Nursing a Caring Profession

 Nursing a Caring Profession
An older gentleman was admitted to Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania to the intensive care unit overnight. When I came on shift as nursing Supervisor in the morning as the nursing supervisor, the nurses on duty in the unit told me that he was to have a fiftieth wedding anniversary party with his family that night. Instead of attending the party, he fell ill and woulld be unable to attend the planned event. He was gravely ill. As a matter of fact, his condition was very poor and the doctors said it would be a miracle if he left the hospital alive.
The wheels started to churn in my creative brain. I asked the staff to call the dietary department and request plastic martini looking glasses and a cake usually reserved for birthdays. I thought that we could have some celebration ready for the family when they came in to visit.
We made a “Happy 50th Anniversary” banner from computer paper and markers and we hung it above his bed. We borrowed a Polaroid camera from the security department and waited for the wife and grown children to come in. We broke the hospital’s rules and allowed the family to visit him all at oonce instead of two at a time. Besides waiving the two visitor rule we allowed the family to gather around the bed. They were impressed that we’d taken the time to make a banner, but could hardly hold back the tears when we brought the cake and ginger ale in glasses for their impromptu party. We snapped a few pictures of the family gathered around their father and husband resting in this bed. We finished the gesture of compassion and good will by giving them the photos. Even though the family was unable to attend their planned party, they were able to celebrate the anniversary and they had photos of that moment in time.
I wish I could say the man recovered and that he was able to rejoin his family, but it was not meant to be. He died several days later, but the family had memories of the anniversary and the pictures to keep.

Caring Costs So Little

 Caring Costs So Little
Just to let you know I care
I sought you to share your grief
‘Twas my desire to be there
Easing your sadness making it more brief
It’s not much to share your tears
Or lend strength to grieving heart
It takes time with a small part
As we travel through the years
There’s love behind the intent
With an embrace or small touch
Just a little time is spent
A small cost, but means so much
When you lighten someone’s load
Gentle bonds of friendship grow
The choice, no matter which road
Walked, there’s friends who care you know
Drying tears from a friend’s face
Comforting and holding hand
Calming when life’s storm clouds chase
Helps each other understand.
Cords of caring, soul to soul
Bind two closely together
Friendships deepen as years roll
Even in foulest weather
Friendships bloom in subtle way
With a smile or just a wave
Years quickly go, friends stay
And remember what you gave.

Huttendorf Heritage

 Huttendorf Heritage
I’ve never been to the country of Germany, but the roots of my family started in the soil of a town in the southern part that country. From those who researched my family’s history, my ancestors lived in the town of Huttendorf. They ran a butcher shop there. On a sign over the door of the shop was the head of a calf, they were so proud and it was so important to them that it was included in the family crest. The Kolb (Kalp) coat of arms was drawn by an heraldic artist. Documentation for the Kalp coat of arms can be found in Siebmacher’s Wappenbuch. In their language describing the Coat of Arms used the terms *Ein Kalbskopf, translated “The head of a calf.”
The last name was sometimes changed in the translation and Americanized to Culp and Kalp, while others retained the De Kolb or De Kalb spelling.
Their original name was Kalb. I was always told that there was a baron in the clan and found out that it was in gact Baron Johan Dekalb. He was born June 29, 1721. Johan was trained by the French military rising to the rank of brigadier-general. He was famous in America’s history. Baron De Kalb played a prominent role in the French and Indian War. He was sent by France as a spy to observe the temperment of the colonists toward the British. Two decades later, he accompanied Lafayette to support the American cause against Great Britain. In 1777 Johan entered the colonies at Charleston and made his was to Philadelphia. The Continental Congress made him Major-general.
In April 1780 De Lalbwas ordered to leave Morristown, New Jersey to the relief of Charleston, South Carolina, but the city fell to the British while he was marching south. At Deep River, North Carolinahe he joined Generel Horatio Gates. On August 14 they marched against the British at Camden. The British drove Gates from the field, but De Kalb remained in battle. His gorse was shot out from under him. Before he got up, he was shot three times and bayonnetted repeatedly.
He reportedly said to a British officer who volunteered to help the Baron, “I than you sir for your generous sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed for: the death of a soldier fighting for the rights of man.”

Aleo Lake Picnic

 Aleo Lake Picnic
It’s all over for another year. The Chestnut Ridge Historical Society Annual Picnic is lodged in the annals of time. As usual, this event was held at the beautiful and picturesque home of one of our members. I didn’t ask permission, so I won’t share her name, but thank you very much for graciously opening your home for us again this year.
Her refurbished barn makes a perfect place to set out our covered dish feast, protected for the hot sun and any stray raincloud. Every member of the society and their guests are always invited to attend. It’s a time for all to sit, talk, and eat; strengthening our friendships and our commitment to keep the local history of the Laurel Highlands safe for future generations. It’s a great time of relaxation and getting to know fellow members.
The vast array of foodstuff made it impossible to sample all of the different flavored dishes, but I made a great attempt. My blood sugar was up a bit the next morning even though I made a valiant attempt to make the samples small and avoided the richest desserts.
The weather was wonderfully sunny, but a giant fan kept us cool and I’m sure if there were any flies, they were blown into the next county. Sadly this year there was only one swan on the lake, but the entire grounds were manicured and in a wonderfuly beautiful conditionl.
I’ve been looking to downsize. I four bedroom house is becoming too burdensome for me. There are too many chores to keep up with for an old couch potato and climbing the stairs is becoming painful for my arthritic knees.
My grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner had deformities of her knees and feet from the rheumatic arthritis. Climbing the stairs in her large two-story farmhouse was always a slow and painful experience for her. Her fingers and hands also developed twisted knots from that disease, but she could really cook. I always enjoyed her meals she prepared on the old kitchen coal cook stove.

I Don’t Want Her You Can Have Her

 I Don’t want Her You can Have her
Several years after my wife died, Mindy’s common-law-husband passed away. Mindy was a tall, full-figured, slovenly woman. Because of her frequent visits to the hospital, she knew my wife had passed away. When she’d see me, she’d say, “I heard your wife died. I am so sorry!” and I was given the customary bone crushing hug.
So when I found out that her common-law-husband died, I extended my condolences to her just as she’d done to me. Tears came into her eyes and she said, “I know you understand what I’m feeling, Tom” and gave me one of her bone crushing hugs. She was the same dirty person dressed in her usual Banlon shirt and double knit pants, but she was going through hard times. It was a tender moment. I wouldn’t allow squeamish feelings of being hugged to intrude.
After that wherever she met me, I was greeted with the same hug. I started to keep a sharp eye out for her, running the other way long before she came within arm’s reach. Sometimes she’d catch sight of me and call out. I’d only wave and do a ninety degree turn down a hallway to escape.
This worked for several months until one night I was in the main lobby waiting for the elevator. When the doors popped open… there she was… standing in front of me in all of her glory. I couldn’t avoid her without seeming grossly offensive and rude. I cringed inside knowing that the inevitable hug was coming. And it did. We talked for a few seconds before I made the escape. She waved to me as I walked past and into the elevator.
Later that evening, I tried to put my pen in my shirt pocket. It snagged on something. It was a folded piece of paper. On the slip was Mindy’s telephone number. “How did she get it there without me feeling it?” I thought, “She had to be planning this for some time.”
This was just too much for me not to share with someone else. I walked to the medical records department to see Bill, a nurse with whom I worked in the emergency department. He’d transferred to medical records when he got “burned out” in the emergency room.
He looked a lot like me and some patients got us confused when we still both worked in the emergency department. Mindy was one who was confused us. She’d sometimes call me Bill or call Bill by my name. That was okay with me. Maybe he’d get blamed for something I’d done.
When I showed him the note he said, “She’s all yours buddy, I’m already married.”

Aches and Pains

 Aches and Pains
Occasionally when I wake in the middle of the night with the old man’s curse of having to use the restroom, my right shoulder will ache. I sleep with it out from under the blankets. It is a deep down ache: an ache that reaches from the muscle to the bone. It isn’t in the shoulder joint, but in the muscle itself.
It causes me to think of my mother Sybil Miner Beck. Often she would sit with her upper arm and shoulder wrapped in a sweater, even when the weather was warm. She said, “It’s my bursitis.” I don’t think that she was ever diagnosed by a physician; it was a self diagnosed disease.
I do know that the one malady my mom developed was an insidious one that she didn’t recognize and one that we didn’t realize and understand until it was too late. We had small inklings that the disease of Alzheimer’s was starting in her brain, but she put on such a good front that even her doctor didn’t believe us.
She talked and seemed to make sense, but the memories of her past slowly dried up and trickled through her fingers to blow away. The present and the past met. She no longer understood what had happened and also, not what was happening. The world swirled around her and she was locked inside the prison that Alzheimer’s had forged for her.
At first she complained that she couldn’t read with her glasses, when in reality, she forgot how to read. She once kept payroll for several companies, did taxes, was a treasurer for church, loving to work with numbers. She finally gave that up when each attempt became a struggle. That was heart wrenching to see. The recognition of family disappeared behind the veil of that disease. She couldn’t leave her house for more than an hour, without becoming distressed and restless.
Slowly she was lowered into that well of Alzheimer’s until nothing was recognizable. She threatened her husband and my dad Carl Beck with a large meat fork. She didn’t want to keep herself clean, even with his help. He could no longer handle the person that she’d become. It was a difficult decision for him, but decided to place her in a nearby personal care facility.
Eventually it seemed as though Alzheimer’s turned out the light on all of her senses. She refused to eat. It may have been that the illness subdued the very desire to eat, took away the basest of human drives, that of needing food and drink. What a cruel taskmaster Alzheimer’s is.

The Pink Pahther

 Pink Panther
When my older daughter Amanda Beck Yoder was very young she liked to watch the cartoon, “The Pink Panther.” One reason was the cartoon was mostly silent other than the background music and the action humor was enough to keep a child or an adult amused throughout the presentation. My wife Cindy Morrison Beck and I would occasionally buy a small toy for her. We found a Pink Panther stuffed animal and it was her favorite until she discovered baby dolls. Pink Pnather was relegated to a lesser place of honor on her bed for a few months.
What has brought the thoughts of the Pink Panther to mind is that I am sorting through shelves as I plan my future down-sizing. I am sorting through the shelves in my bathroom closet and one of the things that has claimed a resting space in the closet for years is a verigated pale purple blanket with various figures of the Pink Panther on it.
I “won” the blanket many years ago at a firemen’s fair. Saw it on a shelf in a drawing numbers to win a prize booth. The shelves were loaded with quite a few prizes, but I only had eyes for the blanket. I wanted it for Amanda. I put the “won” in quotation marks because I drew a prize winning number, but it wasn’t for the blanket. The prize that matched the number that I drew was something more expensive. I asked the fireman if I might switch the numbers and claim the blanket.
The fireman was a good friend of mine and because I was actually trading down in value, he readily agreed and I was able to get the blanket. The saddest thing about my deal was that about this time Amanda’s interest switched and she only used it a few times. She was going to give it away and I claimed it again. I know “Indian Giver,” but because I went out of my way to get the blanket, I wasn’t going to let go so easily. I don’t know if she will want it now since her passion for the Pink Panther has cooled or whether it will travel with me when I move. Knowing my kids, that blanket will probably line my coffin.

Aunt Helen Stahl

 Aunt Helen
Aunt Helen was a woman cut from the same cloth as her sister Estella, but not as extreme with her neatness. Helen had six children and for her to be as neat as Estella, she would need to stay awake twenty-four hours each day. Helen was very routine driven. She assigned work to follow a daily pattern. Each day she had a chore to do and a room to clean. Rooms she cleaned were not just a dust and mop, but were like spring cleaning of a room. For example, if she had Monday as her day to wash and dry clothes, she would clean a bedroom too. If she chose Tuesday to iron the wash, she would clean another bedroom. Wednesday could be her shopping day and another room got cleaned. Thursday may have been the bake day and clean the kitchen. Friday another chore and the living room and so on.
She painted each room a bright color; turquoise, coral, and flamingo pink. She got her passion for bright colors from her mom, Anna Kalp Beck. Grandma Beck’s kitchen had deep red linoleum tile floor, royal blue Congoleum half-way up the wall, the top half of the walls was painted a bright yellow, and the hand fashioned wall cupboards were pale mint green. The curtains at the windows were pale lavender. I know that it sounds horrible, but the longer a person sat in her kitchen, the more the mélange grew on the person.
Aunt Helen had the remarkable distinction of having been struck by lightning several times. She was standing on the damp concrete porches of her house. The lightning strikes were close. Electricity came up through the floor, through her bare feet, shocking her making her entire body to tingle.
Helen had a more square face and was shorter than her sister Estella. Estella was thin while Helen had a pudgy little belly. It was funny to watch her sometimes. When you would be talking to her, she would agree with you as you talked, saying, “Yes” frequently. Her response of yes was forceful and clipped which made her belly bounce.
Mom and Dad took her and her family along to Idlewild, an amusement park near Ligonier, Pennsylvania.  Helen no matter where she went was dressed to the nines; high heels, dress, pearls, and her ever present hand bag. We walked and rode everything in the park. Mom called Helen the next day to see how she liked the park. Helen told my mom that she had huge blisters on her feet from the high heeled shoes and walking on the pea-sized gravel that covered the walkways at the park.
Jokingly Mom said, “Well Helen, are you ready to go again today?”
Helen laughed and said, “Yes.” I can just imagine her with the phone to her ear and her pudgy belly bouncing in agreement.

Amos Jacob Stahl

 Amos Jacob Stahl
My Aunt Helen Beck Stahl’s husband was named Amos Jacob Stahl. He was a hairy, roly-poly short statured man. The people who knew him called him by his middle name Jake. He was a very stern man and when he got upset, his voice would raise several octaves to bellow into an almost soprano squeak. It seems incongruous that I would say bellow and squeak together to describe his voice, but he did it. He could stand on the side porch of their home and yell for the kids to come home.
Helen and Jake’s house was a medium-sized, stone-cased home built on the side of a hill that overlooked the town of Indian Head, Pennsylvania. Their kids would spread out playing with their friends. When it was time for the kids to come home, Jake would step out onto the porch and yell for them. No matter where the kids were, his voice was heard all over town and the kids would come running from where ever they were. The decibel level must have been surprisingly tremendous.
Jake made his living as a stone mason. His work was seasonal and it was hard to raise a large family with an interrupted way to make a salary. His work was limited to the amount of time that the weather conditions allowed. Rain, snow, ice; all limited his ability to earn money.
Eventually he made the decision to move his family south. He made the right decision. The town he decided to settle was Orlando, Florida. This was before the Disney Corporation decided to establish his kingdom of Disneyworld. His skills were needed as Orlando bloomed and blossomed.
His skills were exceptional; bricks, cinder blocks, and stones all were the foundation for his art. He could cut, dress, and face the stones he needed to display his skills.
One day when he and his crew were laying block for a basement, Jake noticed that some mortar had fallen out on the opposite side of the room. He lifted some mortar on the tip of his trowel and flicked it. The mortar hit the right spot and filled the gap.
He was a resourceful man. When we were younger and were visiting them at their home in Indian Head and eating. It was near the end of the meal and most of the food was gone. One of us wanted some more mashed potatoes. Instead, Jake took a slice of bread, spread some gravy on it, and cut it into bite sized pieces. Thus “gravy bites” became a part of my family’s vocabulary. Aunt Helen’s gravy was good even on bread.
He was a man who enjoyed his food. He loved to barbecue. His steaks were cut to order, not buying over the counter. He did the grilling himself. I was stationed at the Orlando Naval Training Center and would visit some weekends. He’d grill a huge platter of steaks for at least one meal. He also loved his R. C. Cola.
Jake’s car of choice was Oldsmobile. Every car that he ever owned was an Olds. He liked them because they had room for his belly under the wheel. His belly was still large enough that the front of his pants had wear marks where the wheel rubbed the pants.
The only other vehicle that he drove was his GMC pickup work-truck and I think he drove a GMC only because Oldsmobile did not make trucks.

Showers of Blessings

 Showers of Blessings
As I sit this morning thinking of what I should share, I hear the tain falling outside of my open window and think, “How blessed I am to have the rain falling gently after such long dry spell.” It is truly a blessing from God that He has sent several small showers over the past week or so. The showers were often short lived with no thunder or lightning. Where I live there was some accompanying winds, but no real storms. The rain outside is a real ground-soaker. It is a gentle rain and not too much too fast to cause runoff or flooding.
When I look back at long dry spells in my life, I am faced with the facts that I haven’t been spending the time needed in prayer and reading my Bible. I haven’t thanked God for the blessings that He has shared with me. I find I haven’t been truly grateful for the things in my life that He has already given me. As I share now, I am inside of my home and dry. How often have cold winds blown and I as snug and secure inside without thanking God. I have food in my cupboards and refrigerator. I need to decide what to eat at mealtime instead of wondering if I havve anything in the house to eat.
I have clothing to wear. The decision I need make is what articles of clean clothing I will choose to wear today and not clothing that is tattered and soiled. I have clean water to drink and can breathe fresh country air, not polluted by smoke, smog, or exhaust fumes. Am I thankful that I have a vehicle that I can drive and that I have money to buy fuel?
As I remember my family in prayer, am I wholey aware of how thankful I should be for my children and the grandchildren that God blessed my saintly wife and I to care for? I am reading the book of Job and the impact of losing his family is causing me to love my family even more. I am in relative good health, am I thanking God that He cares for me. Am I thankful the He sent His Son Jesus to bear the penalty of sin for me?
Am I grateful for the freedom to worship in a church of my choice and am I thankful for my Pastor and church family? Daily blessings whether large or small come to mind as in the hymn, “Count Your Blessings.” I need to be more aware of the blessings that surround me.

Where Was Moses

Where Was Moses
When I was growing up, my Dad Carl Beck would sometimes pose riddles to tease me. One was the riddle, “Where was Moses when the llights went out?” And the answer was “In the dark.” This riddle was brought to mind Sunday morning.
I arrived early as usual, unlocked the door, and went inside as I usually do for each service. Others began to arrivve and were speaking to our Paston in the vestibule. It was a normal Sunday morning where the men gathered and talked just inside of the door and the ladies waked up the stairs into the sanctuary, greeting others before settling their belongings onto a pew. They began to write prayer requests on slipe of paper to be added to the church bulletin. It is a way for the congregation to share the buurdens of others and lift their names to God. All was going as normal when the electricity went off and the church went dark until the emergency lighting camae on.
The emergencylighting doesn’t illuminate the entire sanctuary, but does light the side aisles to assist in parishiners seeing the way to the several egresses. Our Pastor decided to carry on with a shortened service, even in the darkness. There was no “live” service because the entire computer system and audio was out. There were no microphones, no electrical “organ,” and no overhead lights. Our choir director and pianist reverted to playing music on the piano, the music lit by a flashlight. The pulpit was liit by another battery powered lantern. I was asked to pray for the names on the prayer list. I’m sure aI was chosen because my voice is strong enough not to need the microphone. In other words, I am a loud mouth.
We were to partake of the Lord’s Supper, the elements were already prepared, but that part of the service was postponed. There was no reason to have folks wandering around in the dark. The electricity was off, but the power of God was still in the message and service.
A remarkable thing happened at the conclusion. I was standing and getting ready to leave when the lady behind me said, “It’s a silent testimony to the people driving by the church. Even though the electricity is off and the church is dark, the parking lot is still full.”

Etch-A-Sketch

 Etch-A-Sketch

We had a housekeeper who had the job of collecting trash throughout the hospital and disposing it in an outside receptacle. He used a cart that had sides and a door to close the garbage inside. It was about two feet wide, five feet long, and six feet high, including the wheels. It had a side door that folded down to allow easier access to put the bags inside and to remove them. The cart had to be wheeled along an area of asphalt at the back of the hospital to the outside crusher. The parking lot had a slight downhill slope toward the outside trash bin.
One evening when the housekeeper was taking a load of trash to the outside container, the cart started to move faster than he could walk. The bottom of the cart caught his foot, he slipped and fell. The cart ran up over part of his body, trapping him on the asphalt beneath the cart. Because of the downward slope and the weight of the cart, he couldn’t push it off. He tried calling for help, but he was outside at the back of the hospital and there was no one to hear him.
About forty-five minutes or so later, one of the hospital’s security guards was making his rounds. He saw the garbage cart sitting on the edge of the parking lot with no one near it. He thought that it was unusual and wandered over to investigate. He found the housekeeper trapped beneath the cart.
All he could see of the housekeeper was his head, his shoulder and part of his chest sticking out from under the cart. He helped to move the cart so the housekeeper could free himself. Once the guard made sure the housekeeper was okay, he helped to guide the cart to the compacter to unload. The housekeeper took a break to relax and then went back to work.
That night or the next day someone used a piece of chalk to draw the outline of a person on the tarmac, near where the housekeeper had fallen. It was just like the old time movies, where the cops would draw the outline of a murder victim. The image of the splayed arms, legs and head was there for all to see. Most of the people thought it was funny, but not management. They were so upset, they threatened to fire the person that had drawn it and probably would have done it if they had known who drew it.