual money was hidden from sight. I never lost or gained money, but would often make money by selling my seat to someone who wanted to join the game and “pull up a chair.”

 Not Quite Like Granddad
I was just thinking of some stories about my Grandfather Thomas Edson Beck. Yes. I was named after him and my Grandfather Ray Miner. I can remember the story of my Grandfather Beck having a toothache so severe that he actually took care of the pain himself. No, he didn’t extract it, he heated and bent the “rat tail” end of a rasp file over into a 90 degree L shape, then reheated it into a red hot weapon of self-destruction and burned the nerve out of the decayed tooth. I’ve not done anything to match that, but I do have most of my dental work done without anesthesia. I prefer to feel a bit of discomfort than to have the feeling of a fat lip in my lap for hours.
When my Granddad was 21 years of age, a logging accident broke his leg severely enough for the doctors to operate and insert a plate and screws. He still had the bill from the hospital. I can’t remember the exact cost, but it was less than fifty dollars. The plate and screws stayed in place until he was in his nineties and a screw loosened. The doctors removed the screw and plate from his leg. He would readily show the hardware preserved in a medicine bottle teasing that is was an antique.
On the other hand as a teen, I developed a cellulitis from and older injury and a re-injury. I was stuck in the hospital for nearly a week getting penicillin injections in my tusch. As a teen I hated being “confined” for a week, writing notes on my lunch tray begging to be released.
Granddad Beck developed a shingles virus that covered his head and forehead on one side. Shingles is noted for following the nerve pathway on half the affected area. The doctors said that he was fortunate that it hadn’t infected his eye, because the pain would have been nearly unbearable. The virus surrounded his “god eye.” He had been blind in one eye for many years.
On the other hand, my case of shingles was on my left side near the bottom of my rib cage. The crusty eruptions made moving and breathing painful, but I am sure that my Granddad’s pain was more severe.
My Granddad was on a ladder cleaning the gutters on the three story side on his house when he was eighty years old. Me. my kids throw a fit when I get onto my two story roof to clean my chimney, but then, I’m not my Grandpa.

 Measuring Up
I’ve mentioned before that my father Edson Carl Beck was a very opinionated, headstrong person who when he had convinced himself of something, it would take God Himself to make my dad change his mind of what he thought was true. One story came to my mind was his thoughts about Jesus Christ. He believed that NO person could be six foot tall. Where or how he landed on this “fact” I will never know, but he said that Jesus Christ was six foot even and because Jesus Christ was perfect, no other person could be just six foot tall because Christ was the one and only perfect being.
While I was thinking on this, I remembered another of his misconstrued ideas. Back quite a few years ago television commercials honed in on the facts their products were low sodium. This was after doctors-in-the-know decided low sodium diets were a necessity, so many companies promoted their product as “No salt added.” It was the craze for the manufacturers to tout the fact that they were in line with the “new standard.” If my dad didn’t have eggs, some kind of pork, and toast for breakfast, he ate shredded wheat cereal. One shredded wheat company was quick to jump on the bandwagon with commercials saying their cereal had “no added salt.” My dad’s attention fastened in on this advertisement. To my dad the commercial meant that they were removing salt from their shredded wheat. Each morning, he would add a few shakes of salt on his shredded wheat, because the cereal “didn’t taste right” any longer without the salt that he added.
Again back to the taste test; when I was in my prepubescent years about ten to twelve years old, Dad would buy our milk from a local farmer. The milk was raw and unpasteurized. Sometimes, the cows would eat weeds and the strong weed taste would permeate the milk. I could taste the weed’s pungent flavoring of the milk. Dad would get upset with me saying that there was nothing wrong with the milk and that I was to drink it or use it on my cereal. I never knew if he told the truth or not, but because of his frugal nature I believe he didn’t want a gallon on milk to go to waste.

 Another Day, Another Memory
Some days quickly flow by one into another without leaving a ripple of a memory to recall later, but there are days that imprint themselves so deeply that they can be recalled many years after. The past few days have been truly memorable. Thursday afternoon I was blessed to attend the annual Mt. Carmel Christian School’s tribute to our military veterans. It was another superb event with songs and recitations paying respect and honoring the military men, women, and the families of the military. The students shared stories of extreme bravery and poignant tales of past military men and women. There was a march of flags for the different branches of military service while playing their anthems. Later there was recognition for each veteran who was present. All grades of the school participated with those in the upper grades taking on the tasks of the dramatic stories.
Following the program, the school provided a lunch with ham, and side dishes as well as desserts, coffee, tea, and soft drinks. All in all another memory was made.
Friday evening I joined with the other volunteers from the Ohiopyle Volunteer Fire Department who recently donated their time and energy to make the annual Sausage, Pancake, and Buckwheat Festival a success. This festival is the fire company’s primary money raising effort for the department to cover its expenses and purchasing new equipment. This year despite the rain, we were able to serve 5,500 paying customers as well as feeding the workers. It was a record event.
Saturday was one of those flow-by days, but Sunday was completely different. The church had our normal services and a goodbye luncheon for our assistant Pastor. He and his wife became part of our church family five years ago. Those years have sped by and they will be sorely missed. He has desires to go farther with his education and feels God is leading him to start a church planting ministry. The ideas for growing our church has increased the awareness that there are those in communities who still need to hear the Good News of the Gospel. The musical talents of he and his wife are phenomenal and will be an asset wherever they decide to land. Best wishes and prayers in your new endeavor.

Bathtub Bed
My mom Sybil Miner Beck and my dad Carl were both stubborn at times. One night they locked horns. It wasn’t a fight actually. It was more like two Sumo wrestlers seeing who would move first. Dad was upset that Mom had walked into the bathroom while he was still inside. He got into a huff because she didn’t leave right away, but quickly forgot about it all. A little while later, he walked in on her while she was in the bathroom.
That started the standoff. Mom asked him to leave and he said that he wasn’t ready to leave. Mom exploded “I can’t come into the bathroom while you’re in here, but it’s okay for you to come in while I’m in here?”
Dad said, “I can be in here if I want to.”
“If I can’t be in here while you’re in here, you need to get out.” Mom exclaimed.
Dad countered, “I’m not leaving until you do.”
Dad refused. Mom really got her back up and she refused to leave; stalemate.
Mom called to us kids, “Kids, get me a pillow and a blanket.” Mom had laid claim to the bathtub. Mom was short enough to fit the tub comfortably slightly curled. It would have been hard for Dad who was just over six foot to be comfortable in the tub. She settled in for the night.
Dad decided to sleep on the floor. He was too bullheaded to call for a pillow. He used the bathroom rugs and a few towels for his bedding.
This is the kicker, it was Saturday night and Mom was an intelligent woman. She knew Dad would not miss church in the morning. He might stay in the bathroom to shave and brush his teeth, but he would leave the bathroom first to eat breakfast before making the Sunday morning trek. She was going too, but she could go without breakfast if need be.
Dad did leave the bathroom first and all that the tiff accomplished was that they were both stiff and sore Sunday morning.
I was glad that I didn’t have to use the restroom that night. You know what they say, “Two’s company, but three’s a crowd.”

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Gets Me Down
The decreasing daylight hours and the rain always make me feel sluggish and sort of depressed. It makes me want to hide inside knowing that winter is just around the corner. I’m glad that I have retired and don’t have to go out when the winter winds blow and the snows fall. I won’t say I like the rain, but I guess it is better than the snow and ice.
I do have a metal roof and have heard others say how much they like to hear the rain falling on the roof, but with the windows closed and the plastic storm windows in place, all I hear is the dull roar of a barrage of raindrops hitting the roof. There is no music of the drops pinging off the metal roof.
When the rains make everything soggy and water filled, it does make me want to remain inside where I am dry and warm. When mankind started to build shelters, I’m sure his wife wanted to be warm and dry as well. He would do all he could to keep the rain, wind, and snow outside and to keep their dwelling snug and secure. They had to carry water from a stream or well to cook, drink, and to clean. I’m sure that fetching the water day after day became more and more burdensome, so the woman of the house probably shared the desire to have water brought into the house with pipes and pump. After years of wanting to keep water out of the house, now it became a luxury, then a necessity to have water into the house and then a way to allow it to escape. Need I mention the privy?
Well, it’s Tuesday and the sun pierced the early morning mist with a golden glow. Even though the temperature belied the sunny warm feeling that the sun falsely shared, I was able to do some chores around the house. The “pool noodles” that I placed on the line for my outdoor sump pump several years ago had disintegrated and needed to be replaced. The “pool noodle” for the line that delivers fuel oil to my oil furnace was also in deplorable condition and needed to be replaced. All the “pool noodles” that had been so plenteous over the summer had all gone into hibernation and instead I purchased insulating foam covers designed for pipes. That chore is done.Wednesday, waking to snow. I want to go back to bed.