One Hundred Plus years and Still Counting

 

One Hundred Plus Years and Still Counting

Due to the Covid scare and kerfuffle six years ago our annual Rugg reunion had to be canceled and rescheduled. The delay caused several of our ill and elderly not to have survived to see the one hundredth Rugg reunion. Each reunion has been held in honor of the oldest Rugg member. Several years ago was my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner's turn. This year it was in honor of Curtis Rugg.

One of those who passed away since then was Danny, our family historian. He was the keeper of the keys, the keeper of the lineage, the person who did the research on the beginnings and marked the trail of our family's arrival into the United States and their exploits.

I've written stories before about memories that I have of past reunions and tales of aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I'm not sure if they will make an impression on future generations, but I have written those remembrances for anyone who cares to read about them. I wish I would have listened more closely to my mom, dad, and others shared memories while I was a child. In the past no one took the time to write the stories down and now some are lost. Unless someone says something that sparks a tale and drags it to my memory, they will remain lost. That makes me sad and upset with myself that I hadn't listened more closely.

One hundred years is a long time to carry on a tradition. This recently past reunion should be 106. Some things have fallen to the wayside to be replaced by others. Gone is the huge crock of lemonade that sat on the end of saw horse tables. There is still the tradition of the potluck meal, now supplemented by “store bought” fried chicken. There are still a wide variety of foods and desserts that wait to be eaten.

The Rugg men have aged and can no longer play a game of baseball, but there is still a stream in which to wade. One thing hasn't changed, that is the joy of seeing the familiar faces of the family. They've aged, but they are now bringing their kids and grandchildren to share memories with them. It's wonderful to see the future generations that will hopefully carry on the tradition of reunions far into the future.

Seeing Clouds from Bothe Sides Now

Seeing Clouds from Both Sides Now

Recently I have been paying much more attention to the clouds that daily srurround my mountain home. In all types of weather and all times of the day, they lure my vision upward. As a kid I think I was more concerned with the physical things around me, the tangible things, the here and now things. The trees and the grass, flowers, and butterflies, bugs, and other creatures drew my attention.

When I grew into adulthood I began noticing clouds more. I watched as they darkened denoting a coming storm and causing me to be sure the car windows were closed up and the windows at home were closed down. Growing even older, I began to fly on planes. My first was the year I flew to Great Lakes for boot camp. I was so nervous that I don’t recall much of that flight, because my stomach was still recalling the speedy elevator rides in the Federal building in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. While I was in the United States Navy I flew from Great Lakes to and from Pennsylvania, to and from Orlando, Florida, to and from Iceland and back to Pennsylvania.

When I was much older, I flew from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Sacramento, California with a friend. By this time, I can remember the clouds being interspaced with clear spaces where I could see the earth below as the miles rolled by.

Over the past several years I have noticed the wide variety of clouds looking up at them. I’ve seen clouds that look like ostrich feathers and ones that look like solid walls of velvety white to thick angry grays. Clouds may scurry by looking like stringy, dirty threads or tumble along like snow-white fluffy sheep. The shapes are fluid sometimes oozing slowly into fantastic mythical beasts and other times shifting quickly into castles or bizarre dreamlike shapes.

These thought about clouds barely touches the imaginative nature of clouds, but when I stir in the wide color palette of the sunrise or sunset, my thoughts explode.  Grays may lighten into brilliant reds, glowing oranges, or richest golds. Black glowering clouds may be lit by intense lightning strikes or they may evolve into a thrilling rainbow arch. Each time I think I’ve seen the extent of what clouds can do, God proves me wrong and will show me something new.

 

Dual Citizenship

 Dual Citizenship

We are reading of people who hold dual citizenship where they live in one country, but have papers that allows them to have the benefits of another country, like Canada and the United States or Great Britain and Scotland. It’s not at all that uncommon no matter what country a person lives in to obtain dual citizenship. It’s worldwide. If a person accepts Jesus Christ as their Savior, they can live on earth, but have the assurance of a home in heaven. Christians have a dual citizenship. We are sojourners here on earth. The only way to obtain that duality is to accept Jesus as Savior. He’s the door. He’s the only way to enter into that heavenly land. He’s paid redemption’s price, freeing us from the debt of sin. He’s taken all our sins and carried them to Calvary.

The gift of dual citizenship is freely offered to all people on earth. It’s a gift of true love. Those who choose to accept this gift will gain a promised home in an eternal country that waits beyond the stars. The Bible gives us a glimpse of what awaits beyond the veil of death. It describes a peek into the glorious estates beyond huge pearly gates. The gift of eternally living there depends on whether or not the gift is accepted. Christ has paid the price for each man, woman, and child, but each person must accept that gift. The price has already been paid.

The only other option is the flipside of that dual heavenly citizenship is an unimaginable life. That refusal to accept the choice is to decide to suffer an eternal life of punishment and torture for sins we’ve committed in our past. It’s a place of torment, of fire, and darkness. It’s a place where bodies feel an unending amount of pain. There’s no relief, no rest, and no end of the fire. Hell was created for Lucifer and the angels who tried to usurp the power and authority of a holy God and Creator. But those who refuse to accept the gift of redemption choose to follow Satan into the pits of Hell.

There is a dual choice for a dual citizenship. Each person must make that choice. If you have already gained that eternal home in heaven, it’s an obligation to share the options with others who haven’t yet made that choice. If you haven’t yet decided and are reading this without making that choice, it’s not too late. Time is of the essence. Death or the second coming of Christ may happen at any second. Make the choice right now. Ask Jesus to come into your heart as Lord and Savior.

Deluge

 Deluge

The rain has been falling down in sheets. The constant roar of the drops on my roof seems to drown out any thoughts to write about other than the drumming of the water pouring from the heavens. It is a definite challenge to make any thoughts rise above the sound of the deluge. As I look back at stories that were told to me by my family, I can remember a powerful deluge and a flood in the area. The flood occurred in Melcroft, Pennsylvania in the year 1943. I was just talking with a u=one hundred-nine year old about it. I couldn’t remember what year the flood occurred, but he did. This older gentleman is a member of the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. This remarkable man has all of his mental facilities and has a wonderful sense of recollection.

The reason I recall the story of the flood is because my Aunt Estella Beck Strawderman and her Daughter Shirley were caught up by the flood that occurred in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. They were washed away by the high water and tossed into a tree. Estella and Shirley managed to cling to the branches until they were seen and rescued.

After the flood, my Grandfather Edson Thomas Beck tore down the family farmhouse and built two smaller homes on the banks of Indian Creek in the town of Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The homes were constructed from reclaimed lumber taken from the old farmhouse.

Behind my parents Carl and Sybil Miner Beck’s house there was a small stream, runoff water from our natural spring. In the springtime melting snow caused it to overflow its banks and flood the lower part of the yard. Debris and trash from Route 711 would wash down and fill the stream. My dad would shovel the gravel, broken bottles, and other pieces of trash to reopen the channel. As kids we played in the stream, but we had to be careful of broken glass or sharp pieces of metal.

Several years ago, another torrential rain event caused flooding in the Mount Pleasant and Connellsville areas of Pennsylvania. Many streams rose rapidly, doing much damage locally. Lately there has been localized flooding, but more of the damages are being done by lightning and the wind.

Because Pittsburgh is a confluence of three rivers, the snow and ice that melt or intense rain storms in the southwestern Pennsylvania mountainside will cause flooding at the Point where the Monongehela and Allegheny Rivers join to form the Ohio Rivers.

Looking For Fireworks

Looking For Fireworks

My mom and dad’s house was situated halfway between the two small towns of Normalville and Indian Head, Pennsylvania. Both towns have volunteer fire departments because they are in different townships. Often they give each other back up for fires, accidents, or rescues. Both have street fairs where they sell food and have games to earn money for day to day operations of the departments, to buy new equipment, and for the upkeep of equipment and the buildings.

Each fire company held their street fairs on different weeks so they would not compete for customers. Every night there was some type of entertainment provided as well as offerings of food, beverages, and games of chance where players could win prizes or money. All of it was designed to entice people to come and to spend their money.

The foods offered were pizza, French fries, hot dogs, hamburgers, and funnel cakes. All sorts of sodas and strong coffee werethe drinks sold. A small carnival company would set up to offer rides for the children. Miniature cars and trucks that ran in a circle, a Ferris wheel, and a swing ride were the usual offerings. They also had booths that sold caramel apples, popcorn, and cotton candy and booths of ball toss, ring toss, and darts.

We had gone earlier in the week and my dad Carl said that we weren’t going the last night of the fair. The last night was the night the fire department set off the fireworks display.

When we heard the first few dull booms from the explosions from the rockets, being a fireworks lover, Dad couldn’t resist and went upstairs to the bedrooms to look. He was hoping he might glimpse some of the displays over the tops of the trees. The fireworks were only two miles away, he could hear the explosions. He surely should be able to see something.

It wasn’t very long until we heard a “Thump. Thump. Thump.”

Sybil Miner Beck, my mom said, “Kids, your dad is stomping on the floor. He must want us to go upstairs to see the fireworks. Let’s go before he gets upset with us.”

We left the family room and went into the living room. There at the bottom of the wooden stairs, Dad lay in a crumpled heap on his back and his butt. Dad had slipped and fallen.

What caused Dad to fall happened earlier in the day. My mom told my sister, Kathy to dust the steps and the living room furniture. Instead of doing the steps first with a clean dry cloth, she dusted the furniture with Pledge, and then wiped down the stairs. Pledge coated the steps with wax and had made the stairs treads slippery.

When Dad went upstairs, he was wearing socks on his feet. When he came down, the socks lost traction and his feet flew out from under him. He skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Only his pride was hurt.

Once we knew he was okay, we hurried out of the room to laugh. If he would have seen us even snicker the real fireworks would have started and we would have been in so much trouble.

Now Serving Watered Down Scotch

 Serving Watered Down Scotch

My wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s heritage was Scottish and I’m so thankful she’s no longer alive to see what is happening today. America’s Scotch/Irish forefathers fought, settled, and died for the land here in southwestern Pennsylvania against dangerous beasts, venomous serpents, inclement weather, indigenous people intent on destroying them, and often defying Great Britain’s kings. They carved their homes and farms out of a wilderness. Their safe places were called forts that were little more than bastions from which to fight. They built churches as sanctuaries to worship God as they chose, often ignoring restrictive decrees from their leaders.

They were not independence seeking people, they were just everyday folk who wanted to be left alone to raise their family and to create ways to make a living. They didn’t care that the king wore a wig, carried a snuff box, or sported high heels and stockings; they were too concerned with living from one day to the next.

With today’s men, the Scotsman’s kilt has been exchanged for a skirt, the sporran has been traded for a purse, stockings substituted for hose, and they’ve replaced their Ghillie brogues to wear the king’s high heels.

They’ve given away their God given rights to assemble and worship as they please. They are tracing their rights to bear arms for protection of self, family, property, and yes, even when freedom and liberty itself are taken away. They’re yielding their right of free speech and allowing pedophiles and mentally ill people to gain positions of power and influence.

As America‘s leaders become distanced from their people, they lose touch with reality just as King Rehoboam of Israel and as did King George of England when their subjects finally had enough and revolted. It’s becoming the same today with politicians in Washington DC. The elected officials in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Harrisburg Pennsylvania believe they know what’s best, being fed the tainted view from cronies that surround them. They choose to make distorted and disastrous decisions. The voice of the general populace is being overridden by the Liberal media and self-aggrandizing sycophants.

They allow rioters and looters to ravage homes, businesses, and cities seemingly unaware and not caring about those who are injured and killed. They repeatedly attack our bastions of freedom, our rights, and the U.S. Constitution. They feel that it is their right to offer “safety” at the cost of increasing taxes and the destruction of the foundation for our liberty; the Constitution, the Bible and our ability to freely worship together. They are waging an all-out assault against our homes and families.

Gird yourselves with your kilts. Open your Bibles. Lift your claymores and stand firm against all encroaching evil.

Scents and Sensibilities

 Scents and Sensibilities

While I was tidying up the house again, I saw something that has been there for quite some time. It just became another part of the ordinary things that make up my house. (For those in southwest Pennsylvania, I was doing some redding up.) In a basket in my downstairs powder room, there is a bisque scent ball. It’s almost the size of a tennis ball. Its flat bottom had a small plastic plug and the top sported several small holes like a salt or pepper shaker. It was a pomander ball that was made to hold perfumed body powder and slowly release the scent over many months much like the electric room fresheners of today. Its smooth white surface has a several roses of pale pink with stems and green leaves. It sports a shiny braided gold thread through two of the holes on the top. The cord allows it to be hung in a closet or in an unobtrusive corner of a room. The “Wedgewood” brand and “Made in England” is stamped in pale green print to form a semicircle on the base.

This inexpensive little piece of clay holds a precious memory for me. Either for our first or second Christmas together, I bought it for my wife Cindy Morrison Beck. Neither of us had much money. She’d just graduated from California State University and I was a recent Penn State graduate. We’d just bought an acre of land and set up housekeeping in a used mobile home. The land was undeveloped and had to be prepared by scraping out a pad for the trailer and for the driveway. The trailer was towed from Casparis near Connellsville to our lot just outside of Normalville, Pennsylvania. We had to have the electric, telephone, and septic systems installed. Keeping ahead of the bills and paying the mortgage ate up much of our money.

I can’t recall whether I bought the ceramic ball from a mail order catalog or one of the party circuits selling knickknacks, but I thought it was a cute item. I even filled it with some of the bath powder Cindy used. It wasn’t a practical gift and that may be why it has lasted so long. I know Cindy stored it in her lingerie drawer for many years scenting her underclothing. Believe it or not, the ball has still retained a soft scent from the powder dumped inside over forty years ago. I just checked it and the scent is still potent.

The Ever Changing Climate

 The Ever Changing Climate

As much as I dislike the cold and snow now behind us, God has designed the change of seasons to suit Him. He didn’t consult me or things of this world would be really messed up. I don’t like the heat and humidity either, so I would be left with a world that would be quite boring. It would be not too hot, not too cold. There wouldn’t be any storms either but that isn’t the way God created the Earth. His Word says there will be seasons; a time for sowing and a time of reaping. Genesis 8:22 says, “While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.”

He describes cold, hoarfrost, and snow. Psalm 147:16-17, “He giveth snow like wool: he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes. He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold?”

God describes the earth as a sphere much to the chagrin of the flat-earthers. Isaiah 40:22, “It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as grasshoppers; that stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in:” He lays out the details of the cycle of water from the oceans to the clouds, then rain that flows down in rivers. Job 36:27, 28, “For he maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain according to the vapour thereof: which the clouds do drop and distil upon man abundantly”

God appoints the sun to rule by day and moon and stars to rule the night, Psalms 136:7-9. Like a fine tuned watch He hung heavenly bodies in space and causeding them to orbit in a graceful ballet. He calls them by name, Psalm 147:4

By His voice God created the universe and all that’s within it. The precision of His creation is seen everywhere. “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” Psalm 19:1. Even the atom was known. “Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do.” Hebrews 11:3 

Each part of His creation was specifically designed by Him to replicate itself. Each strand of DNA tells what a creature or plant will be. His Word shares that he made two sexes. “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.” Genesis 1:27

Foolishly mankind looks for answers everywhere but where the truth’s been plainly written for them thousands of years ago.

The Aftermath Classes

 The Aftermath Classes

I was asked to give a brief summary of my life after nursing school, my uniform, hat, and place that I worked. The following is what I wrote and I will use it today as my post. After I graduated from Connellsville Senior High School in 1967, I worked at a valve-making factory in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania called Walworth Company until I joined the Navy in 1968. Basic training, corps school, stationed in Orlando, Florida, then in Keflavik, Iceland before discharge. I got “early outs” to attend Pennsylvania State University in the nursing program, knocking off the four year BSN degree in three years, graduating in 1976.

The uniforms for the men were navy blue slacks and a white uniform top with the initials PSU embroidered on the pocket. Men didn’t have a cap to wear, but the women’s cap looked like a Melita coffee filter with a navy blue ribbon band, however that did not stop the females from harassing me. One day in clinical, the women revolted, went to the kitchen and attached an industrial sized coffee filter to my head with bobby pins. (I actually had thick hair then.) Our clinical was in an elderly care home, the old people loved it, and so I wore it the rest of the day. When I returned for the next clinical, I wasn’t wearing “my cap” and the women burses remembered and asked where mt cap was.I finally told them that “it was dirty. You know, I washed it and it fell apart.” They laughed and it was smooth sailing after that.

I received my degree in 1976 and was married shortly after that. My first job was at Monsour Hospital in Jeanette, but soon after found employment at H. C. Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. It was much closer and a more friendly atmosphere.

The first three years at Frick, I worked the 11-7 shift, where people go grump in the night. The next five years I was blessed with working in the emergency department with some wonderful physicians and other nurses. The rest of my career there before retiring after thirty-four years, I was blessed/ cursed with the position of a nursing supervisor and responsible for the entire hospital, working the off shifts and every other weekend.

Kiddie Land

 Kiddie Land

Who can remember from their days of childhood going to Idlewild Park with their parents bouncing with excitement as they headed toward Kiddie Land? There at entrance were two stone clad pillars and two steps down into the enchanted area of rides for children. A large placard clown wearing white costume, ruffled neck collar, a red nose, holding a bass drum that welcomed kids to this section of the park reserved just for children. Child sized, scaled down amusement rides that were similar to adult versions awaited. Near the entrance was a sleek white and silver electric bus or trolley that ran in a circle on tracks. Close by was a smaller version of a Ferris wheel with caged cars that lifted riders up and over the top, moving much slower than the adult ride.

There was a glossy green turtle that rolled up and down while traveling in a circle with several kids on its back. Another ride was miniature cars that circled on a wooden track, most cars were painted red with bright yellow steering wheels. They spun, but didn’t guide the cars. A fake pony pulling a small cart that barely wide enough for two, maybe three kids; its leather reins held by kids as the ponies rose up and down.

A bevy of boats with room for two kids in the front and two in the back moved through a shallow circular pond. Steering wheels in the boats kept little hands busy and out of the water as “motor boats” hummed along.

Kids had to be fastened into the “”airplanes” hanging from chains. The children pilots again had steering wheels, but an added attraction was the machine guns attached to the fuselage for the front pilots. The breeze as the planes whirled “air born” in a circle actually made the kid feel like he was flying.

But my favorite ride of all was the kiddie car ride. These carts drove along on tracks through a shady twisting two rail track. Each cart had a cranking gear that attached to wheels beneath the cart. The faster a child turned the crank, the faster the cart went. Sometimes the carts would jump the track when a larger kid was showing his or her strength. They would also move up behind a slower moving cart and assist it into moving faster.

 When there was a clear stretch of track close to the attendant at the finish line, a kid could with several quick pumps build up speed. The cart would almost bowl over the attendant trying to stop the hurtling cart with a stiff leg and a foot.

Ah, what memories.

Observations

Observations

Our Pastor Haasz took ill on Friday and Joshua our summer intern had to host and speak for the closing ceremonies of this year’s Vacation Bible School. I didn’t get to see or hear the closing message or the final skit. I was part of the scullery crew in the kitchen providing snacks for the kids who attended.

Our theme was nautical having the idea of “Sailing with Joy” and having Jesus as our Captain. As usual, Friday is a time for relatives of the kids to come and join in the festivities. Our gym is filled with games of skill for adults and for the youth in a carnival atmosphere, still having a nautical theme. Then folks are directed to the Fellowship Hall for snacks. Cookies, Ice cream Sundaes, fruit cups, drinks, and one of the yearly favorites- finger Jell-o was served.

Saturday evening my family gathered around a campfire to make mountain pies. The flavors available were Reuben sandwiches, pizza, and ham and cheese flavored pies. We had cherry pie filling for making dessert pies, but after the browned marshmallow and S’mores we were too full to open the cans of pie filling.

The rain held off and we had a wonderful evening of talking, laughing, and retelling off stories in celebration of Father’s Day.

Pastor was still ill Sunday morning and our intern filled in. He already was to have presented the morning message, so it came as no great surprise that he would be relied upon for the message. I was part of the male members of the choir to sing a version of a hymn “Stand Up for Jesus.” It was updated and stanzas rewritten by our pianist and choir director and our summer intern.

Sunday evening Pastor was still under the weather and our intern was again called upon to fill in. Joshua’s message was about the times of fear when the disciples were faced with the storms while they were sailing on the Sea of Galilee. The wind and waves surrounded by the darkness of the evening and the depth of the storms. He spoke of the need to rely on Christ in all things, but especially in times that we have fears.

He took the story from the book of Mark 4:35-41. While he read the passages, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before. There were “other little ships” on the sea as well. I am curious. What happened to them? They faced the same storm. But they didn’t have Jesus with them. How did they deal with their fears? How do we deal with fear and do we share the need for Jesus with the “other little boats” that are around us each day, also caught in the storms of life?

 

Virulence Violence Virtue Victory

 Virulence Violence Virtue Victory

In today’s world we see the virulence of mankind swirl around us every day. Rioting, road rage, looting, assaults, murders, sex trafficking, arson, burning America’s flag, and other attempts to destroy the history of our great country the United States of America. We are at a tipping point in America. A point where it’s declaring itself freed from the sovereignty of God and in line for the judgment by God and destruction like every nation that has done so.

There was a time when mankind’s virulent proclivity was displayed by littering, not obeying traffic laws, or an argument that might escalate into a fist-to-cuff between two people. Now if one person feels offended, a mob may join to give a beat-down while another captures the shameful moment on a phone. Crowds may be offended because a crippled old person, a veteran, or even a child displays a flag, wears a hat or a T shirt, or is just close at hand when the crowd’s unwarranted rage bubbles over and self-control is lost. The nearest innocent item becomes the victim.

I read a book on government that was very dry reading. I could only read 2 or 3 pages before drinking a glass of water, but there were 2 very important lessons thst I learned. The first, all truths, laws, and ordinances originate with God. All manmade laws emanate from the Bible and are based on an absolute foundation of truth. The second was the smallest division of government is self-control. All other governmental frameworks rise from that one virtue.

Virtue speaks of the power found in man’s worth and moral excellence; tasting of goodness and right actions. Its quality is founded in charity, love, and the “Golden Rule.” It declares the ability to do what is right when no one else is looking. It means sometimes standing alone when the cause is right. It may mean relinquishing something precious to retain the higher plane. Things once considered taboo are now something the government now says is legal. That doesn’t mean it’s morally correct. All virtue has been drained from it and sin will always remain sin.

America’s Constitution was written to limit the government’s incursion of its citizens, but continued malefactor assaults have eroded those safeguards. Americans must stand firm to remain free, godly, and virtuous. Victory can only be gained by remaining vigilant and firmly rooted in the virtues of charity and in faithfulness to the Bible.

Many newer “Interpretations” of the King James Bible have been watered down; changing entire sentences and deleting many others. The truths of the Bible have virtue contained within. The new versions and now polluting it with leavening. Jesus warned Christians about it. We must remain alert if America is to remain virtuous.

Everyday Patriots

 Everyday Patriots

We run into everyday patriots everywhere. They surround us: when we shop, when we go out to eat, or when we go to church. These people for the most part go about their business everyday without a thought of the important ideals they uphold. From farmers to food service workers, from truckers to teachers, from healthcare workers to hairdressers; all contribute to the fabric of society. We literally bump into them as we go to work, come home from work, and when we go on vacation. We may meet them because we have problems. If we need someone to repair a leaky roof or a leaky faucet, we can find them. In times of disaster or extreme weather conditions, we have utility linesmen, we have those who drive the snowplow trucks, and we have the National Guards. If we need emergency care they come to us: firemen, police, ambulance drivers, and paramedics. These men and women work hard, earn money, pay taxes, and create a stable environment. They form a national entity, a form of government, a national language, and core values that hold our country together.

An everyday patriot may be a farmer who daily works his farm, the postman who faithfully delivers the mail, the person who delivers fresh bread to the grocery store, the person who provides the produce at a roadside stand, or stocks the snacks in our minimarts. They are the folks who grease the gears and keep the cogs engaged that supply our daily needs. They are the checkout cashiers. They are the men and women who fill the shelves. They may be the butchers, the bakers, and the candlestick makers. They could be our vehicle’s mechanics. They could be the janitors who clean the schools or job sites. They could be mothers, grandmothers, fathers, or grandfathers. They can be the people whom we meet on the streets walking their dogs.

These everyday patriots are not superheroes in bold costumes, they are everyday patriots. They work, vote, raise their families, and make a community. They can be neighbors, workmates, and even strangers who do some kind deed or show a courtesy. They do their best to create a better world and share it with others. They are the people upon whom we rely to keep our country functioning. So I say, hooray to our everyday patriots and unsung heroes. May God continue to bless their daily efforts to keep America strong and independent.

Heaven or Hell

 Heaven or Hell

I just read a post that a priest believes Hell was invented by religion to control people. But more is said about Hell than Heaven in the New Testament. Hell is a reward for those who do not accept the gift of salvation offered by God Himself. This loving God sent His offspring, His only begotten Son to lay aside His glory, come to Earth in the form of a man, and to die on a cross to expunge our sins. Hell is the Word  God uses to describe a place of eternal torment, a place of darkness and pain, a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth for all who reject that gift.

I wonder what books this person studied in seminary school. Did he ever read the Bible? Does he believe that the Bible is the Word of God, written in its entirety with inspired truth? How can he say that Hell is not a real place with so many warnings about it? Since he doesn’t believe in Hell, does he believe that Heaven is the reward for those who choose the redemptive powers of Christ’s blood? If this priest does accept that there is a place called heaven, how can he selectively choose which subjects he will believe in and which ones he won’t? Either the entire Bible is true in its entirety or it is not. Handpicking which ideas match yours and tossing out all others is wrong and just foolish. He puts himseelf above God.

I’ve heard arguments that “It was just men” who wrote the Bible. It’s true, men wrote as they were led by the Creator. But without divine inspiration, how can we explain that thirty-nine books of the Old Testament and twenty-seven books of the New Testament were written by almost as many men and yet coincide without contradiction or error? If there was even one lone error, non-believers would be shouting it from the rooftops.

If this person believes the Bible upon which his religion is based is false, how can he continue to call himself a priest of that religion? Wouldn’t it make his entire religion false? How can he be faithful to the teachings of his own false religion? Doesn’t it make the garb that he wears a lie as well? Why is he even wearing the frock? Truth, faith, and belief are the core precepts of the Gospel. How can he continue to call himself a man of God when he doesn’t believe one of the Bible’s fundamental tenets?

Hard Shoes to Fill

 .Hard Shoes to Fill

                My dad’s father Edison Thomas Beck was quite a man. I marvel at the number of hats that he wore in his life and that he was able to do them so well. He was a farmer and ran a saw mill on the side. He was a justice of the peace, magistrate, bookkeeper, accountant, and a lay speaker. He started a small church between Jones Mills and Somerset, Pennsylvania. Not too far from the red Insulbrick church was my grandfather’s home place, on land above the ski resort Hidden Valley. It had several natural springs. They were named after the family, Beck Springs. The flow of water was abundant and pure.

            My granddad, when he was much younger had a tooth problem. It wasn’t the norm to visit a dentist and he lived far from the dentist. The decayed tooth gave him so much pain, that he bent the rat-tail handle of a file, heated it to red-hot, and burned the nerve out of the tooth. I couldn’t imagine doing that. Why he didn’t pull it instead? I don’t know. This is the story my dad told me.

            Granddad was blind in one eye since he was about twenty-one years of age. He had learned to compensate; driving his car, doing bookkeeping, and building a home for himself and his oldest daughter. It seemed that there was little he couldn’t do.

            His penmanship was superb and the wills, deeds, and other legal papers that he wrote as a magistrate, were works of art.

            In later years, of life, the vision in his “good eye” started to go blind. Facing total blindness, he visited a very prominent ophthalmologist.

            The doctor took him into the examination room. After looking into both eyes, the physician said, “There is tissue growing over your optic nerve.” The doctor began to examine the eye that had been blind for over fifty years.

            He laid aside his ophthalmoscope and asked, “Where have you been, man? We’ve been able to fix that problem for nearly ten years.”

            “What is happening to your seeing eye is what happened to your blind eye when you were young. What I suggest is that I do surgery on your blind eye and allow the other eye alone for now. If you eventually have problems with the repaired eye, we can always repair the other eye. We have it to fall back on.”

            He had his surgery. With new glasses, his once blind eye could now see. He never had surgery on his once seeing eye. He had been so used to living, working, and driving with vision in only one eye he was quite capable of doing so after the surgery.

Cindy’s Grandparents Johnson

 Cindy’s Grandparents Johnson

Cindy’s grandparents lived in a small white house near Mill Run, Pennsylvania. Her grandfather’s name was Truman Johnson. He was a short statured man, built much like my granddad Miner. Truman’s nickname was King and that’s the name by which most people knew him. He loved to laugh, loved his garden, and loved to get his grandkids to comb his hair. He would pay them a nickel to do it. I believe that he worked in the coal mines and was retired by the time I met him. He came from a large family, but supposedly the family moved west leaving him and one brother behind. His brother Henry, owned a carnival and lived near Columbus Ohio. Cindy and her mom would make a trek out to visit him and his family while making a “school-clothes shopping run” to the J.C. Penny outlet.

Cindy’s grandmother was Mabel Agnes Hiltabitel. Her grandmother was Amanda. That is where we got the name for our older daughter Amanda. (One of my great-grandmother’s name was also Amanda.) Mabel also warned us if we used either of her names to name one of our girls, she’d be upset. She was a slender woman who kept her house spotless, but always welcomed people to visit, very friendly and pleasant. She had a candy dish on her dining room table that was filled with those pink, wintergreen flavored lozenges. One thing I never could understand. My wife said that Pepto Bismol made her sick, but she could suck on those wintergreen candies and enjoy them. Mabel had Forsythia bushes that lined her driveway. She would tease my wife saying they were her For-Cynthia bushes.

Her house was not very far from where my father-in-law Bud and Retha lived. Bud always teased that his Mother-in-law snooped on him and he was glad their bedroom was on the opposite side of the house. After Mabel moved to a nursing home, Bud found a pair of binoculars in her kitchen, near the window with the best view of Bud’s house. He said that confirmed that she was watching them. In her defense, there were birds and animals that frequented her backyard. Now the funniest part of this “snooping” story is that when Bud died, he was laid to rest in the cemetery plot right next to Mabel Agnes and his body will spend eternity beside her.

Mabel passed away at the ripe-old age of ninety-three, still loving to have her hair curled and done just-so. We have photos of her with a party hat and a birthday cake of her and her cake on her 90th birthday.

Don't Mind Me

 Don’t Mind Me

Last ewwk for some reason my brain warped and went haywire. I don’t know why or how, but I have to say, I didn’t like it. I know that it was functioning well except for a pause in reality. Wednesday went off normally. I drove to the Chestnut Riddge Gistorical Society and put in the time for my voluneer work. My four hour shift went well and I played nicely with two of my coworkers. We did some paperwork and accomplished some filing duties before lunch.

Lunch was our usual potluck. Each person brings a surprise food and we share. It is rare that two people bring similar foods, but it has happened. Wednesday was an unusual day. All three of us brought sandwich spread and crackers. Two were seafood salads and one chicken salad were our choices. I also had some spare cookies that I brought, so we did have dessert.

Wednesday eveniing was prayer meeting and all went well there.

Thursday I had a meeting with a health insurance agent. My present supplement was due to go up $100.00 per month and that wasn’t something that I could financially handle. That went well and my agent was someone who knew my wife.

Now the warp in my mind begins. I was thinking of going shopping on Thursday, then changed my mind. For some odd reason my brain registered that I could do my shopping on Saturday when I went to the Historical Society to be a docent for my four hour tour. Instead Friday slipped away and my brain thought Saturdday was Friday and didn’t self correct. At 2:39 my brain came back into focus when I got a message on my cell about a men’s gathering that evening. Well, I missed opening the Historical Center. I felt bad that I missed my “tour of Duty,” but there was nothing more I could do.

Then came the rain storm with its powerful winds and the men’s get-together got cancelled. The storm damage caused electriccal blackouts and tree damage blocked some roads, however our church has a generator and the men’s prayer meeting could be held there. Great.

My brain went into another fog-zone. I was watching television and the time slipped away. I was clock watching, but my brain was malfunctioning and misread my analog clock and when I realized that it was too late to go tto the meeting.

I don’t know what happened to cause my brain to short circuit, but it was certainly discouraging.

Daisy, Daisy

 Daisy, Daisy

Daisy, daisy, the daisies are now in bloom. That innocent white petaled posey with a bright yellow center, was my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s favorite flower. While walking up to my mailbox this afternoon I saw those precious blooms are just now appearing in numbers that are too many to miss. For those who have known me for a long period of time, know that I am frugal, except my children who say I am cheap. I say, why spend more money than you don’t have to?

The best thing about being frugal and having a wife who loved dasisies was that once the wild daisy becan to display their flowers, it cost me nothing more than to spend a few minutes of time to pick a bouquet of them, interspacing them with anyt other wild flowers that were in season to place a surprise bouquet waiting for her when she would come home from teaching at the Mount Zion Christian School. It was an unexpected pick-me-up for her and was easy on the wallet for me.

When she passed away, baskets of daisies surrounded her casket. A daisy bouquet at her feet had three pink rose buds, one for each of our kids, Amanda Beck Yoder, Andrew Beck, and Anna E. Prinkey. At her head was another basket of daisies with a single yellow rose from her mom Retha Johnson Morrison. There was a large spray that was placed on the top of the lid of the casket from me.

The coincidence of the blooming daisies and an event that happened yesterday brought these thoughts to mind. Because my supplemental health insurance rate increased nearly $100.00 per month was stunned. Me being exceptionally frugal was shocked at the tremendous rate of increase.

I decided it waas time to seek another choice in health insurance supliment to my Medicare. I made an appointment to meet with a health insurance agent. When I met my agent, I was surprised to find out that Cindy had her as a student. My agent only had nice things to say about Cindy. I shared about Cindy’s diagnosis and death from ovarian cancer. So, the convergence of the two thoughts congealed and pushed me to create todays blog.

Addictionss

Addictions

Addictions appear in many shapes and sizes and in a variety of guises. Some are disguised as hobbies or minor distractions. But anything that creeps into a life and eats up the precious time a person has left to live on earth could be labeled an addiction. Television, the internet, Facebook, on line games, pornography, drugs, alcohol, even food can supplant the necessary temperance in a person’s life.

Many people were wondering why I stayed away from Facebook without responding in my usual warped sense of humor to Facebook postings. It was because another friend issued a challenge to me. He suggested that I avoid the venue of Facebook for a day. It was for an entirely different reason than an addiction, but none-the-less, I accepted.

Because I uncoupled myself from the computer, I was able to go to the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society and put in 4 hours of sorting and storing maps, photos, and newspaper articles. I wasn’t able to thoroughly review the many interesting things that passed before my eyes, but I was surprised at the variety and depth of the small number of things that I processed.

War photos by Jack Pletcher, deeds, proclamations, interesting articles on local crimes, local heroes, school pictures, and a steady progression of maps showing the expanding towns and the dividing of the land into townships over the centuries, all passed through my hands.

As a child, I loved to snoop into the drawers of the old, dark oak bureau in my Grandmother Rebecca Miner’s dining room. The drawers were filled with hair swatches, pencils, fountain pens, hair pins, small and many other amusing things. Most of these items were nearly worthless, but seemed remarkable in my small fingers and fascinating. I was also intrigued with a pair of lamps with dangling crystal prisms that sat on the bureau creating rainbows to dance on the ceiling.

A similar feeling of nostalgia poured over me as I sorted through boxes at the Historical Society filled with unknown treasures. My childhood curiosity returned seeing these reminders of the history of yesteryear. It was a wonderful to feel the reemergence of those youthful feelings.

All of this was said to share that I felt much freer, away from the addicting quality of Facebook. It was a cleansing of sort; a purging of my soul. Perhaps I can now limit the time I spend on line and avail myself to the task of writing more, praying, and reading my Bible. I need to allow my creativeness to be freed. My next challenge is to limit my time time watching the boob-tub and its continual attempt to dumb me down and the American public.

 

Kisses

 Kisses

Kisses, we’ve all had them from infancy up. Hershey kisses are sweet, but not as sweet as the pressing of lips. All show a degree of intimacy and love, from the peck on the cheek to the near tongue swallowing passionate ones. Kisses vary from the wet, sloppy ones given by aunts and grandmothers to the dry cheek rubbing kisses from a brother or sister. Prints of lipstick may mark territories claimed.

Sometimes there are just hugs without the kisses, but hugs may be more intimate and deeper than the kiss. When a friend or relative is in pain, sorrow, or grief, a shoulder to cry on is so unbelievably comforting. Sharing the tears and a long embrace will reach beyond the brief meeting of lips. It reaches from heart to heart, soul to soul. The tenderness of a kiss cannot reach to the very core of each person involved like the sharing of a hug.

A kiss sometimes takes more than it gives, but the very nature of a hug, the closeness of the embrace gives more than it gets or at the very least a equal sharing of emotion. The give and take allows the lessening of pain or sadness by the giving of support and a willingness to help and comfort. The hug says, “I am here. Let me help” the person in distress is able to release some of the frightening emotion that is the cause of the problem.

An embrace can also allow a person to share joy and happiness. When the elation threatens to bubble over, it becomes absolutely necessary to grab another person and allow them to become a part of that blessing in your life. The joy that is felt by one is heightened by the sharing with another.

Share a kiss; share a hug, share a bit of yourself with someone else. Give someone a reason to smile.

Jumbles

 Jumbles

I’m not thinking of any idea that I can stretch into a blog post so I will write any thoughts that tumble out of my brain as they surface. The one at the foremost is the word pardon. It was the word that was at the center ofour Sunday evening’s message. The word pardon at its minimum has a meaning that is just an “excuse me” when I bump into someone or reach in front of another with the meaning “excuse me.” Then we shift to pardon me when we say something that we shouldn’t as in “pardon my French.” At the maximum, the meaning of pardon is if we commit a crime or if we should sin and ask to be pardoned from punishment for an act that we have commited. There is a human bracket when we should ask to be pardoned by a human judge and jury or the maximum of asking to be pardoned by our eternal Father God.

The human pardon may leave a paper trail that will haunt us for the rest of our lives; while the pardon by God is a forgiveness that ccompletely blots away the sinful act and appears to never have happened.  “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool. (Isaiah 1:18)

Our church has an intern for the summer. His name is Joshua and is visiting from college in Indiana. He’s asked our men to form a choir to sing for Father’s Day. Sunday evening was our first attempt to sing together and we didn’t sound too bad.

Last evening I checked my blood sugar and it was low. It will usually hover near 100 to 110 and I tolerate that quite well. Sunday night after church, just before I go to bed it is the time that I usually check my blood sugar. I was surprised to find that it was only 69. I didn’t feel any symptoms of shakiness, weaknesss, or dizziness, but was fearful that It might drop lower. I ate a Reese’s cup then went to the kitchen for something to snack on. (I always keep some kind of candy upstairs in case of an emergency. Reese’s cup was my in-case-of-emergency candy last night.)

The snack was several crackers, 2 cheese sticks, and a beef jerky stick. By the time I finished my slower-to-digest and longer lasting snack, my hands were shaking so delayed my evening insulin. It is a long acting medication and using it so close to my low blood sugar should be okay. My morning blood sugar was 99 and I’m still alive.

Supplemental Blues

 Supplemental Blues

Several days ao I received a notification letter from my supplemental health isurance company that they are raising my rates, As of July 1st, 2026 the cost will be nearly $100.00 more per month. The rates were just raised not too long ago. I called the company and was shuffled around after listening to a plethora of menu selections. The menu passed me off to one menu to another with vaguee choices until I finally was able to speak to a human representative. I found that encounter frustrating and unfruitful. I wasted nearly forty-five minutes. The representative shared that the increase was necessary to cover costs. She said that under my policy, they must pick up the costs that Social Security doesn’t cover.

I teasingly asked if the increase in pricing was due to President Trump’s tariffs or whether it was due to the price of oil. She was not amused and rsther stiffy went into a spiel tto explain that it was necessary because they paid for the scraps leftover from my Social Security health plan.

Other than removing the flannel sheets from my bed, washing them, and hanging them outside to dry, I spent most of the morning speaking with other health insurers on the phone trying to find less costly insurance to cover my health needs. The health coverage I have now, even with the major price increase doesn’t cover vision or dental benefits.

I thought with the brand loyalty the representative would want to keep a customer who faithfully paid their premiums for over twenty years. I was wrong. If I expressed my concern to my present insurance company, why don’t they suggest a lower priced health plan, even though the substitute plan might either had a co-pay or offer less areas of coverage. So I was off wandering through other companies, their endless menus, and listening to the pre-recorded consumer’s rights, before that representative could share information from their company. What a wonderful day I had and by bedtime I had muscle tightness in my shoulder and a headache. Today I woke with the same muscle tension headache. What a wonderful way to start the day.

Changes

 Coloring Her

Eyes the color of summer skies

At evening when the sun sets

Not quite purple and not quite blue

With colors somewhere in between

With hair the color of autumn

Tawny richness of red and gold

Touched by the sun, haloed like brass

It cascades from her head in waves

Her skin is like the snows of winter

Pale alabaster smooth and white

Not ice cold, but warm and supple

Skin unmarred by scar or freckle

Cheeks pink as spring cherry blossoms

Softens the winter complexion

Gives life to the ice princess skin

Vigor and health from that hue

Loneliness Waits

Loneliness waits just outside the door

Sometimes coming to live within

They say, “No man’s an island”

Unless it’s deserted… unless it’s deserted

Alone it waits at the mercy of the see

In waves of sadness huge breakers roll

Will breakers, real breakers, heart breakers

Debilitating, binding, devastating

Controlling, incapacitating, homebound prison

Alone and afraid, isolated

Homebound, no one around trapped inside

Limited mobility, vision, and money

Too hot, too cold, too much sun, too much snow

Old bodies unable to adjust, adapt

Aging joints, weak muscles, fragile bones

Tottering steps wander the home

Forlorn and forgotten

For time unknown

Waiting for someone to call

To stop by to visit for awhile

 

If the Grim Reaper should knock

He’ll be invited inside

Passing Thoughts

 Passing Thoughts

As I awakened this morning, I was hit with the feeling of concern, “What do I write about today and what do I share with my friends?” Sometimes thoughts or recollections swiftly rise and flow into meaningful and entertaining articles. I’ve been writing and sharing since 2013. I began posting every day, but that became too heavy a burden. I began to share on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It gave my brain a chance to remember something or an event to happen in my rather routine life. Always at the back of my mind was the thought of Alzheimer’s disease. My mother Sybil Miner Beck, her five sisters, and several cousins have fallen prey to this insidious malady. That is why I write. I want my family to be able to pass on those memories, even if I am unable.

I watched my grandfather Raymond Miner prrogress as the gray a fog of dementia slowly assaulted him. He struggled all his life to provide for his wife Rebecca Rugg Miner and his eight children; laboring on his farm during the day and working in a coal mine at night. Even as dementia claimed his mind, his desire to care for his animals would often appear. Grandma would have to keep a close watch on his wanderings.

I think the history of their loss of remembrances cause me to struggle with my efforts to dredge as much as I can from my memories before the windows of my own brain’s vault closes to say, “Insufficient funds.” There are times when so many things roll unimpeded through my brain as I climb out of bed and words flow like an Artesian well bubbling out in a seeming unending flow. But sometimes it’s too early and I roll over for a bit more sleep. Oft times it caps the well and the flow of thoughts disappears. Then I worry, what have I missed sharing?

Because of a brain injury in 2015, I now have phantom smells. Thoughts of smells push forward this morning. Its not that the smells from my past are so important but they still exist as part of my memories full package. They wait to be dragged to the surface. Sometimes I wander through my house sniffing here searching for the source. Then I must decide. Is it a real odor or only a phantom smell? Since the fall, smells come and go. It’s strange. I want to keep the memories of past intact with their aromas attached, but I don’t want them corrupted with these false smells. SIGH

Watching Police Interventions

Watching Police Interventions

Recently I have watched several reels where the police have been called to investigate or to intervene with a person who is doing something illegal. The police usually corner the “criminal” in a vehicle. The police confront the “accused” after the car is stopped. From that point on the same things happen, no matter the age or race, but most often happens with women.

Thee police person raps on the window and says to turn off the engine. A battle of words and wills commence. The police demand that the driver roll down the window and produce a drivers license, proof of insurance, and owner’s card. The driver may refuse by winding up the window or reach around in the car or purse for a license or the driver may ignor the demand. The confrontation intensifies, the window may get broken and the drivver is compelled to come out of the car.

From here on, things become repetitious. The driver screams “Don’t touch me” and pulls away from the cop. The cop repeats “Get out of the car or I will pull you out.” This battle of wills and words continue until the cop loses patience and actually forces the driver out of the vehicle. The driver repeats, “Don’t touch me.” The cop says, “Put your hands behind your back,” and a struggle for control continues until the handcuffs are securely in place. Sometimes control only happens after the intervention of a taser. Stunned, the driver finally complies.

Next the driver will switch the mantra by saying, “I can’t breathe,” to mimic the chant at George Floyd’s capture and death. All the while the driver’s screams grow louder propelled by copious amounts of air. Once the breathing excuse fails, the women start, “I’m pregnant. Don’t touch me.” The police continue to secure the driver. The police only match the violence of the driver with their own while trying to avoid the possibility of injuring an unborn child.

The next struggle is to get the driver into the back seat of the police vehicle; all the while the captured driver’s screeching voice would intensify. I really don’t understand how the cop can endure the cursing, name calling, and the volume coming from the back seat during the drive to the police station. The cursing is interspaced with threats of law suits, threats to cause the officer to lose their jobs, and even threats of violence to the officer or his family, which only adds another charge to the driver.

The resullt is always the same, the vehicle window gets broken, the vehicle gets towed, and the driver is knocked down and cuffed, when cooperation would have only been a violation ticket.

One Day

 One Day

As I opened the desk drawer to gather my medications for the morning and seeing the hoard of bottles inside, I thought, “There will come a day when I won’t need all of this. I’ll obtain a new and perfect body. I’ll rise from the grave and I’ll greet death as an old friend,” not fearing what is beyond that great divide of the living and the dead. I’ll open my eyes on that great and eternal morning and I will have no more aches and pain. I won’t have fillings in my teeth, my joints will be new, and I’ll have muscles that are made to do what I ask. I’ll again have hair, I won’t have allergies, and I’ll no longer need glasses.

I’ll have the strength and endurance that I’ll need. My heart will overflow with joy, thankfulness, and gratitude. I’ll see the city of God behind huge, wide-open pearl gates. Streets there are paved with gold. The buildings will be constructed of bright gemstones: jasper, beryl, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, and amethyst. They’re so common that they’ll be used as building material. There will no longer be a need for the sun or moon. The light will emanate from Father God Himself. All glory shall surround His throne in unimaginable brightness. Angels, seraphim, and cherubim shall hover near calling out hosannas and praise.

Jesus, God’s only begotten Son will sit at His right hand. There with the Holy Spirit, they will make up the Holy Trinity; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Their awesome majesty shall be unequalled, unmatched, and indescribable. In the heavenly courts I will wear a spotless white robe of righteousness and dwell there with other saints who have gone on before.

I’ll be lifted up when Christ appears in the clouds with other saints that will be raptured into glory. It will be a time of casting of crowns at the Lord’s feet and we shall receive eternal rewards. It is only by Christ’s blood that was shed on Calvary that sins are washed away and by His stripes we’ve been healed. It is the key to the entrance into Heaven.

Why should I fear death when so much more awaits me in that land beyond the stars?

I would be remiss if I didn’t share the only other option of an eternal dwelling place. It was created for Lucifer and other fallen angels, but has been expanded to receive those who reject Jesus as their Savior and refuse His gift of salvation. I won’t describe the horrors, pain, and tortures of Hell, but suffice it to say that Jesus offers life and in the Bible speaks warnings about Hell more than promises of Heaven.

Losing Your Cool

 Losing Your Cool

            Dot was one of the nurses with whom I worked in the emergency department. She was an older woman who was meticulous. Her uniform was spotless, her shoes were shined within an inch of their life, and she always fastened her nursing cap securely on top of her dark curls with a bevy of hair pins.

            An emergency room doctors was her complete opposite. If you remember the television program, “The Odd Couple” you can understand what I am trying to explain. His clothing was always rumpled and more often than not, covered in dog hair. He wore his gray hair longer, unkempt.   He had one big bug-a-boo. He hated when a restroom door was left ajar. He wouldn’t just close it. He would slam any door that was open. You knew when he made rounds, somewhere on the floor a door would BANG shut.

            Dot was fastening her hat in the restroom one afternoon when Dr. Vee entered the adjoining lounge. He poured his cup of coffee and as he turned to leave. He saw the door was open. BANG! He slammed it shut. Turning on his heel, he walked out to the desk at the nursing station.

            A few seconds later, Dot stormed out of the lounge. She was as hot as the doctor’s coffee. Her face was red and there was dirt and debris strewn across her hair, her hat, and spread across the shoulders of her crisp, white uniform. When the doctor slammed the door, the air pressure lifted up the ceiling tiles and dirt that had collected for years on the top side of the tiles rained down on her.

            She stood beside Dr. Vee until he sat his cup of coffee down. She grabbed his coat sleeve and dragged him back into the lounge. She shoved him into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, not just once, but… WHAM, WHAM, WHAM! We could hear it in the nursing station. She left the lounge and went into a patient’s restroom to brush off her uniform and to pick the dirt out of her hair.

            A few minutes later, a much chagrined Dr Vee emerged from the lounge with a sheepish smile on his face. He was covered in a large amount of dirt, dust, and debris scattered on his head and shoulders. He rolled his eyes, ran his hand through his hair, and brushed at the dirt on his jacket.  It didn’t seem to faze him, but rather seemed amused about it all as he picked up his cup and took a sip.

Being a Good Scout

 Being a Good Scout

While I was stationed in Keflavik, Iceland, the Boy Scout leaders from the NATO base and the Icelandic leaders decided to create the first “Boy Scout World Jamboree.” They approached the commander of our naval base and asked him to supply an ambulance and a few corpsmen in case of injury or illness.

Three of us volunteered to man the first aid station. It was our weekend off and it was nice to have something different to do. It was a pleasure to leave the base and see the countryside. We were issued a “cracker box” ambulance for transportation and we loaded it up with things that we thought we might need; food, bandages, food, a large tent, food, water and more food.

When we reached the site, we hurriedly set up our first aid tent. The tent was made of olive drab canvas with matching floor, windows, door flap. It also had a heat resistant vent for a stove pipe to exit.  The sponsors had a dozen wooden pallets delivered for firewood. We knew that so few pieces of wood wouldn’t last the entire weekend and searched the field around us. We collected all the dried sheep dung we could find and stacked it inside the tent to keep dry.

One of the corpsmen brought a stove that he created from a rectangular tin “can” that once held five pounds of coffee. He used snips and wire to make two “hinged” doors, one for feeding the fuel and the other to remove ashes.

The stoves legs war made out of thick twisted strands of wire. The same heavy wires crisscrossed the inside of the box to create a grate to suspend the burning fuel above the bottom of the ash pit. Three pieces of metal stovepipe were connected to the stove to run outside through the vent hole then turning upward. The stove was ready for business.

Our tent remained warm, snug, and dry all weekend, which was a good thing because most of the weekend was cool and it rained. A mist hung heavily in the air. The wood from the pallets quickly disappeared and by now the dung still in the fields was too wet to burn. But we had an ample supply. The smoke from the burning dung actually had a pleasant smell. We had a steady stream of scouts coming into our tent to “see what we were cooking.” They wouldn’t believe that it was actually the smoke from the dried sheep dung that they were smelling. We did offer them some pieces of liver that we were frying when they visited, but they all refused our offer.

My Sister Complains

The major thing that irritates her is hearing someone using nail clippers to trim fingernails. The clicking noise almost drives her insane. At the first click she will give you “I dare you to do that again” stare. If you are brave enough to try it again, she will chew you out in no uncertain terms.

I found the best place to torture her was while we were sitting in church.

I was older and could sit with my friends while Kathy still had to sit with Mom. There would be a pause in the service, a moment of silence between hymns or at the end of a prayer and I would use the clippers; snip, click.

I would watch for her reaction out of the corner of my eyes. Kathy would stiffen and turn around, searching to locate the perpetrator of the clipper crime. The clicking sound would set her off, but she couldn’t say anything because we were in church. Putting on a face of innocence, I would watch and wait until she turned back around and settled down. I would wait a few minutes then click, another nail would be trimmed. Kathy would stiffen, turn, and stare with a look of death in her eyes. I would sit with a look of feigned innocence until she would turn around. The torture and the fun would continue as long as my fingernails remained.

The other thing that Kathy hates is pink, plastic flamingos. I think her hatred stems from her having to mow Aunt Estella’s grass. Estella had pink flamingos and other yard ornaments which Kathy had to move or mow around and that irritated her. Kathy and her husband Doug lived next door to Estella and they had to look at the ornaments when they would sit outside.

This hatred for these inanimate objects allows more ways for me to torture her. It gives me great opportunities to buy gifts for her birthday and for Christmas. Sometimes it is nothing more than a card with the pink pests on it to a pair of wire ones placed in her front lawn holding a banner of “Happy Birthday” and balloons. It could be a pair of salt and pepper shakers to a Lucite serving tray with a pitcher and glasses all bearing the likeness of her favorite character. I even found a pair of wooden home-made flower boxes that were built to look like flamingos.

But my all time favorite was the birthday present I found for her. I had an accomplice to help in the delivery of this flamingo that I had found. What I had found was a back scratcher that was shaped like a flamingo. I went to our local florist and bought half of a dozen pink roses. I had the florist insert the backscratcher among the roses and delivered to her home.

I know that she kept the roses, but I was never sure what happened to the back scratcher. She never did tell me what she thought of the “special delivery.” 

America's Sins

America’s Sins

There was a time in history that America was a God fearing country. The first men and women came to our shores seeking religious freedom; searching for the ability to worship God without interference from a king or government.  The foundation of the Constitution was based on biblical principles that God shared in His Word. The Constitution of the United States is the document that separates freedom loving people from other governments of the world.

America has been blessed. The face of God has looked favorably on our nation to make it a powerful entity and a haven for the oppressed. God has allowed our country to intervene when evil men attempted to rule the world. America has given the lives of its men and women to secure liberty for those who were being enslaved.

But year after year Americans have turned their back on God and year after year God has been saying, “I love you. Come back to me.” The government’s been straying from the principles upon which our nation was founded. Too many politicians have come to rely on their own strength and wisdom instead of seeking God, the source of all wisdom and strength.

Morality is on the decline and depravity is on the rise. Our government cannot legislate morality. If the hearts of our citizens remain unchanged, laws will do little to restrain evil or to limit its effects.

I believe that God has been showing His displeasure by the increase of earthquakes and weather disasters. When mankind is unwilling to recognize the Creator of the Earth and the weather concerns, but gives credit to “Mother Nature” or “Climate Change” it will only increase. When men do not give God honor for creation nor see these phenoma as a pronouncement of judgment, He will continue to weigh those people and allow that nation to be brought to its knees. God says that every knee will bow.

History shows that when a country removes God from its daily life other than to think of Him as a curse word or as a servant only to be beckoned when something is needed, that country fails. God will use the same hands that produced the many years of safety and blessings to also deliver the wrath of His judgment on the people of that nation.

It is time for Americans to be less proud and more humble. God is the only strength and refuge in times of trouble and fear. He is our buckler and our sword. God can bless America again if only we turn to Him and seek his forgiveness and face.