Stars and Stripes

Monday My friend needed to first visit her orthopedist for a follow up from her knee surgery. She didn’t quite feel up to driving yet. She has been a traveling companion and close friend for many years. I agreed. She also had to visit a second physician for pain control injections later in the day. Several years ago, her car was hit when the tandem wheels flew out from a trailer truck, hitting her car and forcing it off the road. The vehicle sheared off a tree 12 inches in diameter 15 feet above the ground causing her car to roll over several times before coming to rest on its roof. Her head injury was similar to a football player being hit many times, but hers were within less than a minute. She also sustained back injuries and this is the reasons for her injections at a pain clinic.

While we transitioned between the two, we had lunch at the Olive Garden, then stopped at a few craft stores. She wanted to pick up some embroidery floss and check out picture frames for her cross stitch project. One of the stores we stopped at was Hobby Lobby. A tall metal flamingo was prominent in the front window. Its price was a bit more than I wanted to spend for my sister Kathy Basinger’s birthday. (She hates flamingoes.)

While she was searching, I wandered the store, looking for a basket to use in my bathroom. I didn’t find the right shape, size, or color, so I wandered on. I did find one of the triangle display cases for the American flag. I had the flag presented to the family at my father, Edson Carl Beck’s funeral. It was stored away to protect it. The case was half off and I bought it. The flag is now on display in my living room.

My father served in WWII. His station was in the South Pacific, stationed in the Philippines and in another jungle island. Just before his death, he wrote a very short autobiography telling us that he actually visited Hiroshima. It would have to have been after the bombing. He was a poor farmer’s kid and could never have visited it before the war.

I now have the flag in a place of honor in my home. I am a Navy veteran from the Vietnam War era and it angers me to see our flag desecrated and dishonored. If these people don’t like our flag, our culture, our country, ten leave. Don’t be miserable here nor make it miserable for those who do enjoy the freedom and rights that our military have fought and died to preserve.

Incontinence

When people use the word incontinent or incontinence, they most often describe the physical body functions when a person loses control with their bladder or with their bowels. It may come with illness, accident, or even with old age, but is considered a human trait. It is rare that we would use this term when we speak of an animal. It is a natural act. They can be trained to wait or to use certain areas. Without human intervention, they will do what they deem fit.

The word actually means to lose self control, to act upon lusts without responsibility. Thoughts of assault, murder, robbery, rape, coveting a neighbors belongings or wife all are ideations, but when the person loses self-control and acts upon those thoughts, he is incontinent. When a person becomes intemperate, loses understanding of absolute truths that are laid out in Scripture, he or she trespasses and becomes incontinent.

It doesn’t take much for man’s brain to rationalize his immoral thoughts and his transgressions into another person’s freedoms and life, then to act upon them. The words of Solomon in Proverbs say, “Every way of a man is right in his own eyes…”

Men need nothing to feel right in their own hearts, yet they reach out for things that lower that threshold. Alcohol and drugs are but two of these. How many altercations, murders, and robberies were thoughts fueled into action because of these mind altering substances? How many crimes are committed while the perpetrators were under the influence? How many criminal activities are carried out because of the induced slavery of drugs or alcohol? Statistics point to rising numbers of automobile accidents due to intoxication.

Self control is the basic building block of government. Without self control, how can a person direct his family, his church, his community, and state and federal government? The lack of self control shows in the speeches and laws of our politicians. Incontinence shows in the number of single parent families. Self control has caused people to legalize abortion rather than to accept responsibility for their continued incontinence.

It’s time to for us get back to the basics. If we demand our rights, we also need to accept the responsibilities of controlling ourselves.

Rant Day Hold onto Your Drawers

I don’t often get upset and have a rant day, but I recently received a letter from the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation saying I if I wanted the Real ID that I needed a valid driver’s license, a birth certificate WITH a pressed seal, a valid passport to receive a license that allow me to board domestic commercial flights, certain federal facilities after October 21, 2020.

I have been an American citizen for nearly 70 years, a retired Naval Corpsman and Veteran of the Vietnam War era, and have paid taxes for over 42 years, yet I would have to prove who I am. But these idiots who are in power at the state level and in Washington D.C. want to give valid driver’s licenses to every illegal invader that violates the border and the laws of the United States of America.

That is a major insult and slap in the face. The politicians are unwilling and unable to control the illegal alien invaders, so they force their misconceived ideas of constraint on every law-abiding citizen of America. Their loss of common sense doesn’t make any sense.

I understand that these invaders can get a tax I.D. number to pay some taxes on the monies that they earn, then turn around and claim children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren as dependents. These “dependents” still live in Mexico and have never lived in the United States. Because of the “dependents” the IRS will give them more in tax rebates than the amount the Illegal has paid. Can you guess from whose pocket that money comes?

How much money is being siphoned from the American economy by tactics like these? How long will the American taxpayers be forced to pay for these ill-conceived ideas? How long will our elected officials turn a blind eye to these enticement that lure more and more aliens to ignore our laws to cross our borders?

Whether you believe in the wall or not, something must be done. For decades politicians have debated what needs done without any more action that to accept illegal aliens that are already here. When are they going to do more than talk? When can we see action? When can the average citizen believe that these officials have the welfare of REAL AMERICAN CITIZENS at heart?

Gone

I saw a post showing an aisle in a variety store with boxes stacked upon boxes of plastic model boats, planes, and cars. In most stores today, we are lucky to see one small shelf in the huge toy section that has a smattering of these onetime glorious representations of the real things. Gone are the enamel paints and the plastic glue that gave a person a buzz if inhaled for a long period of time. The selection that remains is so limited, it barely stirs the imagination of the boy or girl to spend the money for the model.

At one time there was a penny candy counter at the front of almost every country Mom and Pop store. Its wide glass-faced case was often smeared by the noses of children peering inside, trying to decide what to buy with their penny or nickel. The storekeeper would reach into the cavern below and withdraw a small, brown paper sack. A practiced flick of the wrist and it opened, waiting to be filled with the child’s choices. Peppermint sticks, licorice whips, wax lips, candy cigarettes, gum balls, fire balls, chewy caramels, Black Jack, and various suckers colors enticing through clear cellophane wrappings or alluring in their brightly hued paper wrappers. A child’s decision became tantalizingly and deliciously sweet. The grocer’s hand moved to hover over the display, waiting for the child’s final decision. If the child had enough money, there were three cent chocolate bars that are now history, too. Selections made, the little bag was twisted shut and handed to the eagerly awaiting child.

Cap pistol and strips of exploding caps have been all but banned from use. Using a pointed finger pretending it’s a pistol can get a kid kicked out of school. The innocence of the buss on a cheek can land a boy or girl in trouble, if a teacher so deems it. Hot chocolate and slices of buttered toast to start the school day are long gone. Even the wonderful, flavorful school lunches have faded into nutritious nothings.

Wood shop, music, art, and home economics have been replaced by forages into climate change and social justice. The Pledge of Allegiance, Bible reading, and a time of prayer have lost their zeal and have fallen into disuse. If a man displays gentlemanly traits like opening a door for a female, often they are scourged.

Writing letters and post cards have lost their appeal, giving way to selfies, texts, and e-mails. At least greeting cards still hold some importance, although e-cards are making an inroad on that once popular method of showing that you cared.

Chilling Memories

Granddad Miner’s unpainted wood of the outhouse had a weathered exterior, but it was special with two holes. He made one larger hole for adults and a smaller one for kids. He didn’t want to lose a child into the noxious pit below.

Grandma didn’t believe in toilet paper. Old outdated catalogues filled the purpose. The whole way to the outhouse, I’d pray that there were some dull pages remained. No one wanted to the shiny ones. Those pages made sharp painful edges when crinkled for use. If they weren’t crinkled, the smooth slick surface was useless. The dull surfaced pages would soften when they were crumpled were more comfortable.

In the winter, I put off the trip to the john until my bladder bulged or I was about to lose control on my puckering string. I’d hurry across the back porch. My winter boots kept my feet safe from splinters, then I faced the danger of descending a dozen snow and ice-covered concrete stairs. Quite a few cousins chipped a tooth, cut a lip, or earned a goose egg in the rush down those stairs. There was no railing to hang onto or to steady anyone in their trip.

Bravery got me to the toilet where I’d to remove the lid for the hole. Frigid winter gales blasted through the wind tunnel I’d just created. It took real courage to unfasten my trousers, push them into a crumpled heap around my ankles, then gingerly place my bare flesh becoming a partial stopper for the arctic gusts.

The seat was frigid. I was glad that it was wood and not metal or I’d have been frozen to the seat until the spring thaw. The wind always found a way to squeeze through the hole between the cold seat and my warm flesh. It discovered new ways to slip icy fingers beneath my coat and caress my chest and back. Layers of goose bumps would appear and I’d start to shiver. I hurried to finish before my teeth began to chatter sending out distress signals in Morse code.

I leafed through the pages of the catalogue searching for a sheet of cherished dull paper. I was almost at the point of panic thinking of the torture that the shiny page would cause. Frantically… desperately, I flipped through leaves of advertisement passing over tantalizing panty and brassiere pictures would normally titillate boys to linger, were cast aside in the search for just one dull leaf of paper.

Aha, I was saved! One lone dull page remained. It was the catalogue’s index directing inquisitive minds to the locations for men’s shoes, suits, and ties. A hasty tear, the quick crush, then smoothing of the paper was the prelude to the actual cleaning.

The return of my pants to the point they could be cinched around my waist was greeted with welcome warmth. I prayed the return trip to the warmth of Grandma’s house would be uneventful as I jogged up the Everest of her back porch steps.

 

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

I can remember my mom Sybil Miner Beck singing that old song on cold mornings. With the temperature at 0 degrees Fahrenheit and a wind chill of minus 8 degrees Fahrenheit, it’s way too cold for me. In my youth school schedules were never delayed, just because it was cold. Only ice and snowy roads cancelled classes. I can remember walking to an unheated wooden bus shanty, huddling inside. At least we were out of the wind as we waited for the long yellow and black behemoth to arrive trailing a plume of steam and fumes. The brakes squealed as it stopped opening its maw. We would hurry to be swallowed by it, joining fellow students for the ride to school happy for the small but welcome warmth inside.

My mom had a quirky trait of singing a chorus of a song when it matched something one of us kids would say. The song always had some tie in with what we had just said. She only did it at home for us, so I’ve always thought that it was special for the family. If she would have tried it in public, people probably would have thought her crazy. I must have thought that it was special, because I picked up her unusual trait and will often sing a few lines from a song, but I have added telling a story or sharing a joke that mimics some word in something that was said. I did this when I supervised at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. I’m not sure if anyone thought I should be wearing a straight jacket or not, but most of the time, it did bring a smile. Hopefully, I made a fellow employee’s day go a bit better.

I decided my New Year’s resolution for several years and have been practicing. That promise is “If I am grumpy, I don’t leave home. No one wants to deal with a grumpy old man.” So far, I’ve been able to keep it. It makes people smile when I share my resolution with them. Those who enjoy it the most are the cashiers at stores where I shop. They sometimes will share a horror story of a rude or irate customer.

So, to my friends and readers, I challenge you to adopt the same New Year’s resolution.

Dog Days

Thinking back to the days of my youth and the dogs that have graced my life, I would like to share some of their names and what I can remember of them and the spots they still hold in my mind. The first dog that was introduced in my life, I can’t really remember, but because my parents told me stories of him. Although I cannot remember his name, I must include this almost mythical beast. He was a Great Dane and became my self appointed babysitter. My parent’s house was near busy highway, Rt. 711 and If I wandered too near, that dog would grab the seat of my pants and drag me back into the yard.

The next dog I’ll mention is Laddie. He was my Uncle Charles Bottomley’s dog. It was black and brown with a white patch of long hair on its chest. My uncle would talk me into holding onto the leash, then call from across the yard, “Here Laddie.” I would be jerked off my feet, but I refused to release the leash, and would be pulled along with my feet barely touching the ground while Uncle Charles laughed.

I’m sure there were other dogs, but the next I remember was Bimbo. He was my mother’s dog, a Jack Russell mix and smart as a whip. His territory in the winter was our basement. My mom, Sybil Beck would sometimes give Bimbo a bone to gnaw on. If he wasn’t chewing on it, he would bury it in the coal bin. When my parents tossed on a shovelful of coal in the furnace, I’m sure he lost several bones before he decided to rescue them before they too disappeared. Mom said, “When I entered the coal bin, Bimbo would sit there with the bone between his feet. After shoveling the coal and hanging the scoop shovel back on the peg, Bimbo would dig a new hole to hide his prize.”

I found a pup behind our home and took it to my grandparents Miner. When Gram Rebecca saw it she said “Look at those paws. It’s going to be a big dog.” She named it Laddie and decided to keep it. Laddie followed my granddad Raymond around the farm. That was a Godsend. This was the beginning of Granddad’s dementia and Laddie was his guard and guide. There were several times Granddad would wander the fields and thickets on the farm getting confused, and Laddie would always lead him home.