Keeping It Under One Hundred
I’m not talking about speeding in my car or my weight, but I am talking about my blood sugars. Neither of my parents had diabetes and yet I have the disease. I was always a chubby kid and wore husky jeans. I won’t say I was lazy, but didn’t exert myself too rigorously. I preferred to read and follow less strenuous activities. A gym session was not my favorite high school class.
Now that winter is over, I have decided to oncce again continue my daily walks. I do enjoy walking and taking photos, especially now that the weather iis warmer and the trees are losing their bareness. The leaves are unfurling and the blossoms are covering them with colorful blossoms.
I’ve shared I am taking an expperimental medication to help control my diabetes. I’ve had the disease for probably thirty years or more. The blood sugars back then were “controlled” by taking oral medications. Eventually it became necessary for me to start injections of insulin. Not a large dose, but I still didn’t relish the idea of stabbing myself with a needle. However, my family doctor finaly convinced me that it was necessary.
My old family doctor Dr. Balcita wanted my blood sugar below one hundred, but anytime it approached tat number, I felt dizzy, weak, and nauseated. He still pressed me to get my blood sugar below one hundred and I would tell him “No way.” I felt that I couldn’t tolerate a blood sugar that low.
New drugs came on the market and I was referred to an endocrinologist who put me on the injectable drug Ozempic. I couldn’t tolerate it even though it started to lower my blood sugar. With the Ozempic, I had continuous bouts of nausea alternating with severe periods of heartburn. I even went back to half strength. I stopped it when I tried to explain my problem to his staff. All they would say was that the doctor wanted me to take it.
I found an ad asking for volunteers for a new medication created by Lilly Pharmasuticals. I applied and after many rounds of sharing my history, testing, and paper work I was accepted. Since I began taking the medication my daily blood sugars have been much better, Most days I am under one hundred with my fasting morning bllod sugar AND without any hypoglycemic sumptoms. That was something I thought would never happen.

 In My Dreams
I rarely remember my dreams. For the past two days I heve remembered them. I know there are those who “interpret” dreams like Joseph did as a boy and while he was jailed in Egypt, but Im not one of them. I don’t own a book of dreams that tells someone what the detaills of a dream means. There are others who believe that a dream is just warped replay of things that have occurred over the past few days like a marred reception on a television where wires get crossed. I don’t know if either are correct, I just know what I have dreamed.
When I woke this morning, the impression that remained was the American slowy furling and unfurling. There was a gentle breeze stirring it. The flag was partially hidden behind a sign. A soft light illuminated the flag, but not the sign hanging in front of the flag. The sign remained blaack. The backdrop was a foggy haze without distinguishing features. It wasn’t a scary dream, just a curious one.
The other dream that I remembered from the past week was a dream where I became lost inside a mall like structure with halls and walls almost like a maze, As I wandered, I couldn’t recall getting there and couldn’t remember the way to leave the building. I had no idea why I was there; I only remember my frustration as to how I got there and had no idea how to escape.
But there is more. I am outside without any knowledge how I got there. I only have a vague memory of pushing out through a double glass door into the cold and snowy parking lot. None of the cars in the area are familiar to me and I continue my attempt to leave the area. Although the lot is coveered in snow, the cars are not. The cars are free of snow and I can see the sea of vehicles as I meander through the maze of steel bodies searching for mine.
My dreams always seem bizarre, unlike my Gram Rebecca Rugg Miner. She would tell us stories about her dreams that came true. The simplest to believe was the dream of the snake in her flower garden. She recognized the situation from her dream and killed the snake.
The most illogical was her dream of a car driving down their farm lane. She was looking out her bedroom window. Looking down, it seemed that the driver had no head. It came true. A car drove by, the porch light was on and the shadow cast put the driver’s head in shadow and he lookes as though he was headless.

 Shanks Mare
Shank’s mare is one of those idioms that my dad Carl Beck and the older generation used. A person using their legs to propel themselves instead of riding a horse, buggy, or car when travelling would say they were walking or going by shank’s mare. I’d been avoiding my daily walks, blaming the cold windy weather or the rainy days, but much of it was because I’m a couch potato and too often just too lazy. I think much of my recent feelings of tiredness and sluggishness was because I haven’t been taking my daily walks.
I started yesterday by going to my local polling center to vote in the primary electtions. I saw that Nicki Haley was on the ballot with Donald Trump. I was surprised to see her name still on the ballot. My next stop was to the gas station for a fill-up. No surprise there, the price for gasoline will continue to rise until the United States drills ardently for its own oil, completes the pipeline, and stops trying to force those ill-imagined electrical vehicles on the public. The high cost of the EV, its limited mileage, and the lack of charging stations is an attempt to control the public. It’s to force people to live in cities and limit Americans’ mobility. If the government can force American citicens to use electricity to heat their homes, cook their food, and drive vehicles, they can cut the power to anyone and control every part of their lives.
Next I stopped at the bank to withdraw a few bucks before heading to Wal-mart. I always meet someone at Wal-mart who I’ve worked with and today was no exception. But many times I will talk with complete strangers. I live alone and it is nice to talk with someone, even a stranger.
Back home after the groceries were unloaded and put away, I decided that it was too nice to stay indoors and felt the need to spend some time in the sunshine. It was just a shorter walk, but it was a beginning. I believe that I walked about an eighth of a mile. I managed to take a few photographs of blossoming trees, the road I walked on, and a few ragged cattails with lush green grass background.
I rescued my neighbor girl’s ball that had blown across the road and into a ditch. It had been forgotten. Sometimes the wind where I live can be fierce. I’m sure that it blew the ball from the neighbor’s yard into the ditch.
So I am starting to “ride” shank’s mare again and my legs actually feel good with no cramping yet. Giddy-up.

 Just What You’re Looking For
Unusual incidents somehow connect with others in my past. In February I purchased a reclining chair to replace a recliner that a spring had broken. Of course the broken spring occurred about two months after the “year warrenty” ran out. I ordered a replacement spring on line. It was the correct length, but not the proper strength. The chair works, but not very well. There are several bolts in the chair that loosen and must br tightened. It is a comfortable chair, so despite all its faults, I kept it and still use it.
Back to the February chair. After the problem with the first chair, I purchased the extended warrenty. Last week I moved the February chair to vacuum around and under it and what to mu wandering eyes appeared but a black single bolt. The head of the bolt had a star shaped opening for a specialized screwdriver. I upturned the February chair to try to find where the bolt came from. I was unable to find a spot in the tangle of metal parts beneath the seat where the bolt had escaped.
I called the furniture company and explained my situation. Because it was so recently purchased and it was still under warrenty, they set an appointment for a technician to come to my home to service it. The appointment day came and so did the technician. We upturned the chair and he knelt behind it, peering into the metal skeleton beneath. We both searched and could see nothing. As a matter of fact, there were no other bolts with the same star shaped heads anywhere in the chair. It seemed to be a strange bolt from some other piece of furniture.
I will share another odd incident that my dad, Carl Beck shared about one of his relatives. She had purchased a brand new 1956 Ford.I can’t remember the model, but soon after she began driving it, she heard a rattle. The rattle irritated her. A brand new car shouldn’t have a rattle. It seemed to be in the doorpost just behind her head. After several trips to the dealership and several times the mechanics insisting that there should be nothing thee to rattle, they finally removed the panel. Inside was a Coke bottle and inside the bottle was a note that read, “I’ll bet you had a hard time finding this one.” I’m wondering if the extra bolt in my chair was tossed in at the fatory without a note.

 Traditions
It became a tradition for our family to go to our grandparents Miner’s house for a meal on New Year’s Day. It wasn’t the traditional New Year’s Eve foods of pork and sauerkraut; it was something a lot less traditional. My Dad Carl Beck would buy a couple of cans of oysters and a gallon of vanilla ice cream. He’d also buy the little wafer-like oyster crackers.
Granddad Raymond Miner had a small farm with cows providing fresh butter, cream, and milk. He made lard from the pigs he butchered and Grandma Rebecca Rugg Miner canned apples and would bake two apple pies. Her crusts were nice and light from the lard that she used and the apples were seasoned just right for the filling.
As soon as we walked inside my glasses would steam up, assaulted by the cinnamon-spicy aroma of the pies and the warmth of the coal cook stove in her kitchen. There would be the scent of percolated coffee adding richness to the festivities. The ice cream would go into the freezer and the oysters would go into a large pot with creamy farm milk, home-churned butter and salt and pepper. Nothing else was needed to make a rich light soup. All we had to do was to wait and waiting was hard for us kids. The pleasantly warm smells made our stomachs growl.
Grandma would get up occasionally to stir the pot. We would all watch in anticipation for her to nod that the meal was ready and were disappointed when she returned and sat back down. When it would seem I could wait no longer, Grandma would say, “Let’s eat.” There was no need for a second call when the oyster broth was cooked and ready to be served.
Grandma would use a large ladle and lift out steaming broth and a few of the meaty oysters into bowls; smaller ones for us kids, and larger ones for the adults. When the savory soup was placed in front of me I would take a deep sniff, wanting to just have a taste of it, but I knew that all had to be served and grace needed said, the crackers would be passed around to spill into our bowls.
I always wanted to lift the bowl and drink it right down, but I would take one spoonful at a time makimg it last as long as I could. I knew the soup was steaming hot and it would have scalded my throat. Grandma would continue to ladle the soup until the pot was empty.
The adults would sip coffee and talk. Kids would squirm in our chairs wishing the apple pie and ice cream was already in front of us. But as children, we couldn’t ask and had to wait to be served.
Eventually Grandma would rise and fetch the pies. My mom would get the ice cream. Our eyes sparkled in anticipation. Apple pie and ice cream was never a common occurrence. Grandma placed a large wedge on a saucer and Mom would scoop a heaping mound of the ice cream on top of the pie.
We drooled until everybody was served and then dove in with gusto. Barely a crumb was left on the plate when we were through. Tummies full and appetite sated we cleared the table to play dominoes or Parcheesi. Some sadness would creep in. We’d have to wait another full year for the oyster stew and apple pie.

 Into the Darkness
I remember reading stories of pioneers who would find themselves returning to their family after traveling all day, coming home after darkness had fallen. The weary traveller had reached the limit of their endurance completely surrounded by darkness. Often they were burdened by needed supplies. The longer the person trudged along, the harder the person strained their eyes, searching for the light that was always left burning in the cabin window by fellow family members. It was a lighthouse that drew the sailor into a safe port. It was like a beacon that brightly welcomed the traveller home.
When our church group camped at the Great Sand Dunes of Colorado there was no light from any nearby city or town. The darkness was black velvet with stars seemingly so close we could knock them down with a stick. We were not able to enjoy its beauty for long before we were beset by a tremendous storm accompanied by a fabulous display of lightning so close and bright I was sure the bottom of the tents would tingle.
An incident that happened last night; it got me thinking of how welcome a light can be. Being more frugal than ever, I’ve recently been turning off some of my night lights scattered throughout my house. During the daylight hours I’ve been turning them off; wasteful to allow them to burn energy that I have to pay for. It’s especially necessary for me when I am going to be away for several hours.
Yesterday I shut off my living room light and forgot to turn it back on before going upstairs. The low wattage light illuminates my stairs well enough that I am not travelling in darkness. Last evening I had to slowly edge my way down the stairs. It was a path I’d traversed thousands of times before, but not in the dark. Needless to say the stair rail became my best friend. Each step was a step into the unknown.
I sometimes put things on the stairs so that I am reminded to carry them upstairs with me. Being forgetful, I was unsure if I’d left anything on the steps and timidly probed with my barefoot before placing my weight on the next step. It was that dark.
I usually leave a kitchen light on, a living room light, and my office light on. I also keep a low wattage light on in my bedroom since I whacked my shins on the bottom of my bedframe. I also keep a “dollar store” night light in my bathroom. As I age, I find that my night vision needs all the help it can get.

If You Are Offended
I’ll start out by saying “I’m sorry” if I don’t identify your gender correctly or call you by a pronoun or a “gender” that you believe you are not. If you believe that you are anoother gender other than the one that God has assigned you at birth, well excuse me. I don’t have the time or the inclination to join you in your fantasy world of make-believe. Your confusion has nothing to do with my reality; I have enough trouble keeping my everyday tasks and ideas straight. If you purposely want someone to “know” what your self-identifying gender is, please wear a name tag with your preferred gender and pronouns that are listed boldly for all to see or don’t expect me and others to play a game of charades. And if you’re confused about what you want to be when you grow up…GROW UP, but before you choose a career and before you select a college major, be sure your choice can support you and be sure the amount of money you spend and time you invest can be repaid. Don’t expect me to pay for it. I enlisted in the United States Navy for four years to help pay for my nursing degree. You can too.
Many times as I worked as a nurse, I would be approached by a very young looking man with an older looking woman who would appear at the emergency department to be treated. Or an older man with a much younger woman would present themselves to be treated. Often it was necessary to question one or the oother as to what the problem that they had to initiate a chart especially when one of them was already taken back inside for necessary treatment.
I quickly learned not to make the assumptions of thinking that the younger person was a son, daughter, brother, or sister or the older-looking person was the mother, father, or wife. It often caused embarrassment on my part and would upset the person that was inadvertantly misidentified.
I quickly learned to ask the question, “How is “so-and-so” related to you?” The open-ended question solicited an answer, shifting the responsibility to identify the person with the correct answer.

 Deluge
The rain has been falling down in sheets. The constant roar of the drops on my roof seems to drown out any thoughts to write about other than the drumming of the water pouring from the heavens. It is a definite challenge to make any thoughts rise above the sound of the deluge. As I look back at stories that were told to me by my family, I can remember a powerful deluge and a flood in the area. The flood occurred in Melcroft, Pennsylvania in the year 1943. I was just talking with a ninety-nine year old about it. I couldn’t remember what year the flood occurred, but he did. This older gentleman is a member of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. This remarkable man has all of his mental facilities and has a wonderful sense of recollection.
The reason I recall the story of the flood is because my Aunt Estella Beck Strawderman and her Daughter Shirley were caught up by the flood that occurred in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. They were washed away by the high water and tossed into a tree. Estella and Shirley managed to cling to the branches until they were seen and rescued.
After the flood, my Grandfather Edson Thomas Beck tore down the family farmhouse and built two smaller homes on the banks of Indian Creek in the town of Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The homes were constructed from reclaimed lumber taken from the old farmhouse.
Behind my parents Carl and Sybil Miner Beck’s house there was a small stream, runoff water from our natural spring. In the springtime melting snow caused it to overflow its banksand flood the lower flat part of the yard. Debris of trash from Route 711 would wash down and fill the stream. My dad would shovel the gravel, broken bottles, and other orts to reopen the channel. As kids we played in the stream, but had to be careful of broken glass or sharp pieces of metal.
Several years ago, another torrential rain event caused flooding in the Mount Pleasant and Connellsville areas of Pennsylvania. Many streams rose rapidly, doing much damage locally.
Because Pittsburgh is a confluence of three rivers, the snow and ice melt downs or intense rain storms in the southwestern Pennsylvania mountainside will cause flooding at the Point where the Monongehela, Allegheny, and Ohio Rivers conjoin.

 Delicate
Today the word delicate crossed my mind. I wondered if it was a word that was mentioned in the Bible. When I looked it up, I found that the word delicate is mentioned several times in Jeremiah, Deuteronomy, Isaiah, and in the book of Micah. The meanings there were interpreted as dainty or luxurious. Often the meaning of the word delicate was paired with the idea of something being tender. Parallel meanings that I thought of immediately were dainty or easily damaged. Another thought that scurried through my brain at almost the same time was the fabric settings on my washing machine and my clothes dryer.
Delicate is not a word that’s used very much anymore. At one time adults, especially parents used the idea of delicate when they were choosing language being spoken while they were in the presence of children. The morals of that time caused them to be cautious and eliminate these harsh or vulgar words when children were in the room. Adults didn’t feel the language was appropriaate for the child’s delicate or tender ears to hear. The child’s brain wasn’t mature enough to be exposed to undrestand the meanings of the fowl utterings of a “drunken sailor.”
Slowly the language of the gutter infiltrated society. Twenty years ago the street language being used today would not have been uttered nor tolerated, especially if it was said in front of a “lady.” It was uncouth and uncaceptable. Today the taboo of curse words has expanded so that women are just as guilty of weilding those worda and breaching that wall of protection. The language of women now will often rival the roughness of their male counterparts.
This corrupt verbiage has infiltrated our homes. Parents will laugh when their children pick up the disrespectful attitudes and the gutter talk. Too often these words are spoken by the parents. They no longer seem to care about the “delicate ears” of their children. Television, movies, and modern day music seems to have no filter and children are exposed to these indelicate words from all sides.
The words and ideas from which we once sheltered children are now being foisted on them at a much younger age. Adults are forcing ideas of “gender” and sex on these young people who have no wisdom, experience, or understanding of what they are being asked.
Maybe instead of allowing our children to be confused by this worldly pressure, we should return to treating our children as delicate and precious things and not allow the evils of today to crush, ruin, and damage them.

 Waterproofing Ourselves
As our Pastor shared that too many churches have gotten away from preaching the Word of God and away from the teaching of biblical truth, my mind made a connection. Recently I paid the premium on the waterproofing company insurancce for my basement. Before they came and made the necessary repairs, I would get water into my basement ankle deep with every heavy rain. Their repairs eliminated that problem and I was happy.
Many “churches” have strayed from preaching the truths found in the pages of the Bible and seem more interested in entertaining the congregation. Some have chosen different versions of the Bible that eliminate passages of the text. Some pastors will tell a moral story and never open or quote the Scripture. Some pastors will introduce traditions, placing them on par with the actual Word of God. These ideas reminded me of the need to waterproof ourselves and stop the seepage of the world from entering our churches and our lives.
When the dampness from the seepaage enters our basements, molds and mildew will groww and cover the walls introducing illnesses, making us sick, just as sin will pollute and make our souls sick. The dampness is unhealthy. So is the stain leftt by the introduction of sin in the world coming into the sanctuary and into our souls.
The laborers who waterproofed my home opened drainage ditches around my basement to divert the excess water away from my basement; just as God provides protection when His instructions are carried out to divert the world. Weak, bulging walls must be strengthened and cracks in the foundation must be secured and leaks plugged. Next those workers made catch basins adding pumps to remove the invading flow of water from the outside.
A heavy coating of sealant on the insside walls and on the outside prevents water from sneaking inside. The armor of God does much the same thing to prevent ourselves and our churches from being saturated by the world. Be alert for the wiles of the world in your life and in your church. Do not allow the deluge of “worldly wisdom” overwhelm you. Seek the truth of the Word of God. Be ye transformed and don’t be conformed to the world. (Romans 12:2-3)

 Cutting Corners
When I was in the United States Navy as a corpsman, I developed a deeper interest in model railroading. After my shift was done; I didn’t have a lot to keep my active mind busy. HO gage was small enough for me to keep with my belongings and I began to build trackside accessories. An Exacto knife, a thin piece of wood, and Elmer’s glue was all I needed. My first project was to fashion two tunnel portals, shaped like old tunnel adits where they built wooden walls to prevent debris from falling down onto the tracks. My next project was a trestle bridge seven inches high and eighteen inches long. I had to study a photo to make it look real. Then I built a water tank like those supplying water to the steam engines. It had an arm that could be lowered and raised back into place. With the use of some tongue blades I constructed a train station with benches, a teller window, and windows. A platform stretched along one side with a freight room attached. It was definitely a labor to complete. Getting them home on an airplane is another story entirely. I still have them stored somewhere in my attic.
I made a small jewelry box for a friend. It was a rectangle about six inches by four inches and three inches deep. The corners were hand-carved dovetails. It also had a fitted lid with a carved a bunch of grapes to decorate the top. During this time I was carving miniatures. One I can remember was of an elephant that was about ¾ of an inch high. Another was a small frog with a crown on its head. Most of my carvings were limited by the amount and type wood I had on hand.
The last project I carved happened much later. I got the idea to carve a figure of Jesus Christ with His arms stretched out. I thought once it was completed, I’d use metal pins and attach the image onto a cross made of separate pieces of wood. It was coming along quite well. The soft pine shaped easily. The arms and cupped hands were nearly finished. The legs protruding from the loincloth were done. The chest and abdomen were well shaped. Christ’s hair and thorns were very realistic. The face was being shaped, but hadn’t yet emerged from the beard as of yet. Somehow one arm of the soft pine broke off. At first I was devastated, but God reminded me that I shouldn’t be making graven images and the entire project ended up in the trash. It was never finished.

 As It Was in the Time of Noah
All through the night I could hear the rain on my house roof. Sometimes it had aalmost ceased, while at other times it was a downpour. I couldn’t help but think of the times of Noah and the flood. We still will joke after a deluge about someone again building an ark as Noah did, but Noah, the ark, and the flood wasn’t a joke. It was a time of judgement. It was a time when God’s wrath came down from heaven and bubbled forth from beneath the earth. It was a time when God saw the sin and depredation that mankind ad created for themselves, turning to sin, and embracing it.
In the Bible book of Matthew it goes on to say that in the time of Noah the people were eating, drinking, marrying, and giving in marriage. It wasn’t the common things that angered God, but it was the people were ignoring Him, their Creator. There was no time for Him.
In Genesis the Bible explains that in the time of Noah the eartth was corrupt. Mankind had perverted the perfect world that He created and filled it with violence. Mankind had followed its desire for the flesh; proud of their sins and were flaunting it in their everyday life.
God watched as the wickedness of mankind became more and more accepted and promoted. It came to the point that every evil imagination possible filled man’s heart and sought to fill it with wicked sinful thoughts and deeds continually.
Only Noah found grace in the eyes of God and God gave Noah the design for the ark. He shared a way that Noah and his family might escape God’s wrath and be saved from the coming destruction. Noah and his family built the ark, all the while Noah shared the LORD’s prediction of the upcoming time of destruction and telling those around him to repent while there was still time. No one was listening. Once Noah and his family were inside the ark, God Himself closed the door, sealing them safely inside away from the flood judgement of God.
Each day we see wickedness being touted as acceptible and sinfulness is being pushed forward proudly as normal. Those who would condemn it as sin are denigrated as intolerant and somehow wicked themselves. Is it again coming closer again to a time of Noah?