Picture This: Easter 1950’

What do I remember of the Easter holiday as I was growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s? Bits and pieces only, if it weren’t for the photographs of me as a chubby, pigeon-toed child, I wouldn’t recall much. Those photos show different members of my family posing in front of our hoe, usually with a different car in the background. My younger sister in a new outfit, white patent leather shoes, lace ruffled socks, a frilly dress, and perhaps a hat. My brother and I would be wearing a new pair of pants, a new shirt, and if it was chilly enough a newer jacket. Dad had dark dress pants, a lighter jacket, and possibly a new tie; his new Easter item was usually parked in the driveway. Mom was a different story. She would shop for a new Easter outfit for a month or so. She always complained that “nothing fit her.” She was smaller across the top and fuller across the bottom, but eventually, she would find something, then buy shoes to match.

Easter sunrise service was a must with breakfast tucked in before regular service and Sunday school. I remember going to my grandparents Miner’s farm. The house was huge with plenty of room for cousins to run and play. I don’t remember what we had to eat, but I’m sure that we did. It was usual to gather there for the holidays for a potluck dinner, each family contributing something.

There would always be an Easter egg hunt, with hiding of real cooked and dyed eggs. This worked well until the older and taller cousins hid one on the top of a cinder block pillar of Grandma’s porch. It fell down inside where it couldn’t be reached and its sulfurous fumes made it difficult and almost impossible to use the porch swing all summer. That ended the wild abandon searches for the hidden treasures.

The Crux of Confusion

Today was supposed to be an easy day, writing a little, breakfast, then I was to attend a writers meeting. A friend who usually rides with me, called to cancel. That was okay, because I wanted to do some shopping after the meeting. As I started from home, I heard a rumble and squeaking sound from my Malibu and decided to cancel the run because nobody was depending on me. I was in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania by then and decided to make only one stop at Wal-Mart. As I entered the building, my phone rang, giving off its infamous, “Popeye the Sailorman” ring tone.

It was another writer who talked my friend who cancelled into attending. When I said that I was having car problems, she said, “Oh no, I’ll have to call her back.” I felt bad, but I don’t like to go too far from home with a possible needed car repair.

Groceries bought, I headed for home. I made one other stop. It was at a local farmer’s new enterprise. They are selling dairy products at their small store. The shop also sells antiques. The Whoa Nellie’s is located on the White Bear Rocks Road.

At home and groceries stored away, I checked the computer, remembering I hadn’t posted on my blogspot yet. Glancing on a friend’s profile, I noticed he had a friend with the same name as me, Tom Beck. I sent him a friend request. He accepted and we chatted for a few minutes on Chat heads messenger. He’s a young man from northern Illinois and a student. It’s interesting that an old geezer can make a connection with a younger person so far away; a marvel of modern electronics. He also likes to write and is an American and Western Civilization major. Perhaps he will be a published author and we can compete for readers. Ha ha.

Action Packed

Yesterday was another action packed day. I knew that it was to rain and wanted to get the mowing done early. I didn’t want to take time to fix breakfast and ate a bowl of potato salad I’d made the day before. Wrong move, the heart burn lit my pilot light all morning.

After mowing my yard, I continued to rewrite an old story, trying to make it into an actual novel instead of my usual Tommy Two Shoes books of short stories. After several hours hunched over the keyboard, my shoulders began to ache. The effort of driving the mower over my one acre plot and rewriting the plot of my book, I decided a hot shower before my doctor’s appointment was in order.

At the doctor’s office, the P.A. removed the last stitch from my carpal tunnel surgery, peeled off the scab, and advised using a moist dressing to allow healing from the inside out.

I purposely put aside lunch until now. I needed to spend the time between the doctor’s appointment and a lecture I planned to attend. The lecture was from a man who served as part of the flight crew on several of the presidential jets.

John Haigh is a local man who grew up near Masontown. His escape from the coal towns of western Pennsylvania to serve on Air Force 1 and 2 and his ability to help care for multiple Presidents and their First Ladies was very interesting. He shared the personal stories and words of these influential passengers as they flew many places of the world and in the United States. His slide show photos added much to his presentation.

I would like to thank the Mt. Pleasant Library for inviting the community to hear Mr. Haigh to speak. Thank you to the Mt. Pleasant Fire Department for opening the community room for the event.

The Busier I Get 

 Last week was a busy week and I can foresee another one this week. The busy part managed to stay away until Wednesday. I was reviewing and rewriting a story I’d written many years age. I was trying to resurrect it from the dust bins of my mind.

As I sat at my computer reading and making changes on the script, I suddenly remembered I had a luncheon appointment with other retired nurses from Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. It was 1010 am and it took almost thirty minutes to drive to the restaurant. Lunch was at eleven. After a quick shower, I made it with minutes to spare. I affectionately call them “The Grand Dames of Frick.”

Thursday, I had a writers meeting in Mt. Pleasant Library and of course the usual meal afterwards. We had the weather change, dropping the temperature and about three inches of show. I did a late cleaning of the walks and drive because a diehard Pirate fan conned me into going to the Pirate opening day. Bundled and layered I went to the frigid opener, fortunately, our seats were out of the wind tunnel and tolerable.

Saturday, I met with fellow writers to place our books in “The Twisted Vine” as another outlet for our books. It is a store just outside of Ligonier, Pennsylvania offering a wide variety of things from jewelry to antiques. Once we placed our writings to sale, we went to lunch.

Sunday, I attended church and Sunday school, before eating half of a leftover hoagie, then driving to another writers meeting in Greensburg, Pennsylvania to review a story I am submitting for the new Phantom Detective series. Once that was accomplished, I headed home to eat a bite before goin to Sunday evening church service. Finally, I was able to stay at home and spend a restless night sleeping.

Bowling Lanes

In Connellsville, Pennsylvania, across from the Troutman building, there used to be a hotel called the St. James. I would have never known it was there, but several people would bowl there as a group. When I thought of a hotel, I always thought of a place to use while on vacation or to sleep, but a bowling alley?

I think the most unusual thing about the alley was its location. The lanes were on the second floor. Its position in the building truly fascinated me. Who would have thought bowling alleys on the second floor? It was rare for me to bowl. Money was tight and my brother and sister were too young to go bowling as a family, but my parents allowed mo to occasionally tag along with the church friends.

The bowling lanes were old ones without the pin setting machines. It was necessary for pin boys to gather and reset the pins at the end of the lanes. They would also retrieve your ball and place it in the return trough. The ball would rumble back to you.

I can’t remember which nights of the week we would bowl, but there was a man there who scared the pin boys and sent them scurrying. He had huge muscles in his arms. When he would bowl, he would hurl the ball down the lanes. The ball was air born until halfway down the lane. It would hit with a crash and begin to spin on the polished boards. The torque was tremendous. As it hit the pins, they would scatter in all direction. It was a dangerous situation for the pin boys. They would scatter as well, heading to opposite sides of the room to escape possible injury.

It was almost like a dance with the pin setters waltzing out of the way at the crescendo of the thunderous music. I was amazed at the power of the young bowler and the finesse of the young pin setters at the opposite end of the lane.

Jericho’s Bible Story

Trapped in a computer disc was a story I’d written long ago. It has lingered there for at least ten years. Because of the advancement of computers, it remained hidden until recently. Tom my computer repairman gave me an app that has allowed me access to the words I wrote so long ago. It’s called Libra Office. I was able to read the story again. After several tries, I was able to transcribe the tale from the disc to Office Word. Like I have said in the past, I am computer dyslexic.

I am polishing and reshaping the words with the experience and knowledge I’ve gained from the editing and publishing of my books and from the writers I have met at the meetings I attend. It has been an invaluable asset as I rewrite the fictional love story of Rahab and of the two spies she helped escape Jericho.

I have taken some license by connecting Salmon, the man who eventually married Rahab and the spies that she harbored and rescued. First Rahab was not Hebrew. Secondly, she was a woman with a soiled reputation and not the first choice for many men as a bride. Finally, I made the connection, who would be the most likely male to choose her to be his wife.

One of the two men she saved would be indebted to her would be the most likely candidate. There is no mention of the names of the spies sent into Jericho by Joshua, so one of them might have been Salmon who takes Rahab as a wife. It is my imagination and reading between the lines, but it does give reason for them becoming wed.

I’m not writing this to be the truth or Gospel, only offering it as an explanation of how this woman was in the blood line of David and then into the ancestry of Jesus Christ.

The Inevitable Death and Taxes

Death is the final chapter in each person’s life, It is the one thing that is certain .Only Enoch and Elijah avoided death and were taken up into heaven. So, why am I writing about that? It’s not a subject that people like to contemplate, nor are taxes. What has me thinking on these things?

Saturday I received in the mail, the return of my money from Uncle Sam. I found my income tax check nestled in my mailbox and caused me to rethink a recent story I have been planning to share with you all.

I keep most of my bills waiting to be paid in one spot, but I always kept my local spring and fall taxes in another spot because they were to be paid much later. Well, I forgot and last year’s real estate taxes went unpaid. I recently paid them with the penalties. It wasn’t a major burden because I had money set aside for them and didn’t understand why it seemed I had a “surplus” of money in my checking account. I just thought I was being a good steward.

I told my kids that I blamed my deceased wife Cindy for not paying my taxes. She passed away fourteen years ago, but her habit of holding onto money until the last minute before paying our bills rubbed off on me. She would often wait to send the payment until the check and new bill would cross paths in the mail. I had to blame someone for forgetting I hadn’t paid my taxes. It certainly couldn’t be me.

There are those who don’t know me and will think I am completely mad for blaming her, but they don’t understand that I have a nurse’s warped sense of humor. It allows me to look at many things that should be upsetting or sad and smiling, even death and taxes.