Whoville

With the recent anniversary of my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s death, I thought of this previous post and thought I would share this story.
Whoville
An advertisement on the television shared the information that this year, The Grinch That Stole Christmas special would be celebrating its fiftieth anniversary of airing on the television. It is so hard for me to believe that this wonderful Dr. Seuss Christmas classic has been around as a part of the holiday season for that long. I can remember my kids spellbound and growing up to the message of the Grinch’s attempt to steal the joy of Christmas. He, of course failed, and finally joined the residents of Whoville, realizing the true spirit of Christmas. When the Grinch saw that Christmas was a celebration separate from the gifts, food, and decorations, he returned all the outward trappings that he had stolen, mistakenly thinking that they were the essence of the season.
One central character was named Cindy Lou Who. She was the major reason for the changing of the Grinch’s mind about the holiday. Her innocence did much to change the Grinch’s undersized heart and misguided view of Christmas. It caused him to return the roast beast, the wreaths, and the assorted toys and gifts.
My wife’s name was Cynthia Louise Morrison Beck, but preferred to be called Cindy. So each Christmas she would get the additional moniker of Cindy Lou Who and it lasted until the last Jing Tingler, Flu Flooper, Who Hoover, Gar Ginker, and Trum Trumpet were unwrapped and enjoyed by our children.
The title of Cindy Lou Who was put away after each Christmas and was resurrected as soon as The Grinch That Stole Christmas would march across the television set. Happy fiftieth anniversary to the Grinch, to Max his dog, and to Cindy Lou Who. 

Are You Catholic

 Are You Catholic This incident occurred while I was still working in the emergency room at Frick Hospital, Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. It was the B.C. era, meaning it was in the days before computers, so when a doctor ordered an x-ray, the nurses would have to write the patient’s name, birthday, cubicle number, what part of the body was to be x-rayed and why it needed to be x-rayed on a small chit of paper. Then the nurse would have to hand carried the requisition to the radiology room and given to the techs inside.
One day I carried a request into the radiology room and as I turned to leave, one of the techs said, “If you see the priest, tell him to stop in and give us ashes for our foreheads. We also want him to bless the x-ray machine.” It was then I recognized that it was Ash Wednesday.
Just as I reached the door my warped sense of creativity and humor kicked in. I said, “You know, when the priest comes in, you guys could set up a confessional booth in the dark room. He can open the doors for exposed sins and unexposed to give you your penance.” As in all radiology rooms at that time, there were film storage bins with doors marked as to whether the films had been exposed or whether they were yet unexposed. My mind made the comparison to the Catholic confession chamber with confessed and un-confessed sins.
I heard them laugh as I exited. Later in the day, I carried another chit for an x-ray to the techs. When I opened the door the priest was already inside. He had already placed ashes on the techs’ foreheads. One of the girls pointed to me and said, “There! That’s the one.” Apparently they told the priest what I had said about the darkroom “confesional.”
The priest turned to me and asked, “Were you an altar boy?”
“No.” I replied.
He tried again, “Are you Catholic?”
“No.” I answered again.
He tried one last time, “Do you want to be Catholic?”
My reply was again, “No!”
My response was almost lost in the two technicians’ loud laughter. The priest didn’t laugh, but I’m fairly sure that I saw a smile on his face.

Shoulders Hips Knees and Toes

Shoulders Hips Knees and Toes
Wednesday I helped to distribute food “baskets” to veterans. It is a rewarding experience to see these men and women who have sacrificed so much to serve our country’s wishes be rewardeed in some small way. We have those who’ve fought in the different wars that American politicians have asked them to fight. One of these men who come fought in World War II and is 100 years of age. Many of the people who come for the food baskets were once wounded. Many are older and can barely shuffle in. Some of these veterans have to be driven to the food share, but they all deserve the respect and the food that we distribute to them.
The boxes of food are stacked on pallets. The pallets are unloaded for volunteers to carry to the vet’s car. The boxes of food weigh about 12 to 25 pounds depending what has been prepackaged. Some are lighter when they are filled with mostly dried goods, (Cereal, noodles, macaroni & cheese, etc.) or they are much heavier when they have canned goods placed inside. There is usually a box of various frozen items: meals, hot dogs, French fries, lunch meat, chicken, or ground beef or ground turkey. When a veteran arrives, the volunteers hustle to load the vehicle with the various boxes, bags, and jugs of milk and drink portion that is to be dispensed. The boxes are hefted and carried about fifty feet to the awaiting vehicles to be loaded into trunks, truck beds, or back seats.
There are times that the veterans arrive in multiple numbers and it is often difficult to know who arrived first to serve them first. For the most part, the veterans are of good sorts and accept if we make a mistake, unlike shoppers at nearby grocery stores if someone mistakenly “jumps the line.”
The hardest part is getting the drivers to line up into spaces for loading. If anyone has driven lately, you know the experience level of drivers on the roads today. Getting them to maneuver and stop where they are to be is sometimes tricky. Add to that those whose eyesight is fading. So far we’ve avoided parking disasters and we are thankful for that, but it does create episodes of confusion especially in peak arrival times. All in all it went fairly well.
I was very tired on Wednesday evening, but waking up Thursday morning soreness arrived: shoulders, hips, knees, and toes. I almost forgot to mention my back.

Travel Brochures

 Travel Brochures
When I first started to write, I became part of a group of amateur writers who met at a local library sharing pieces that we’d written for comparison. Others would evaluate our writing skills and point out errors and hints for improving our texts. It was as the Bible says, “Steel sharpens steel.” The observations and suggestions were to help us become better writers.
I label myself as a descriptive writer. I want my readers to understand where I am coming from and to see what I’ve sene, smelled what I’ve smelled, taste what I’ve tasted, and heard what I’ve heard. I would occasionally write in excess because one of my fellow writers told me that I “should write travel brochures.”
The story I wrote was about a gambler from New Jersey who was on the run because he had a dalliace with a casino owner’s wife. His escape led him to book a cruise from Newfoundland through Labrador. I used the sights, scenes, and smells that I encountered from a trip I took on the Northern Ranger. The Northern Ranger is an ice-hardened ship, 236 feet long that plied the coast of northern Newfoundland to the town of Nain, Labrador. The ship was taken out of commission in 2021.
In telling the murder mystery tale I’d written, I described each port-of-call, the people that I met on the journey, things that I saw, and the way the people of Labrador interacted with the crew. The Northern Ranger wasn’t a passenger ship, but provided berths for a few passengers and a large passenger seating area for passengers that would travel between the different towns. The ship also hauled supplies to the ports, collected, and their transported products of fish and other seafood items in its hold.
The description of the different ports and varied people added to the flavor of the story. I did omit almost one entire chapter because it was a sidebar of a married couple that added human interest to the tale, but it had no bearing on the plot. I was reluctant to do so, because it was a wonderful piece of descriptive writing about this older couple. I wanted to include the couple because the main character met her on the plane flying to Newfoundland.
Now to share with you another group of descriptive writers, they are pediatric nurses. If you have ever read thee charting of a pediatric nurse trying to describe the bowel movements of a child, you will understand what I mean. Color, consistance, odor, amount, etc are all part of the information that they want to share, although I doubt if a nurse’s descriptions of a hospitalized child’s bowel movement would be included in a travel brochure.

A Very Special Anniversary

A Very Special Anniversary
    Today was a very special anniversary. It’s a date that I don’t like to celebrate, but it’s an anniversary none-the-less. March 24, 2003, my beloved wife Cindy passed away. She had been ill with upper respiratory tract infection symptoms for about a week. Her wheezing was getting worse and I gave her no choice, it was time to be seen at the hospital. After much testing it was determined that she had fallen victim to the silent killer, ovarian cancer. It had quietly invaded her body to the point little could be done. Ten days later she was in the loving arms of Jesus. Cynthia “Cindy” Morrison Beck had passed through the veil from life into death and into heaven beyond earth’s shadows.
    The irony of the date is that is the second anniversary that I am forced to celebrate on the same date. It’s the anniversary of my mother Sybil Miner Beck’s passing. After many years where her mind and body held captive by the insidious grasp of Alzheimer’s disease, she died on the third anniversary of my wife’s passing. On March 24, 2006, she was freed from the shackles of the terrible disease that had been stealing her mind and ravaging her body for so many years. The symptoms of tha disease had gotten to the point she could no longer remember how to eat.
    There is sadness with this anniversary, but there’s also a blessing. In the brief window of Cindy’s illness, she had no pain. It was difficult for us who were left behind, but in retrospect, she didn’t have to suffer the agony and terrible pain that so many cancer victims have to bear.
    After so many years of my mother not knowing what was happening to her and the horror of having her memories swallowed up by the black hole of Alzheimer’s, she was finally free. In heaven she was again ablto be the person that we remember.
    Though neither of them are still here their memories remain alive in the hearts and minds of those who knew them.
 

Armpit Hairs

 Armpit Hairs
Before I retired coworkers were sharing a flyer with the drawing of a mushroom and the caption, “I must be a mushroom, because around here, I’m always kept in the dark and fed fertilizer.” Recently I thought it was more like being an armpit hair. I worked as middle management and we were always kept in the dark, compelled to enforce decisions that often smelled badly, even when senior management made an attempt to use deodorant, it still smelled.
Too often it caused me to sweat with attempts to get staff members to comply. Most often it seemed that there were many more steps added to accomplish a simple task which was already being done satisfactorily. Those decisions often mimicked the “common core math” fiasco that was forced on schools to obtain financing.
I’ve had school teachers support “Common Core Math” by arguing that with some children, it was the way they learned. My reply was, then teach those children separately. Children learn in different ways. Some children understand by touch and by feeling, some learn by audio input, while others learn by visual stimulation. Teachers use various methods to reach children who need alternate methods of learning. They don’t force all the other the children in the class to learn by one method only.
Computers were supposed to eliminate or at least reduce paperwork. Hospitals swarmed to join the rush toward a paperless society, but what I have seen is an actual increase of generated papers and an increase of repetitious questions. This unnecessary work causes a decrease in productivity. It doesn’t matter if the doctors or hospital is in the same system and it doesn’t matter how close the appointments are: the very same questions are asked over and over and over again. The computer programs were created for the ease of the bean counters. Each click registers a corresponding charge to make the calculation of billing easier.
Who remembers paper bags for groceries? Stores were compelled to use plastic sacks to save the environment. While paper bags are from a renewable resource and biodegradable, plastic is not. Plastic bags have now become a huge problem, so much so that stores were beginning to enforce reusable shopping bags. Then the Corona virus hit and using “contaminated” reusable bags suddenly became taboo. The reusable bags could save stores money. From what I understand stores plan to pass the cost of plastic to the consumer charging a few cents for each “disposable” bag.
And so on it goes. There are too many people that make regulations that govern everyday lives that have absolutely no idea what’s necessary outside a boardroom or outside the virtual created computer world. Anyone else feel like an armpit hair?

Worries, Not Me

 Worries, Not Me
“Don’t Worry, Be Happy” was a song that was a hit song not very long ago. It suggested that a Happy-go-lucky life was the way to go. Some may think that this is a fable, a mythical creature like the unicorn. I just want to remind my readers that the word worry is not mentioned in the Word of God. It is never mentioned, although many passages point to the word in many other forms. The feeling of worry is never in a positive sense. It is always in the negative.
A lot of the passages say to “fear not” because God will take care of His own. The Word shares how God takes care of the sparrows, the lilies, and His children. He never forsakes His own. Time after time the Bible shares how God guides, provides, and protects us. It shares that God is always faithful. The rising of the sun and moon and the rotation of seasons show His design. He has each star named; think of the number of them that are spread out through the universe. He just know how many there are, but has each one named.
God also has each hair on our heads numbered; on some of us he has less to count than on others. He knows the number of grains of sand on every beach along every ocean. God says don’t be concerned. I created this world and all that is in it. I am in control.
When the storms in life come along, remember that Jesus, God’s Son spoke and stilled the wind and the waves. When we think we are trapped and have no escape, rebember He parted the Red Sea and provided safe passage. And why not; He merely spoke and created everything in the universe into being from absolutely nothing. Today the worlds and all that we can see, feel, and hear are being held together by His will.
I’ve tried to eliminate the word worry from my vocabulary. The closest I come is to substitute the word worry with the word concern. When I am concerned, I am compelled to turn it over to God. In my weakness God reveals His strength. I can’t think of anyone or anything stronger than the Creator of the universe. Can you?

Rough Weather

 Rough Weather
Yesterday afternoon wind and rain moved through the area of southwestern Pennsylvania close to where I live. About two miles away, utility poles were pushed over and trees were damaged. I’ve seen some photographs of areas close too my home, but haven’t attempted to drive to those areas. I’ve heard reports that several roads are closed to traffic, but the road I drove to church was open last evening to go to church and was able to worship God, sing, and pray.
Yesterday afternoon, the wind began to increase and warnings on the television announced a tornado warning. All of a sudden, the electricity flickered and the rain began to pelt my house. As directed by the announcement, I moved away from windows. The rain gushed across the windows at the rear of my house. I’m glad that the wind came from the west and not from the east. I have outdoor furniture on my front porch and never would have been ablt to gather them up and move them into the basement. The velocity of that wind would have collected them and strewn them into the next county.
My daughter Anna Prinkey called me this morning as she drove to work and shared some of the damages done nearby. Some roads are still closed this morning because of tree and electric power pole damage. The men from the power company and the men who clear the trees will be busy today. I am so thankful for those men and pray for thsir safety.
I am glad that I don’t have to leave home and pray for those who do have to travel to their jobs. Keep a watchful eye out for danger, Be safe.

Walworth Valve Company

 Walworth Valve Company
During the first few years of my life, my father Edson Carl Beck worked in the coal mines located in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. The coal veins underground in this area were low. The thin seams caused the miners to work, bent over to dig yhe coal with pick and shovel. Once loosened, the coal was shoveled into carts then hauled to the surface. Because of the low ceiling, he had a dark tattoo on his forehead. It happened by bumping his head on a low overhang and the coal dust wasn’t properly washed out at the time.
His next job was working at a factory called The Walworth Valve Company in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania. The company made valves casting them, shaping them, and finally selling them. In the foundry men poured the hot molten metal into molds shaping the bodies of the valves, wedge gates, and the ball stoppers. The metals the workers used were brass, iron, and stainless steel. The choice of the different metals was determined by the type of valve requested for the customer. I believe the smallest valves were brass with a 2.5 inch diameter opening and the largest valves were steel or stainless steel and were 3.5 feet in diameter.
Walworth was an old, wood-block floored factory. It was started in 1888. The original machines were powered by a belted pulley system. A second-floor line of pulleys on a long shaft spun leather belts. The belts stretched down to power the machines on the first floor, transferring the power to each individual machine.
My father’s job was to run a large overhead drill press. His expertise on the machine often caused him to actually earn less money than those who were less qualified. Let me explain. Other men were shaping smaller, multiple pieces in a run. Once they were set up, they could drill the valves in a shorert time, earning “piecework.” That meant if they finished more pieces that the average, they got higher wages.
However, my dad would have to set up his machine to do only one, two, or maybe three valves. The set up time for the drill between orders was a loss of productivity. He earned only a straight salary compared to the other men doing piecework. His skill and knowledge hindered his wages instead of helping him.
I worked there for a nearly a year before joining the United States Navy in 1968, but my father continued to work there until 1975 when management decided to fold up their tents and move the entire operation to Mexico. One of the original buildings from the factory is still standing. It is the white, stucco-looking medical building situated behind Hoss’s Restaurant in South Greensburg just off Rt. 119.

In the Golden Sunset

 In the Golden Sunset
Sunset like a golden crown
Marks day’s end as sun goes down
Twilight’s dark fingers take hold
And bright stars fill ebon sky
Full moon stares with pale eye
Day’s warmth chased by shadows cold

Sunrise, sunset never join
Opposite sides of a coin
As far as east from the west
Exit from a mother’s womb
Then into an earthly tomb
Time on earth is but a test

She’s gone away; gone to stay
Turns to dust and clay to clay
Ashes, ashes we all fall down
Tenderness, I miss her so
Heartbroken, nothing to show
Tears almost cause me to drown

Horizons blush with morning
And night’s gloom quickly takes wing
Grave’s darkness has closed that dream
Old life withers, turning brown
I yearn for heav’ns golden crown
Where death cannot dim its gleam.

Choices

Choices
He had to finish reading and writing the report to keep his flagging grades up or wear dirty underwear to class. He decided to do both. It seemed reasonable. He loaded his basket with clothing, laundry detergent, and the book that he was reading, titled, “On the Wilderness trail; From Moccasins to Motor Cars. “ It covered the history of the Wilderness Trail and its expansion into major highways.
It was mid morning and there would be little competition for the machines at the Laundromat. Hopefully it would be quiet. This place was near his apartment and less busy than the one on campus. A friend would turn dirty underwear inside out to have a “clean” side against him until he could do his laundry; not me..
The Laundromat was empty. He quickly claimed two machines, slotted the money, and added the detergent. Choosing a seat at the corner of a table, he began to read, making notes as he found interesting items that he would need for his paper.
He’d barely read two pages, when the door opened. Glancing up, a young woman entered and began to toss her clothes into a machine a few washers away. He noticed her long black hair and nearly violet eyes. He heard the money slide into the slots and water gush into the machine. She hadn’t brought anything to read or do and of course, she wanted to talk.
“Hi,” she said and chose a seat several chairs away. He could feel her eyes on him, as if she was evaluating him. It was as if she was deciding something about him.
It would be rude to ignore her. He looked away from his reading. She was about twenty-three, had velvety, pale skin. Her raven hair caused her skin to seem paler.
Looking up, he replied “Hey,” and went back to his book. The assigned reading was due and he really didn’t have the time for small talk.
He saw movement from the corner of his eye and glanced toward her. She had crossed her legs-long, shapely legs. The short skirt hiked up even higher up on her thighs. His mouth went dry. He was torn between the book and the look.
He managed to read a few more sentences when he heard her stirring in her chair. He was enticed into taking another peek. She had uncrossed her legs leaving a dark cavern beneath the hem of the skirt. Looking at her face, she shared a welcoming smile. Her pearly white teeth gleamed from behind crimson lips. Her eyes sparkled. Wresting his eyes from this vision of loveliness he returned to his book.
His washing machine stopped. He rose quickly to toss the wet clothing into the dryer. Inserting another few coins he completed the chore. She said, “You remind me of my brother.”
”Why is it when I have homework due, do I meet such a beautiful woman?” He thought and returned to his reading, nodding and smiling as he passed by..
“I make a mean spaghetti. It’s my brother’s favorite,” she continued.
“I like spaghetti too,” he managed as he shuffled by her.
Hopefully he would be able to finish the assignment and still have time to talk. He had never read so quickly in his life. He tossed his second load of laundry into an unused dryer and returned to his reading. Each time he glanced at the beautiful woman, she was always looking at him. His throat went dry and he became more and more aroused.
Only one more chapter to read; what should he say to her. He could barely keep his attention on the words he was reading. Everything he thought to say to her seemed contrived and frivolous. Just as the buzzer of the dryer sounded and pulled him from his reverie, the door of the Laundromat opened. A tall handsome man with a toddler in his arms entered. “Hi Hon, ready to go home?”
“Yeah babe, let me grab my stuff,” she replied.

Losing the Battle

 Losing the Battle
This Sunday we are compelled to set our clocks ahead one hour and we lose one hour of sleep. I still don’t understand the wisdom of repeating this action every year and setting clocks back one hour every fall. The wisdom of a Native American supposedly saying, “Only a white man will cut six inches from the bottom of a blanket then sew it to the top will make the blanket six inches longer.” I have no idea why the government doesn’t add thirty minutes to spring and remove thirty minutes in the autumn. Eliminate the disruption that interferes with our lives twice a year.
This year the changing of time is especially painful. Not only will I lose an hour of sleep, but I will rip another page off my calendar. It is my birthday and I will tic off another year as I “celebrate” the passing of time. I will be one year older, not necessarily wiser. I will pass into the age where I can be officially labeled as “antique.” I will be seventy-six. Proud of becoming that age, only because I have lived and endured it long enough to have reached that milestone.
I look back at the many incidents that I survived to reach this age. Only the grace of God has allowed me passage into old age. I have had reasonably good health and God has led me through the times of difficulties. I’ve not always been a faithful servant, but God has always been faithful to me.
There is a time just ahead where I won’t have to battle against time. God’s promise will be to gather me into His arms and to dwell eternally in the Promised Land. There is a mansion there waiting for me. It is a place where time has no meaning. A place where no pain, no sickness, no sin, no tears can enter in. The battle has already been fought and Jesus is the victor.

Reflections

I met a young lady while getting fuel for my car. I gave her one on my businesss cards. As we talked she said she liked poetry, so I am sharing one of them today. Enjoy.

 Reflections
I stare into a still glassy pond,
Bright stars and full faced moon float in its ink.
Each sparkle reflected on its smooth surface.
Moonlight sends roots into the murky depths.
Light weakens and fades seeks the bottom.
Sooty darkness surrounds.

I gaze at ebon sky overhead.
Where bright stars and full moon hang on dark hooks.
Each twinkle escapes night’s strong and chilling grasp.
Beams of soft moonlight send ladders to climb
Fragile milky rungs extend earthward,
Night’s illusion of stairs.

I peer down the dark well of my soul,
Bright thoughts and memories shine in the gloom
Softly shift and flicker from times long ago.
Faith and hope still live, sending new green shoots,
Fragile links from past to the present,
Reminisce and promise.

Music in the Air

Music in the Air
Last evening was wonderful. The tempereature had the kiss of spring with the promise of warmer weather to come. I was able to attend a musical perforrmance at the Mt. Pleasant Senior High School. The Junior Choir, the Senior High Choir, and the Mt. Pleasant band showed their skills in the concert.They don’t get paid for their effort, but they were able put forth a wonderful performance. They don’t get Grammy awards like the people who promote themselve as stars, but they are a remarkable bunch of talented young people who are using their talents without relying on risque costumes to sell their music.
I was enticed into attending because my granddaughter Hannah Yoder sang in the junior choir. It warms my heart to see her doing something that she enjoys and does well at. The choirs and the band were clad in black shirts, blouses, slacks, and skirts. There was nothing to distract the people from the talent of the musicians. Their attire created a blank canvas, allowing the attention of the audience away from the music presented.
The band was clad similarly. The dark clothing allowed each musical instrument to glow under the overhead stage lights. The highly brass sparkled like huge gold and silver ornaments dangling on a Christmas tree. The music was from contemperary composers.
The songs and music ranged over a wide variety of tastes, for the entretainment of the entire audience. I need to thank the Choir Leader and the band director for their patience and dedication to shape these young adults into first class performers. The concert was live streamed and could possibly be seen at a later date. The auditorium was filled and so was the parking lot.

The Bus Shanty

 The Bus Shanty
While waiting to go to school, the only protection from the cold temperatures, the wind, the ice, snow, or rain was a small unheated wooden shanty. It was about five foot by five foot square and seven foot high, solidly built with a slanted roof. The shanty was a central gathering place for the kids from three families. It was out of sight from all three families along Route 711 between Normalville and Indian Head, Pennsylvania.
It did break the wind and kept all of us kids dry, inside away from the elements. Having such a place out of sight from the families would not be tolerated today. Today the school bos stops at every house along the rout even if it is every fifteen feet. But then again, times have changed and the chid’s safety is the greater concern.
Often we would have to climb a mountain of snow to enter the shanty. The piles of snow were mounded there by the diligent snowplow drivers. The snow never actualy made it inside of the shanty unless it was placed there by the winds oor the snow storm.
Clouds of condensed vapor would pour through our mouths as we breathed. Cigarette smoking was considered a cool thing to do and we would pretend that we were smoking cigarettes; the vapor was a “pretend” substitute for smoke.
Eventually the school bus would rumble into view. The loud screech of the brakes announced that our chariot had arrived. The clatter of the door opening would welcome us to enter. We would scramble over the mountain of snow to climb aboard the unheated yellow and black behemoth. After mounting the metal steps of the bus, we would grab the metal hand holds as we hustled down the aisle to sit on an icy vinyl seat. If we hurried, we would actually be able to plop down into a seat we chose before the bus would lurch foreward and hurl us to the back of the bus. The hand holds were absolutely necessary to prevent us from losing our balance. The jerk of the bus would hurl us into a seat and off we’d rumble to school.

Super-Glue and Duck Tape

Super Glue and Duck Tape
After the week I’ve had so far, I think I need to stock up on Super-Glue and Dick Tape. I’m falling apart. Tuesday I went to my dentist to have him repair my partial plate. He worked with my problem even though he was trying to pass a kidney stone.
Wednesday I woke with chest pressure and a right temporal headache. When it didn’t ease I took my regular daily medications, thinking it might help. After waiting awhile, I checked my blood sugar and my blood pressure. My blood sugar was within range, but my blood pressure was elevated. I decided to head for the emergency department at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. I was hustled into a room where the staff hooked me up to a monitor, did and EKG, and drew blood work. The doctor ordered several chewable aspirin, while continuing to monitor my heart and blood pressure. I was later given two different medications for my headache. When all my tests came back, I was released to home. I spent nearly 9 hours, from 6 am to 3 pm, I felt as though I was put through a wringer. I was completely worn out. I was so tired, I asked another person to cover the church van route for me.
I wasn’t able to volunteer Wednesday morning at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society because I was in the hospital. I missed the birthday celebration of another member.
The pain from the partial plate began in earnest. Even thoough it was after 3 pm, I tried to call the dentist’s office. The recorded message let me know that he closed and to call back Thursday morning. I figured that he wouldn’t be in on Wednesday because of the kidney stone. My toothache continued to increase. I called first thing Thursday morning. The office staff said to come in. I knew that I needed and antibiotic. My gums were swollen and tender. There had to be an abscess. I was right, but picking up the penicillin would have to wait, I had an appointment for a Cat-Scan as a follow-up frrom an ultrasound that revealed a lesion on one of my kidneys.
My PCP’s office staff called and asked who I used as an urologist. My doctor wanted to go over the results of the scan before saying anything definite. My PCP called me about 7 pm and asked who I wanted to use as my urologist. The one I had before was retired. She said that the lesion had a low probability for concern, but she wanted a second opinion.
I’m falling apart. Time to stock up on Super-Glue and Duck Tape.

Seniority or Senility

 Seniority or Senility
To some asking this question is like asking “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” To some people snniority and senility mean almost the same thing. It isn’t so, but some days one is the shadow of the other and could be easily mistaken for the other. When a person gets up and goes into another room with the destination is only a few seconds away and the person forgets what they went into the other room to get, it becomes irritating, frustrating, and worrisome. The only thing worse is when it becomes a habit.
My most recent is just a little different, but it ran in a similar vein. I was ensconsed in my recliner downstairs when my phone reminded me that I had a dental appointment. I needed to change out of my comfy pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. My jeans and dressier shirt was upstairs, so I hoisted myself from my recliner and hurried up the steps. I had to empty my pockets from my dress slacks before I climbed into my jeans and clean shirt. I gathered my wallet, keys, coins and checkbook, tucking them into my jeans pockets.
Now comes my confusion. I reached for my cell phone. I usually toss it on my bed while changing my pants. I wanted to slide it into my shirt pocket and I couldn’t find it. I retraced my steps in all of the rooms upstairs then went back down stairs and hunted through all the rooms: living room, kitchen, and dining room. I had no luck. I knew that it was no use to dial my cell from the house phone. I always put my cell phone on vibrate when I am in church. I had my cell phone on vibrate only.
Thhe sad thing was that I remembered I had it in my hand going upstairs, so I went back upstairs to continue the search. I was still having no luck and began asking God to help me. I ddn’t want to leave the house without my phone. I was on the verge of leaving home without my lifeline when I felt a sneeze coming on. I reached into my back pocket and there that little rascal was hiding with my handkerchief. I’d slipped it into my jeans without remembering. It was in my pants pocket and not in my shirt pocket where I usually keep it.
I guess that is better than putting something in away for “safe” keeping and then being unable to remember where that safe place is.
Seniority or Senility
To some asking this question is like asking “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” To some people snniority and senility mean almost the same thing. It isn’t so, but some days one is the shadow of the other and could be easily mistaken for the other. When a person gets up and goes into another room with the destination is only a few seconds away and the person forgets what they went into the other room to get, it becomes irritating, frustrating, and worrisome. The only thing worse is when it becomes a habit.
My most recent is just a little different, but it ran in a similar vein. I was ensconsed in my recliner downstairs when my phone reminded me that I had a dental appointment. I needed to change out of my comfy pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. My jeans and dressier shirt was upstairs, so I hoisted myself from my recliner and hurried up the steps. I had to empty my pockets from my dress slacks before I climbed into my jeans and clean shirt. I gathered my wallet, keys, coins and checkbook, tucking them into my jeans pockets.
Now comes my confusion. I reached for my cell phone. I usually toss it on my bed while changing my pants. I wanted to slide it into my shirt pocket and I couldn’t find it. I retraced my steps in all of the rooms upstairs then went back down stairs and hunted through all the rooms: living room, kitchen, and dining room. I had no luck. I knew that it was no use to dial my cell from the house phone. I always put my cell phone on vibrate when I am in church. I had my cell phone on vibrate only.
Thhe sad thing was that I remembered I had it in my hand going upstairs, so I went back upstairs to continue the search. I was still having no luck and began asking God to help me. I ddn’t want to leave the house without my phone. I was on the verge of leaving home without my lifeline when I felt a sneeze coming on. I reached into my back pocket and there that little rascal was hiding with my handkerchief. I’d slipped it into my jeans without remembering. It was in my pants pocket and not in my shirt pocket where I usually keep it.
I guess that is better than putting something in away for “safe” keeping and then being unable to remember where that safe place is.

Me a Normal Person?

 Me a Normal Person?
I grew up midway between Indian Head and Normalville, Pennsylvania, so I guess I’m only half normal, but I’ve lived a relatively normal life, one of three children of Carl and Sybil Miner Beck. I was the oldest, then came my brother Ken, and finally my sister Kathy Basinger. My first home was a rental cottage in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. It was part of the Curtis Rugg farm and across the field from my aunt Violet Miner and Uncle Charles Bottomly.
We moved when my dad bought a small Insulbrick clad house along Route 711. It had three rooms, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a living room. TheU-shaped house surrounded a small porch. There was half of a basement containing an old coal furnace, a hot water tank, and a coal bin.  Mom managed to squeeze in a wringer washer and a double galvanized rinse tub. The house lacked an inside bathroom. We washed in the kitchen sink and used an outhouse until I was nearly five years old. Later Dad ever so slowly expanded the house and basement while we lived there.
Dad’s first job after he married my mom Sybil Miner Beck was working a coal mine. Most of the mines in this area were composed of narrow seams of coal that required miners to work hunched over picking, shoveling, and loading carts.
Dad’s next job was at the Walworth factory in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania where they had a foundry that poured molten metalinto molds of valves. Once the pieces came out of the foundry, they were sent to various sections of the factory to be milled, drilled, and assembled into the final product. Walworth made valves of steel and brass. The sizes ranged from thirty-six inch to 2.5 inch valves. Each valve was pressure tested no matter whether they were a wedge valve or ball and socket. I worked there for a year after high school before entering the United States Navy. That’s where I earned the money to purchase my first car.
I would love to still own it. It was a 1966 Galaxie 500 XL, burgundy with black vinyl top, black bucket seats, and a T bar shift. The engine had a 390 two barrel that could make the tires smoke. I only did it once. I was too frugal and didn’t want to buy new tires. I sold this sweet vehicle to my brother when I flew off to Navy boot camp. He promptly traded it for a pale yellow mustang. I’m still not quite sure I’ve forgiven him for that. Is that normal?
Me a Normal Person?
I grew up midway between Indian Head and Normalville, Pennsylvania, so I guess I’m only half normal, but I’ve lived a relatively normal life, one of three children of Carl and Sybil Miner Beck. I was the oldest, then came my brother Ken, and finally my sister Kathy Basinger. My first home was a rental cottage in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. It was part of the Curtis Rugg farm and across the field from my aunt Violet Miner and Uncle Charles Bottomly.
We moved when my dad bought a small Insulbrick clad house along Route 711. It had three rooms, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a living room. TheU-shaped house surrounded a small porch. There was half of a basement containing an old coal furnace, a hot water tank, and a coal bin.  Mom managed to squeeze in a wringer washer and a double galvanized rinse tub. The house lacked an inside bathroom. We washed in the kitchen sink and used an outhouse until I was nearly five years old. Later Dad ever so slowly expanded the house and basement while we lived there.
Dad’s first job after he married my mom Sybil Miner Beck was working a coal mine. Most of the mines in this area were composed of narrow seams of coal that required miners to work hunched over picking, shoveling, and loading carts.
Dad’s next job was at the Walworth factory in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania where they had a foundry that poured molten metalinto molds of valves. Once the pieces came out of the foundry, they were sent to various sections of the factory to be milled, drilled, and assembled into the final product. Walworth made valves of steel and brass. The sizes ranged from thirty-six inch to 2.5 inch valves. Each valve was pressure tested no matter whether they were a wedge valve or ball and socket. I worked there for a year after high school before entering the United States Navy. That’s where I earned the money to purchase my first car.
I would love to still own it. It was a 1966 Galaxie 500 XL, burgundy with black vinyl top, black bucket seats, and a T bar shift. The engine had a 390 two barrel that could make the tires smoke. I only did it once. I was too frugal and didn’t want to buy new tires. I sold this sweet vehicle to my brother when I flew off to Navy boot camp. He promptly traded it for a pale yellow mustang. I’m still not quite sure I’ve forgiven him for that. Is that normal?

Something Smells

 Something Smells
Ever since I slipped and fell on the ice in 2015 I have had phantom smells. In the fall I hit my head and developed two bleeds in my brain. I was blessed that the only remaining side effects from the fall are phantom smells and an occasional inability to concentrate. The side effects could have ben so much worse. Some people with head injuries could suffer seizures, speech problems, problems with vision, or blindness to mention a few.
The phantom smells first appeared as car exhaust fumes or hot plastic. The smells of hot plastic still causes me to wander through my house to be sure nothing is about to catch fire. Since then I have had different odors tto join the parade; sometimes good aromas and other times not so nice.
Yesterday I began to notice a different smell. It was almost a stale piney smell and I have been trying to recognize the smell. When I woke this morning the odor was still there. It is the first time it has lingered so long. The strength of the smell didn’t fade at all. The aroma remained and didn’t diminish or go away. That puzzled me. I have never had an aroma linger for so long.
All morning I have srtruggled to recall if I had touched anything that had the same smell. I ran throuh a list of pine smelling products: house cleaners, tupentine, candles, or pine branches and came up with nothing.
It was then my nose started to run and I made the connection. I bought some Vicks VapoRub and used it on my neck. I saw a post that Vicks will help to relieve muscle pain and thoought I would try it. I’m not sure one application worked, but I had some of the ointment on my fingers and instead of wasating it, I applied to my nostrils to ease the congestion from my allergies.
So, I guess my phantom smells were fooled by the real thing.

Even Small Incidents Can Be Miracles

Even Small Incidents Can Be Miracles
This cold windy weather has been making me grouchy and I don’t like that. I made a resolution quite years ago. “If I’m grouchy I don’t leave home, because no one likes to deal with a grouchy old man.” An incident that happened Tuesday morning changed my grouchy attitude. I was outside clearing snow in my drive from the deposits from snowplows’s deposits filling my driveway. I was grumbling, thinking of the task at hand. Pulling on my boots and bundling up, I began to clear the snow. I was beginning to get chilled and began to consider whether to go back inside and to finish later. I was almost ¾ of the way finished when a guy slowed and motioned me to step aside. I did and he pulled across the mouth of my drive, reversed his truck, after lowering his snowplow that was attached and dragged the remaining snow from my drive then pushed it across the road. I gave him a thumbs up in a thank you before I went back inside to warm up.
Later, I needed to pick up a few groceries and supplies for my Accu-Check machine. I hadn’t driven my car since Sunday morning and as I pulled out from my drive, it almost seemed like I had a flat tire. My tires made a thumping noise. Grunbling, I almost stopped to see if there was a problem, then I remembered once before something similar happened. Because it was so cold and because I hadn’t driven my car for a few days one of the tires had developed a flat spot. The thumping lessened as I drove and the flat spot warmed and rounded out.
I was told that my blood work eliminated my participation in a gout study and I returned the medications to the clinic. While I was there, I got a supply of Accu-Check sticks before going for groceries. I was chatting with the nurse. We talked about the ultrasound that I had as part of the gout study. The results had shown that I had a lesion on my kidney. I had no symptoms or problems and the lesion might had gone undetected but for that serendipitous discovery. I believe it was the leading of God, just like God’s leading from one incident leading to the next when I had my open heart surgery. I’m to have a cat-scan February 27, 2025 and hopefully I’ll be able to find out more information. I’ll need to wait until then to see what miracle God has in store for me next.

Ice and Snow Gotta Go

 Ice and Snow Gotta Go
Going to church Sunday morninng, it was a bit foggy, but was able to wear a suit jacket and a porkpie hat. It was almost forty degrees Farenheit with a strong breeze and light rain. The weatherman warned of the weather dropping with winds increasing also to include even stronger gusts. It seemed to be the same as I moved into the Subday School classroom after the service. As I sat in the classroom, a heavy fog rolled in. The temperature continued to drop and the rain changed into a slushy snow that had already began to coat my car. The road home was just wet. Because the snowplows had caused a dam of shale and soil at the end of my drive, water had filled my driveway. Behind the dam was an inches deep pond. I grabbed a spade from the basement to open some drainage channels. Because it was blowing a wet snow, I didn’t make enough of them. The pond got amaller, but water kept flowing in the pond remained.
I ate some venison stew for lunch. I made a large pot yesterday. I was cold from being outside. I was so glad. I ladeled several scoops into a large mug and zapped it in my microwave. It tasted so good and quickly helped me warm up. The winds increased as well as the snowfall until it was a bizzard. The wind seemed to puch the snow across the road. I think as the snow formed an icy cap, the blowing snow scooted across the road. Because the snowplows hadn’t yet pushed snow into piles at the side of the roads and the snow hadn’t yet started to collecct snow behind them into drifts. The pond in my drive has frozen and is covered with a layer of snow. I really don’t want to deal with is in the moorning. There will be a puddle of water beneath the ice.
 A car just creeped by headlights illuminating the snow covered road. It moved slowly and I could see wind-whipped snow dancing over the snow covered road. It makes me glad the church services were cancelled and I could remain inside safe and warm.

I’m Not Perfect

 I’m Not Perfect
I’m not perfect and never will be this side of heaven. I have been tempted and drawn aside more times than once in my seventy-six years of living on the Earth. And it grates on me when someone sayd, “I’m no angel.” Of course no one is an angel. God created man to be so much more than an angel. From the sixth day of Creation, He made man to be special. He made man in His likeness. He made man to be in fellowship with Him and to walk with Him in a perfect world. He made man to live in a garden where peace and harmony abode, a place where the lion cold lay down with the lamb with no worry about safety. It was a place wheree food was abundant and there we no carnivors. Everyone and everything were vegetarian. The plants were various and abundant and would meet all needs of al creatures in this perfect world. There were no weeds or thorns in the garden. It was desiigned as a place where God and man can walk in perfect communion. God had plans to have Adam and his family as a child of His own.
The Bible says that we’ve all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Romans 3:23. Even the smallest sin will prevent us from entering the glorious realm of heaven. If we have lied about something or taken something that didn’t belong to us, we’ve erred and failed to do what God requires of us. If we have yielded to a temptation, we have sinned. We have cut the ties of communion with God. There is only one way to regain that communion with God and that is by asking for forgiveness and accepting Jesus Christ as your Savior. The Bible tells us that Christ is the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh to the Father, but by me. John 14:6.
I can’t find life in any other: not Buddah, Confusious, not Allah, not through Shiva nor Brahma, not through Mary nor through the Saints. Jesus stated clearly that the path to heaven is through Him. In Matthew 7:13-14 it tells that broad is the gate that leadeth to destruction and the gate is narrow which leadeth unto life. Matthew 26:28 and Colossians 1:20 tell us that the blood of Jesus that was shed on the cross was poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. With our sins covered, we can be made perfect and live eternally with God the Father in Heaven.

Just Say No to Snow

 Just Say No to Snow
I am feeling the dulling edge of the winter wearies. I am tired of the cold weather and snow. The ice is another “No-No.” The ice worriess me most since I fell near the end of winter in 2015 and I developed two bleeds in my head. I was blessed that I had very little repercussions from the injury. I still have intervals where I have phantom smells. Unexpectedly my brain says I am smelling something and there is no way possible that I am really smelling an odor.
When that false aroma first started, it was a smell of car exhaust fumes of hot plastic. I quickly learned to ignore the car fume odor, but I have to wander through my house to be sure that the hot plastic is not happening.
I don’t like the snow that the snowplows push into my driveway. I once liked to go outside in the dark and shovel the drive, but as I age I find it more of  a task especially when the snow is heavy and wet or the snow has frozen before I can ccomplete the chore.
When I was younger with kids in the house, going outside was a sanctuary. Not that the kids were bad, but sometimes going outside was an escape. Let me explain. Outside in the dark it was almost silent. No television, no one talking to me, and no phone. The only sounds I heard were the passing of an occasional car and the soft hiss of falling snow. It was as though I was inside of a snow globe where the sphere of the outside light illuminated the area where I was shovelling.
I am never content when my drive is filled with snow. I always need an escape route. If an emergency should arise, I want to be able to leave in my car or a spot for an emergency vehicle to pull in. It was especially important when my kids were living at home. Another foible I have is I don’t like to have less than half a tank of gasoline in my car. It goes back to having kids at home and a possible emergency. It was a  time when gas stations were not open 24 hours per day and the possibility of a trip to Pittsburgh might become necessary.
This winter, one band of snow has followed another and I have become weary. It’s time for spring and sunshine.

The Miracle of Time

 The Miracle of Time
How quickly time passes. It was brought to my mind yesterday when my friend’s son came to speak at our church. Although my friend had married and moved to North Carolina, he has remained a good friend. His father and mother and my family attended the same church for many years.
I have watched as this young man’s father grew up in my church and watched as he and his brothers and sister were born. Although no longer in my church, I’ve listened to his progress as he grew, attended a Christian college on the West Coast, and graduated. Now this young man is newly married and is seeking to serve God as a minister. He and his new bride have decided to focus on a church planting ministry.
Let me take you back to a time when his father graduated from high school. I shared in past stories about a joke that I played on the father. It was “The-Tie-of-the Month Club” where I packaged at least one tie and a rhyme with each tie for each month open the package that it could be worn, and some other reason it could be used. (Like a deer drag or belt to wear.)
When this young man graduated from college, I made a repeat “The-Tie-of-the Month Club” for him. I am a jokester and enjoy playing jokes that put a smile on other people’s faces without causing harm. I’m a long distance friend to this young man as well. When he spoke at our church Sunday, he had the ease and poise of a man with much more experience. He shared his vision of starting a new church.
The miracle I speak of is time. I have no idea how much time has been allotted to me. When I look back, I can see how short that string has been. Each day or week may seem to drag on forever, but in reality, they pass by swiftly in a blur. Small things that consume each day are for the most part lost and forgotten. My mind was clogged with so many small choices. Most of those things are only brought to mind when someone or something reminds us of a past incident that was once shared.

For Some Reason

 For Some Reason
After the nice warmer weather yesterday, for some reason my house felt chilly. I hadn’t changed the thermostat; I was covered with the same blankets, and actually was sleeping in a hoodie instead of a long-sleeved tee shirt.  I know that it’s still only February, but I would like a bit more heat. January’s Polar Vortex and snow almost makes me wish I was one of those people who escape south in the cold winter months. Then I look at this year’s weather patterns and figure why? Several times the cold and snow has laid down an 8 inch swath as far as New Orleans, Louisiana and 10 inches in Pensecola, Florida. I imagine if I moved, the snow would chase me to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
One thing I am praying for is that it doesn’t snow enough for me to have to clear out my driveway after the snowplows compete to see how high of a mound of snow they can pack into the opening for me. I don’t like the feeling of having my escape route blocked or that no one can visit, even though that rarely happens.
I had a message from a young man and it got me to thinking about the different churches and different pastors I have met in my past and the friendships that I have had with them. Some of the friendships were superficial and others were deeper, much like a brother. I recall their style of preaching and even some of their messages.
The earliest ones were from the Clinton Church of God, a small white clapboard building with a bellfry to one side. It has now been replaced by a red brick building. I now attend the Mt. Zion church at the top of Kreinbrook Hill. We’ve had only three ministers in the many years I have gone there and I’ve accumulated manyy memories of them. My Son Andrew asked if there were any cassettes of Pastor Leroy Kesler, he’d like to borrow them to listen to the messages. I asked Mary Kesler his wife if she had any. She thought she had them and that I could borrow them. It opened the door for me to think of the other pastors in the past with whom I have enjoyed friendships.

Back in the Saddle Again

 Back in the Saddle Again
At the end of December 2024 I finished a trial medication for a drug manufacturer for diabetes. I was given a pill that I was to consume each day. I had a slight side effect symptom of nausea, but it was minimal. The thing with that medication was that my morning blood sugars were almost always too low. The rest of the day, it was within a normal range. I loved it, but like all drug dealers, at the end of the trial period, they withheld the medication and I am again I have to be careful with what I eat and the doseage for my daily insulin. (PS I just got the W-2 form for the monies I received for the diabetes study.) Nothing is free.
I am just beginning another study for gout. In the past I have had outbursts of elevated uric acid causing some joints to swell and become very sore. At my first introduction to the study, the nurse drew eleven or twelve vials of blood and collected a urine sample. Before I left, she arranged for me to have an ultrasound of my kidneys, ureters, and bladder to be sure I didn’t have kidney stones.
In the past, I’ve had several urinary tract infections and some difficulty with urinary retention. The urinary retention was caused by an enlarged prostate. I had the Greenlight Laser Proceedure done to correct that.
The lovely young blonde tech was undelievably courteous and we talked throughout the proceedure. The test only took about fifteen minutes. As we finished, I gave her one of my business cards teling her that I was a writer and have seven books written. She was interested and asked about their topics. She also asked about my poems. I said many topics, many about the passing of my wife. Just before I left, she said, “I wish you’d have mentioned about your writing. I’m a writer too.”
With the new study, I’m back in the saddle  again.

Making Friends the Hard Way

 Making Friends the Hard Way
This past Sunday our church had a “double header” service. That is what we had, the morning services followed by Sunday school as usual, but this Sunday we had a covered dish meal for those who wished to stay for the fellowship meal afterward. Then we have a second service. We do this occaionally to prevent driving to the church twice in case of bad weather. We have done the same thing when gasoline prices were high as well.
Things are never boring at our church. Sometimes we have visiting missionaries or occasional guest speakers, but the variety always gives us a healthy appetite, either for different speakers of the wide choice of food on the “double header” Sundays.
Sunday morning I had to be careful. Several areas of my driveway were covered in ice and slick. I had no desire to repeat a fall and injure myself again like I did in 2015. Removing the windshield cover then carrying out my Bible and crock pot, it was necessary for me to make two trips to the car. Backing out of my drive was another chore. I had to reverse and rock the car forward several times. The water had frozen forming an icy pocket for one of my tires. It spun before catching traction to leave.
Back to the making of new friends; one of my close friends had a 7 year old great nephew there. I hadn’t had the chance to meet or make friends with him before. I was talking with his grandmother waiting for the food to be set out when I reached out to shake his hand. He was shy and hid behind her. Later we were sitting at the same table on opposite ends. He would glance down the table and make shy faces. After the pastor said a blessing for the food, he opened the chow line. I walked past the boy, I grabbed his hand to shake it. He was surprised and clung to my hand with all the strength he could muster. Now it was my turn to be surprised. He held my hand in a viselike grip, not letting go until we got in the queue for food. I’m not sure that I’ve made a lasting friendship, but we certainly have broken the ice and we now know each other.

To Be or Not To Be

 To Be or Not To Be
That is the question? Ever the first person on earth there has been only two sexes, male and female. The term gender has been slipped into usage to confuse people into believing there is a difference between sex and gender. There isn’t. A person’s DNA determines whether the person is a man or a woman.
Since the birth of mankind, it has always been a man is a man and aa woman a woman. Until recently, people who believe theey have been misgendered has been treated as having a mental illness. The term was gender dysphoria. Apparently the feeling is no longer an illness and is no longer in use. If a person believes they have been misgendered, they try to force others to recognize their newly discovered gender. Their belief is theirs alone and I should not be forced to recognize their mental illness.
The Bible clearly states in Genesis 1:27 that God in creating human beings, He created “he him; male and female created he them.” He made no mistakes. I am not about to argue with God, so if you believe that I am going to backtalk to God, you are sadly mistaken.
To me this trangender movement is ridiculous. It only adds more confusion to daily liife. Trying to ascertain someone’s personal pronouns is a never ending fantasy. I have no desire to wander down that rabbit hole. And if a person can change their gender by just believing it, why can’t I change race if I want?
Why can’t I become trans-species and be a giraffe? Or an elephant? Or a cheetah? Or a horse? If that sounds foolish to you, transggenderism sounds the same way to me. Doctors who fall in line by prescribing hormone therapy to halt pubescence are invalidating their oath to preserve and protect life. Physicians who agree to mutilate children are the lowest of the low, abusing children for money. They irrevocably harm these young ones. Only abortionists are on the same level. Destroying life instead of fulfilling their Hippocratic oath,

Dried Flowers

 Dried Flowers
Memories' dried flowers pressed between two pages
Preserved safely reminders of bygone ages
First dates, funerals, weddings; flowers tucked away
Each blossom calls to mind a corsage or bouquet
Pressed flat and secure where only their colors fade
Protected from time’s passage-brittle not decayed
Flowers and memories that stay fresh in the brain
Mortals cannot stop time, yet these flowers remain
Often fertilized by laughter; watered with tears
These blooms remain the same over the many years
Memories pressed between the faded petals stay
While our lives in human thoughts tend to fade away

Classy Lassie

 Classy Lassie
Let me start out this post by saying that I have three wonderful granddaughteers. I am very proud of all of them. Their artistic and musical talents make me wonder where they got those abilities. It has to be from my wife Cindy Morrison Beck. I often tease that it is a miracle for how great they are when I look at the gene pool.
My oldest granddaughter Celine Beck has a beautiful voice and plays the violin quite well. My youngest Hannah Yoder loves to draw, sing, and act in the school plays. My middle grandchild Moriah Beck loves to draw, has a vivid imagination, and plays the violin. She is the one I will single out in today’s post. Saturday evening I attended a musical event at the MonValley for the Academy Arts in Brownsville, Pennsylvania where Moriah was the solo performer. She played a series of musical themes in many genres from classical to movie tunes and Negro spirituals and hymns as well as more rural songs written especially for fiddles. I’m sure the music was selected to show her skill with the violin. Moriah’s mother accompanied her on the piano for one of the selections.This young Scottish lassie also tosses the caber ath eth Highland Games.
The one host had Morial hold up her instrument for the audience to see. The host pointed out that the neck of the violin had no frets and said that Morial had perfect pitch or she wouldn’t have been able to play so well. I’m not particularly fond of the movie “The Sound of Music.” Her selection of music included “Eidelweiss” and “The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.” I’m not sure whether they were selected tto torture Grandpa or not. My daughter Anna Prinkey shouted “Encore” and of course there was a repeat of the “Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.”
After the performance was over, she and Celine played several duets. Morial says he sister plays better than her. There was a “jam session” where several of the other attendees took out instruments played music.
 The hosts at the Mon Valley Academy provided refreshments. All in all, it was a very pleasant evening with my family. Thank you Morial for inviting me and thank you to the Mon Valley for the Academy Arts for providing a venue for poets, musicians, and other preforming artists.