Choked with Emotion

I found out Monday evening that a long time friend, mentor, and Pastor died. It’s still hard for me to believe but I just saw the obituary. I first met him as a missionary bund for Russia. He had been a missionary to South Korea, starting several churches there. His wife Joy and children Ahna, Seth, Rebecca, and Benjamin were making the deputation tour with him. He was short in stature, but larger than life in his passion to serve the Lord. His love of his family and fellow man was dwarfed only by his love of God and his passion to share the Gospel story.

I’ve seen many other posts from people that Pastor Norman Johnston has impacted. Teaching, preaching, and starting churches he shared his life and knowledge with the unsaved and those seeking to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.

I have many memories of this wonderful man I call my friend, but nearly everyone that he met called him a friend. His preaching and teaching often meandered down a rabbit trail with facts that only made the illustration he was making more interesting. Any and all age groups responded to this man’s compassion. Pastor J. had an infectious smile that welcomed from the first meeting.

It was under his stewardship that my wife Cindy, my children Amanda, Andrew, and Anna made out trips out west, visiting places that are blessed memories. Two of my children and I accompanied him as we drove to the northern tip of New Foundland and took a ship farther north to Nain in Labrador, just because one young man expressed a desire to be a missionary there.

My son, with several others shared the trip to South Korea as Pastor Johnson returned to celebrate an anniversary of a church he founded there. Lives of people he met in Russia have improved because of his sharing the Bread of Life and several potatoes he brought from America.

Every person that Pastor Norm met has story after story of how he impacted our lives. Volumes of tales could be written about him and my words do little justice. We will sorely miss him, but I know there is rejoicing in Heaven.

Wet Behind the Ears

Saturday evening I was invited to attend a baseball game with 2 of my friends. The San Francisco Giants were in town to play the Pittsburgh Pirates at PNC Park. My friends also go to the same church that I do and we enjoy baseball. We were to leave my house at 4 pm, for the beginning of the game at 7 pm, but one of the ladies got stuck in traffic and we departed my house about 15 minutes late. Myself and the other lady are “always early” people while the person who was “late” is a “just right on time” person.

The rain event started shortly after our departure. The clouds burst and the downpour began as re reached Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. Huge raindrops started to pound the car and were soon were accompanied by the pings of the hail. The deluge intensified until we could see little else. It slowed as we neared the entrance to the turnpike in New Stanton. Rain showers plagued us off and on until we fund our parking spot in a garage. We were blessed to find the rain halted as we made our way to the stadium, crossing the Clemente Bridge. The gates to the park were open and we were able to make a timely entrance.

The usher was there to wipe away the water from our seats in section 127 just behind third base and the Pirates dugout. Pittsburgh is the only team with their dugout on the third base side because of the wonderful view of the city.We were prepared for the showers to continue and pulled out our ponchos and quickly donned them as a curtain of rain swept across the tarp covered playing field, rain delay. Showers and periods of heavier bands of rain kept coming. Water leaked beneath our ponchos and we still felt the effects of the storm. Elbows and legs felt the trickles of water that managed to creep through our plastic coverings. We were wet almost everywhere but, behind our ears. The game began late and by the time I got to bed, it was 2 am. I woke at 6:55 am, a bit early, but began to get ready for the day.

Jeepers Peepers

As I sat at my desk last night trying to concentrate on a subject to write about for my posts, a gentle breeze slid though my partially open window. Sweet aromas from the two apple trees in the back yard stir my scent buds. I saw that their branches were heavily laden with blossoms when I went to retrieve the mail yesterday.

The curtain gently undulated, following the ebb and rush of the warm spring zephyr. Rain washed smells of recently mown grass interspaced with the blossomed scents. My attention wandered away from the ideas that I wanted to share in my BlogSpot.

It was the peepers that interfered with my thoughts. Their cacophony of cheeps as they competed for mates was distracting and disconcerting. It is an endless concert, some louder with others singing backup. These little amphibians have high pitched calls, unlike the GAR-RUMPH of the bull frogs that lived in the ditches left by strip miners behind my parent’s house. Like here, the water wasn’t exactly stagnant, but its low flow encouraged the growth of algae and an underwater, slimy moss.

At my home place, the frogs loved the still water and as kids we found mounds of their translucent, mucous-like eggs with dark embryos tucked inside, clinging to the marsh grasses. We would check on the eggs progress throughout the spring. As summer approached, pollywogs emerged. We called them tadpoles. Huge heads, propelled by a thin tail almost twice the length of their heads, wiggled to push them through the water as they tried to escape our grasp. After their capture, we’d imprison them in an old jelly jar, keep them for a short while, before returning them to the waters of their birth. It was fun for us, but I’m not sure about the tadpoles.

Later, small legs would appear. The heads seemed to shrink to become part of the body. Soon, miniature replicas of their parents would emerge. They were more elusive and harder to catch, but my brother and I still tried to catch them too. Each year, the cycle would repeat itself. We were witness to the miracle of birth.

Mow Mow Mow That Yard

Monday I woke with a headache, the queasies, and slightly off balance. I wasn’t actually dizzy, but had to be careful when I got up or walked. My headache was left over from Sunday evening. I occasionally get a bout of disequilibrium, but I think this was head and sinus congestion. I thought that it was over and decided to do a load of laundry and to mow my yard. By the time I was finished, I was feeling nauseated again by the time I finished my yard, but hung in until I did my neighbor’s yard. One of my co-workers asked why I didn’t have the neighbor boy mow my lawn. I told him, my neighbor was over eighty with 2 hearing aids and hip replacement surgery.

I made a bread pudding for tomorrow lunch and accidentally doubled the sugar for the recipe. Other than allowing it to bake for another 5 minutes to set fully, the taste was spot on even though it was certainly sweet.

Other mowing stories from the past came to mind. When my wife Cindy was alive, I only had a walk behind mower. It was hot outside, and I developed a major cramp in the calf of my leg. I dropped to the ground and tried to stretch it out. When I couldn’t, I crawled back inside and relaxed until it went away. I can’t remember whether I finished the lawn or not.

Another mower story is about my dad, Carl Beck. For some reason, he only bought lawn mowers that were painted red. When we asked him about it, he said, “Red makes them run like a son-of-a-gun.” Enough said.

The first new riding mower that I bought has an amusing story to it. My son Andrew had some friends who had 4 wheelers. He pestered me about getting an ATV for him. There were other things for which the money was needed. I thought I’d tease him when I bought the riding lawn mower. I just didn’t have time to mow with a walk behind. While he was at school, the mower was delivered. I hid it behind the house. When he came home, I said we bought a 2 wheeler and after going over the safety rules for driving it, I tossed him the keys and told him where it was. He rushed out. When he saw it, he uttered not a word, but turned the key and sped off. Love that kid.

Displays

I’ve been involved with the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society in Stahlstown, Pennsylvania. For almost 2 months, I’ve been sorting, storing, and straightening files, ledgers, and artifacts. I just finished redoing the photographs and information on local churches, cemeteries, and towns. They are now in alphabetical order and should be easier to find. Several drawers were packed so tightly, it was difficult to actually search through the stored documents to find anything specific. The contents of the drawers are now separated and divided into smaller categories of businesses, mines, railroads, iron furnaces and people for the different locales. There are still tasks ahead and can hardly wait to search through more items.

This past Saturday a young man was in the process of buying a house in a nearby community. He was seeking any information or photographs of the house or the surrounding area. Since I’d just recently gone through the archived documents, I was able to pull several folders with information and photos of that town for him to review. As we talked, he said that he collected some military memorabilia and lingered to look at the photographs hanging on the walls and examine the displays in our cases. He was impressed enough that he decided to join our organization.

We have just finished a display of Mill Run, Pennsylvania, including some old postcards of the metal bridge and reservoir, Camp Christian (formerly Killarney Park), articles of the area, and a collage of Frank Lloyd Wright’s creation, Fallingwater. Fallingwater was the home he created for the Edgar J. Kaufmann family. The house is cantilevered over the hillside and stream below.

Another lady and I are making plans to eventually change the other displays in the cases. We want to continue to honor our military by revamping the 2 display cases already in use and rearranging the photographs. We want to exhibit the schools of the area, including many that are no longer there. We are hoping to do a display of souvenir plates and Bibles over the years. It all takes time and a bit of effort, but we certainly plan to make the Historical Society a place to visit and keep interest of the past alive.

Doing the Hustle

The hustle still continues…no, not the dance. I’m not a dancer, but I still am having a hectic pace. I was so much into the things I needed to do, I forgot to go to the monthly luncheon with the Grand Dames of Frick Retirees. This past Wednesday, I was concentrating on the work that was ahead of me, finishing the sorting and filing of the stacks of papers in the massive filing cabinet, I forgot to drive to the luncheon with the retired nurses from Frick. I think I need a secretary or at least a better filing system for my brain.

The good news is that I managed to finish the filing cabinet drawers. There were only 3 drawers that were packed tightly with photos, papers, maps, and other paper memorabilia. Others had ledgers, log books, Bibles, framed photographs, and some things someone didn’t know what to do with and hid them in a file drawer. I feel good that it’s all behind me. There are smaller bins to sort yet.

Yesterday, a good friend and fellow writer needed a ride to have and endoscopy done. It is the least I could do for a dear friend and a person who is a help when it comes to getting my books ready for publication. I think because she has some physical limitations, it has caused her mental abilities on the computer to expand. She enjoys research and her fingers dance over the keyboard following trails.

I woke about 6:30 a.m. which is my usual time, made my usual tour of the bathroom, kitchen for breakfast, and my computer before picking her up at 9:30. She had to have blood work before her 10:30 appointment for the upper gastrointestinal endoscope. While waiting, I ate lunch at the hospital’s cafeteria. I am not sure who chose black uniforms for the personnel, but it was just shy of depressing to see food handlers in black.

After her scope and recovery time, I drove her to her home. She wanted to attend the writers meeting later that evening, so I stayed, chatted, and tortured her cat Harley. The meeting started at 5:30 p.m. and we decided to eat before we went. After the meeting, I needed groceries. Shortening a longer story, I finally made it home at 8:30 as twilight wrapped the day in a dark blanket.

 

When Cents Made Sense

There was a time when every town had at least one 5 and 10 cent store, most were items made in the United States: G. C. Murphy, J. G. McCrory, and Woolworth are to name a few. The ones that I remember more vividly from my childhood are the Murphy’s and McCrory’s located in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. The stores sat just across the street from each other. Their large display windows could almost mirror each other’s displays. Both had an upstairs and downstairs section to their stores.

Upon entering J. G. Murphy store there were steps that led downstairs to another wide expanse of merchandise that spanned the entire floor. In the back of the basement were stairs that led up and into the alley. Located at the bottom of the stairs was a coin operated riding horse and the restrooms. Outside of the ladies restroom was a niche with several green leather sofas.

The restrooms back then were pay toilets with a slot to insert a dime to open the stall door. I wonder how many women crawled under the privacy panels or sent a kid inside to open the door. Some women carried a dime in their shoe, just in case. Upstairs in Murphy’s was a candy counter and a hot nut display, cashews and Spanish peanuts, the sweets and nuts were weighed out and sealed in paper bags. Clothing, shoes, hats, and socks filled the counters. Downstairs were drapes, bedding, and toys.

J. G. McCrory store had one floor with the basement for storage and stock. At the front, you entered on the street level and their merchandise was on display. Because they only had one floor, their selection of items was smaller, but they did have a cafeteria with a long counter and swivel stools. I can’t remember eating there, but the food always smelled good.

McCrory’s was where I had my incident with the electronic bird, smothering its song with another bag of birdseed. It was after Christmas and the electronic bird bal wore itself long before the Christmas tree was tucked away. As my wife Cindy and I mounted the stairs, we were greeted by the bird’s chirping. I knew Cindy would be shopping for awhile and thought I can’t stand it much longer. Stealthily I made my way back to the display, quickly glanced around, and placed a bag of seed over the offending silver ball. Immediately the CHEEP, CHEEP went to cheep, cheep and I walked away.