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.