Weekness How Time Flies

 Weekness How Time Hurries By

It amazes me how quickly time flies. The intern college student has almost finished his nine week intern program at our church. Nearly every summer our Pastor accepts the responsibility of taking a student from a Bible College and to mentor as they begin learning the skills necessary to be the pastor of a church. The amount of work that the pastor must handle increases with the size of the congregation and how active the church is serving in the community. The interaction with those in the surrounding area and the outreach of the church helps to determine the workload for the pastor. He needed to understand the skill of coordination.

The number of sermons the minister has to prepare for the number of services takes quite a bit of time. Our church has services Sunday morning and evening and also on Wednesday evening, so our Pastor needs the time to prepare three messages. If the pastor teaches a Sunday school class, that is another area of preparation. This work doesn’t include the time necessary to create a program for Vacation Bible School, holiday presentations, and weddings or funerals that may unexpectedly turn up.

Our student intern, Mr. Wishert was able to preach, sing, and teach to different age groups. He was able to get the feel of the workload that is necessary to become a minister and the burden of sharing the Word of God.

It is truly amazing how speedily the nine weeks have passed. He has finished his assignment here and will be returning to classes in the state of Indiana to finish his senior year. It has been a pleasure to work with him for the Vacation Bible School props and decorations. Although my singing voice competes with a crow, I enjoy singing in our choir. Mr. Wishert’s voice and skill added much to the quality of our special numbers.

When he first arrived, it was a pleasure to have him join me for lunch at a nearby restaurant: a sort of a welcoming meal. This past Saturday was his last day here with us. He seems to be a dedicated young man and pray that he will be able to finish the classes for his senior year with vigor and ease. He was sharing the classes he will be facing during the coming terms. They aren’t easy by any means and he will need God guidance to help him accomplish his goals.

Not Saying No

 Not Saying No

When our kids asked for us to buy them something and my wife and I thought it was unnecessary or too expensive, we wouldn’t say no. We would offer them another option. If it was something that they really wanted we would give them a “down payment” and a chance to earn the rest of the money. They could do chores above and beyond their normal chores. The extra chores could be in the house, basement, or yard, depending what needed done at the time. (If a request was inappropriate, we would say no.)
One example was the time my son wanted a pair of “Reebok Air” basketball shoes. It was the fad and several kids either had a pair or said that they were getting a pair. He wanted the Reebok Airs too. Those shoes were the in thing and had an air bladder that could be pumped up to fit the feet snugly and were supposed to be more comfortable than other shoes.
At that time, a good pair of tennis shoes cost about twenty-five dollars and the Reeboks cost one hundred and twenty-five dollars. (My purse strings puckered at that thought.)
Andrew came to me saying, “Dad my old shoes are about worn out. They’re getting tight. I need a new pair of shoes.”
I looked and his shoes were worn and looked tight. “We’ll go to town on Saturday and get a new pair for you.”
“Dad?” he asked quietly. “Can I have a pair of the Reebok pumps?”
He brought the advertisement over to me. When I saw the price, I didn’t say no, but said, “A good pair of tennis shoes cost twenty-five dollars. I will give you two options. I will buy the regular shoes or I can give you the twenty-five dollars toward the Reeboks. If you do extra chores for me or your mom, you can earn the rest of the money for the shoes you want.”

“Okay Dad. Do you have any chores for me now?”

“Not now, but your mom and I will make a list.”

He was eager and worked diligently. Most chores earned a dollar to three dollars depending on how long and how hard he worked.

After about a week and a half, he came to me and said, “Okay Dad. Let’s go and buy the tennis shoes you offered to buy for me.”

I think there were three things that changed his mind. Earning the money was slower and harder than he thought, the second was his shoes did look shabby, and thirdly and probably the most influential factor was his shoes were getting more and more tight as his feet grew.

We climbed into the car and went shopping for shoes.

A Dark Time

 A Dark Time

    I began the task of sorting and tossing accumulated and collected items from my office/ computer room. As usual I don't get too far because I have to read some of my writings before I can toss anything. I am leery off throwing away an unfinished manuscript or an undeveloped idea. It's hard to think of new things to share. It upsets me when a thought briefly appears then evaporates before I can capture it on paper. That is why a thought written down on paper is often precious.

    One problem with reading is while reading the words of years past, the emotions can escape and  can pummel me. Those emotions that reemerge as I read past expressions.

    "The only light comes from flickering memories that loneliness allows to slip through chunks from my past to tease and tittiilate. The darkness is so much worse as those sparks fade to return like a punch in the gut. A cruel, savage blow meant to dishearten and to rob all joy and thankfulness."

    I stopped for now, but there's always tomorrow AND if not, it will bee left for my kids to do.

A Close Shave

 A Close Shave

Shaving! What a chore; day after day, week after week, year after year. It has been the bane of my life until I retired. After I retired, I could choose when I wanted to shave or if I decided not to shave. I’ve grown a beard and I’ve shaved it off.

I can’t remember shaving much in high school or the year after graduation when I worked at Walworth Valve Company in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania, but it became a daily chore in boot camp at the Naval Training Center at Great Lakes. As I progressed in rank, I was able to grow a full red beard while stationed in Keflavik, Iceland.

Back home, my Mother Sybil Miner Beck didn’t say much until about one month passed and she told me that my beard made her feel old. Sometime later I shaved it off. It took her nearly two weeks to notice that it was gone then we had to convince her that I had indeed shaved and that my beard had been missing for two weeks ago. When I was bare faced with slightly longer hair, my kids saw a photo and though I looked like Stephen Hyde from “The 70’s Show.”

After I married to Cindy Morrison Beck and as we raised our family, my face underwent a wide variety of phases; a mustache only, a Van Dyke style beard with mustache, and even a full beard with mustache. It was never as full as the trappers and sawyers from the television series.

One day as I transitioned from one style to another and was allowing my facial hair to reemerge, Cindy asked me why I didn’t keep my face shaved and smooth. I explained that when she shaved her legs and underarms etc. she shaved them all at once then had several weeks to a month before she had to shave again. I told her to divide the areas that she shaves into daily parcels to clear away her hair; a lower leg one day, the other lower leg the next, a thigh one day and the other the next, shaving the underarms for another day, but because it was such a small area, she could do both on the same day. She must have understood, because she never asked again.

Slowly my full red beard evolved into a Col. Sanders white beard, but not without a fight. The hairs at the corner of my mouth turned white while the rest stayed red. I looked like a cartoon fox. For several months I dyed the white red to match, but finally gave up.

I’ve shared the wearing of Col. Sanders’ attire when I visited PNC Park. I was featured on the Jumbo-tron and Root Sports, as well as posing for photos with other baseball fans.

Light in the Darkness

 Light in the Darkness

The world around us is becoming more confused and dangerous. In many cities a person takes his life into his own hands if he ventures out on the street, drives on a roadway, rides a subway, or goes shopping. Even when a person stays at home he isn’t safe from invasion and assault. The world is becoming increasingly corrupt. It’s becoming a place where good is branded as evil and evil is accepted as something good. The morals upon which our country was founded are being shifted and fading. Laws that once protected citizens and their rights are consistently being made weak or totally disregarded. Lawyers and judges are twisting our laws until the rules that once guarded the innocent citizen now offer more protection for the criminal than to the victim. The truths of the Bible upon which our justice system was based and our very Constitution was established are openly being disregarded as wickedness and is brazenly being accepted as truth.

Some men hide in the darkness hoping their sins won’t be found out, that their evil deeds won’t be exposed, and they will escape punishment for their criminal acts. They will be judged; if not here on earth, then at the Great White Judgment Throne. Although man tries to legislate morality, the sinful human nature will do everything it can to avoid the wages of their criminal deeds. They will use every trick and every subtle means to escape the responsibility of their acts. Civilization seems to be crumbling all around us. Anarchy and self aggrandizement seems to be flourishing, but one thing remains constant; it’s a light that shines brighter as darkness grows stronger.

The Bible says that the evil will only get worse, but do not be discouraged or lose hope. For those who believe in Christ, hope shines brightly. Our joy and peace cannot be dimmed by a world in which Satan seems to gain more power. Our hope is in God the Father through His Son Jesus Christ and He is the constant that guides us as we walk in the darkness. Our victory over Satan has been prophesied and sure. So no matter how dark and cruel this world becomes believers have the surety of the God’s redemptive promise. We understand that darkness is the absence of light. Jesus is the light of the world and as long as we allow that lamp to shine through us, we can be the reason for others to have hope. Keep your wick trimmed, your reservoir of oil filled, do not hide that light under a basket. Continue to share God’s love and His gift of salvation in a dark world.

Experience

Experience

After graduation from Connellsville Area High School, Connellsville, Pennsylvania, I was hired to work at Walworth Valve Company in South Greensburg. Walworth produced valves of different types and sizes. The parts were cast in its foundry, machined, assembled, and tested before the product was sent off to the customer. The valves were made of brass, steel, or stainless steel and came in sizes from two and a half inch to thirty-six inch, having ball or wedge closures.

My initial job was as a “hand trucker” hauling supplies or parts from one area of the plant to another. The hand truck was like a super, heavy duty toy wagon, its bed was of thick wood construction and the tongue was solid steel tee shape. When a position in the tool room opened up, I bid in and got that job. In the tool room, I was required to read blueprints, gather the tools needed for the machine operators, grind carbon tipped blanks to the exact angle, and to sharpen drills.

I was there for nearly nine months before I went off to boot camp in the United States Navy. I had the normal fears of starting something new that was unknown and bothersome. The first fear was just going in when I would be at a strange place at the Naval Station Great Lakes, Illinois in winter and even more distressing I would be there over the Christmas holiday. The second fear was that I had enlisted to be a corpsman in the middle of the Vietnam War. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but then again, I didn’t want to be killed myself.

I was shocked by the rapidity the military removed as much individuality as quickly as possible to form a unit that worked as one. All civilian possessions other than eyewear was packaged up and sent back home. Hair was clipped off, new clothing was issued for us to wear from the skin out.

To be honest I was feeling out of place. It was hard to get a grip on my new reality when it had changed so drastically. Then something good happened. The Navy removed all connections with home until a serendipitous, completely coincidental meeting. I was in line at the chow hall when I was greeted by a familiar face. It took me a few seconds to register who it was. His red hair had been reduced the stubble the length of plush on a stuffed animal like mine. It was Dave Baxter. He graduated high school with me. That chance meeting was the only time I saw him, but that incident did lift my spirits and began to feel more comfortable with boot camp

School Days

 School Days

            Several years ago I shared on Face Book an old black and white photograph of the fire that burned the old Poplar Run School. A huge column of black smoke rose as the tar paper roof melted in flames. The building was located between Normalville and Indian Head, Pennsylvania where the Poplar Run Road intersects with Route 711. The school was located just below my parent’s place, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck.

            This one room, white-washed clapboard building had a hand hewn sandstone block foundation. Eight steps of the same stone were inserted into the earthen bank to create easy access down to the hollow of land where the school was nestled. There was just enough room for the teacher to park her car on the berm and still allow the flow of traffic on Route 711. Every weekday Miss Ora Woomer would descend those stairs to open the school.

On cold days she would start the fire in the pot bellied stove and on warn days, she would raise the windows to allow the air to circulate and cool the uninsulated building. Ora was a roly-poly, short woman with close cropped gray hair. She wore glasses but only when she was in the classroom. The heels of her black lace up shoes would tap loudly as she crossed the wooden floor.

            To one side of the school was the coal and kindling shed. It was the responsibility of the older boys to keep the coal scuttle filled and to see that there was kindling inside to start the fire for the next morning. At the rear of the building were the two adjoining privies, that were little more than latrines; one side for the girls and one for the boys. Peeping was discouraged, but it didn’t always deter the more curious children.

            Recess was always a much anticipated event where boys would often disappear into the woods that surrounded the school. It was mostly a game of cowboys and Indians. Occasionally, someone would get tied to a tree. They were unable to respond to the bell announcing that recess was over. When Ora discovered that a child was missing, she would send out a search party extending recess for nearly another hour until the “lost” child could be found.

            All of these stories were shared with me by the neighbor boys. If the Poplar Run School would have stayed open for one more year, I would have joined those who could claim that they attended a one room school house. I was taught by Miss Ora Woomer later as a teacher in third grade at the newly built Springfield Elementary School.

Keeping Promises

 Keeping Promises

I mentioned several things on my Facebook posts that needed follow up to tell the full story. I looked back through my previous Blogs and wasn’t able to find them. I have so many stored from the past. They’re listed under titles and sometimes I can’t find what I want. My titles are often obscure and don’t share the facts that are buried in the text.

There are two stories I wanted to share. The first was in response to a cartoon about a person that was too hot under a blanket, too cold without being covered, but with the body covered and one leg protruding it was “just right.” My wife Cindy Morrison Beck had the same attitude. She called her leg “her thermostat.” Most of the time, I had no problem, but in the middle of the winter, it would get icy cold. When it became too cold for her, she would draw it back under the covers and place it against my bare back. The shock can be a real eye-opener in the middle of the night. The worst part was that she would immediately stick her other “thermostat” out from under the blankets to cool. Oh how I miss that shock therapy.

The other story was a post saying, “Don’t tell me about your childhood problems, I was forced to watch Lawrence Welk as a kid.” Lawrence Welk was a staple of our house Saturday evenings. Just as sure as I knew the sun was going to come up in the morning, I was positive that my dad Carl Beck would sit in his swivel reclining rocker directly in front of our black and white television to enjoy the music then almost immediately fall asleep. I tried on many occasions to stealthily change the channel of that old television to anything that was more interesting than music of an accordion or “The Shrimp Boats are Coming.”

As soon as I would stealthily click the knob, my dad would sit upright and snort, “I’m watching that.” My hopes dashed, I’d return the channel back and we’d continue to watch Lawrence Welk. One time, I thought I’m going to prove Dad wrong and I slowly eased his swivel rocker to face away from the T. V. Great planning, then click…the chair bolted upright with Dad sputtering, “I was watch…” His voice faded to nothing when he saw that he wasn’t facing the set. He returned the chair to face the television and we watched Lawrence Welk. Needless to say, Dad wasn’t pleased and tried to kick my butt as I walked past. He missed and nearly fell out of his chair. Although I still don’t like to hear the bubbly music, Lawrence Welk continues to have a special memory for me.

Peculiarities

 Peculiarities

All of us have peculiarities in our personalities. It’s what creates our character, traits, and individualities. It’s the reason we are who we are. Just like our DNA determines our physical appearance, our oddities are what make us distinct and separates us one from another.

The peculiar person I am writing about today is my wife Cindy Morrison Beck’s grandmother Pearl Elizabeth Morrison. By the time I was introduced to Pearl’s husband, Benjamin Vincent Morrison was deceased and she was renting an old converted, clapboard-sided school on the Bear Run Conservancy in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. Her closest neighbor was Falling Water, the famous Kaufman home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

Pearl was a solidly built woman who had a tenacious mind and just as tenacious hold on life. She held her own views on life, even telling Cindy that I should “keep my shoes under my own table.” Pearl kept her home just so, hating to see anything out of place and if it didn’t fit what her imagination saw, she would cut, reshape, or repaint it to fit her liking. The value of things in her small home was sometimes reduced or destroyed by her alterations. She sawed the middle portion of an antique hutch and fastened it to its base before shellacking the entire thing in oak varnish. She cut flannel sheets in half to fit the cot where she slept at the side of her dining room while her bedrooms remained pristine.

 Another example of her tenacity was holding onto an idea that she hadn’t fully worked out of her system with her kid’s birth. She named one of her girls Elma Jean, but she wasn’t quite through with that combination because she named my father-in-law Elmer Eugene Morrison. He hated that name and chose to go by his nickname Bud. I can see why. Who’d want to carry a name so similar to his older sister? That’s almost as bad as a boy named Sue.

Pearl had a stroke which limited her mobility. When Cindy and I visited her in the hospital, she was proud to show us how the stroke had limited the ability to raise her right arm. I said to her, “I’m going to go to get the nurses.” When she asked why, I said, “I want to see if they can find a paint brush. I’ll bet you could lift it higher with a paint brush in it.” She knew that I had branded her with her tendency to paint things and she quickly caught the meaning. We had a good laugh.

Peculiarities? We all have them. Take a look at your own and have a good laugh.

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