Go Baby Go

Even though I have been battling a summer head cold, I still had commitments. This past Wednesday I was able to work 3 out of a 4 hour shift at the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. It was necessary to put the finishing touches to the newsletter and to get it to the printer. This past Friday was one full week struggling with the cough and congestion. My neighbor’s lawn and mine were looking scraggly. I cut parts of the lawns in shifts, so I didn’t wear myself out.

Saturday morning it was my turn to be docent at the Historical Society, to man the phones and to keep the lights on should there be any visitors. It’s not a demanding job, but necessary to be open and available during the promised hours of operation. While I was there, I stored the memorial plates from local churches and schools from one display case and replaced them with a collection of vintage ladies’ hats.

Saturday evening was the launch of the Loyalhanna Review. It is a yearly event to promote their magazine of photography and literary offerings of local artists. Full color photos and writings filled the many pages.

Sunday morning was church. I wasn’t feeling well enough to sing in the choir, but managed to stay awake during the service even though I had taken some cold medicines with my usual medications before going.

I didn’t stay for Sunday school. At 1:00 p.m. was the 99th Rugg Reunion. It is a yearly event that keeps alive memories of past generations and keeps family ties going. It was a chance to be reacquainted with older cousins and to meet new generations being added. Reunions are notoriously difficult to fund. “Passing the hat” for donations was an attempt to cover costs seemed to fail miserably, we began to use a “white elephant” sale to provide money. Each year, due to the wonderful gifts donated and an occasional bidding war, the funds seem to expand. Each item is wrapped beautifully. An attached, titillating note hint of the contents and the bidding begins. Several unique and expensive items weren’t wrapped, but offered for all to see the quality. A cutting board with a 99th Rugg reunion wood design, a framed counted cross stitch, a small maple chest with the Rugg name on the side, and a flash drive with photos and the family history dating back to the 1200’s were some of the items.

Even though I was tired, I went to Sunday evening services and choir practice. I felt I needed both.

Birth

In all of my seventy years of life I cannot remember ever having witnessed an actual birth. This may sound unusual to those who know me, because I am a nurse. In training, my obstetrical rotation was limited. I am a male, tall, and burly. Other than a husband, I wasn’t the type of person that many women wanted to share that special and miraculous moment. Most of my caring was pre-delivery or post-partum. I also ran as an EMT with a local ambulance crew for several years. I was raised in the country, not on a farm. We had pets and other animals, but none were pregnant and delivered while I was around.

I wasn’t able to view the birth of my own children. With my wife Cindy, our first child, Amanda, I wasn’t allowed.  She worked days and I worked nightshift. We couldn’t attend childbirth classes. That was a must back then. The day before Amanda’s birth, we visited the doctor. Cindy came out of the office crying and depressed. “He told me it could be another two weeks.” We drove home in silence.

That evening she started with mild contractions, but with the doctor’s prediction and my work schedule, I left her in the capable hands of her father, “Bud” Morrison. No sooner had I arrived at Frick Hospital where I worked and gotten deep into the care of the clients of our 40 bed unit, when I got a call from the obstetrics unit saying Cindy was there and in labor. Every spare moment, I would leave the floor to visit. I finished my shift at 7 a.m. and continued my vigil until early evening when Amanda was born. I couldn’t be there for the birth because of those absent childbirth classes.

With our second child Andrew I was with Cindy most of the doctor’s visits and during her labor, but was chased from the room. With no childbirth classes again, I was not being able to witness his birth.

Things really got crazy with the birth of our third child, Anna. Cindy developed pre-eclampsia. A condition will usually happen with a first child, if it happens at all. For some reason, toxins and fluids accumulate causing the mother’s blood pressure to rise to dangerous levels. The treatment was bed rest. Bed rest was nearly impossible having two children under the age of five and my work schedule. But with the help of both of our mothers, we managed. It still wasn’t working. Cindy was hospitalized for more stringent bed rest and the decision was made to do a Caesarean section. I was again barred from the operating room, and not able to witness Anna’s birth.

Summertime and the Sneezin’s Easy

I was “lucky” enough to catch my first summer cold in several years. I’d nearly forgotten how annoyingly irksome the symptoms are. My first hint of the disease started on Friday with a tickle in my throat and sneezing. I shrugged it off as intensifying symptoms of my allergies. I thought allergies were inevitable because I was doing more outdoor work and mowing. Alas, that was not to be. The tickle in my throat progressed into intermittent bouts of coughing. Soon, my nose began to run and the congestion moved into my chest. What joy! The collection of mucus caused me to hack and cough to clear my throat and airway. With my nose partially blocked, I sometimes took a breath through my mouth. The open-mouthed breathing dried my airway and increased the tickle, sparking more coughing setting of fires in my chest.

I know there are multiple symptom relieving medications, but with my history of hypertension, I must use them carefully and judiciously or risk a stroke. So instead, I sneeze and wheeze like an old puffer-Billy freight train sitting at the station.

The title of today’s post is a perversion from a song in the American opera, “Porgie and Bess.”As a young kid, I watched the entire presentation on television and remembered it lovingly. The music was hauntingly captivating, especially “Summertime.” For several years I pestered my kids to get a copy for me as a birthday gift or Christmas present. Finally my wish came true and my beautiful memory dulled. I put the DVD into the player and the music swelled. It was still grand, but the theme of the opera was dark, so very dark. As a child I must have missed the story line enamored by the music and the voices of the singing. In my adult life, the music continued to flow through my brain at times, but the scenes of the opera had been lost or not recalled. My recollection was faulty and that beautiful memory has now been shattered. It does make a person wary of what they wish for.

Leftovers

I guess that I am cooking like I still had a family at home. I haven’t been able to cut down the recipes of “toss into a pot until it tastes good.” I will start out with something simple and decide it needs noodles or rice. Or I might toss in some carrots, onions, celery or potatoes as my desire to create expands. Crock pot cooking is my choice of weapon, although I can wield a frying pan with dexterity and ease.

When my family was at home, I worked 3-11 shift and my wife Cindy taught school and my kids were in school during the day. I would make my own lunch and they would be forced to eat leftovers for supper. Many times I would empty out the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator, toss in some kind of meat, even if it was lunch meat. Adding oriental seasonings and soy sauce, I’d stir fry it, then serve it over rice. I told my kids that the dish was called Daddy’s revenge. My one daughter Anna would request it on occasion while my son Andrew said, “Dad, don’t make it any more.”

Cindy’s favorite soup was potato soup. I would occasionally make some for her. I liked a smoky flavor and would toss in ham hocks, a piece of ham, or even some bacon. I decided to make it. One day after dumping the ingredients into a pot, I couldn’t find any smoked meat. I searched the freezer and refrigerator…nothing. As I mentioned before the lunch meat drawer wasn’t out of bounds for my culinary talent and did a last ditch search inside. Aha, there were 5 pieces of hard salami waiting for me to claim them. I Julienned them and added them to the already bubbling mélange. Voila…Cindy said it was the best potato soup she tasted. The spices in the salami were great flavoring.

I also like to cook things that are easy or that I can use only one pot. No one else is going to do the dishes for me. A cookie recipe I like to use when I force myself to bake yields two kinds of cookies. I mix the batter for a double batch of tollhouse cookies, but only use chocolate bits and walnuts in one half. In the other half I use butterscotch bits and pecans, two completely different flavors. If I choose not to scoop the dough to make individual cookies, I will spread the batter into baking pans to make bars.

It’s nothing that Julia Childs or Bobby Flay would be proud of, but they don’t have to eat it if they don’t want to.

 

Shortcuts or Being Shortchanged

So much has changed in my seventy years of life. Responsibility for our actions, pride in our flag and country, prayer in school, claiming the Bible’s truth as absolute, believing that the Constitution of the United States guarantees our rights: freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom to bear arms. They were immutable and that Americans had inalienable, God-given rights. All of this seems to be whittled away by politicians who only want power at the expense of “We the People.”

The founding of the United States was taught as history. The problems we had in gaining our independence from Great Britain have all but been eliminated. Americans have shortened that war for independence to the Fourth of July, often burying the importance of that struggle. We celebrate it because our ancestors gave their lives to be free.

We’ve lessened the meaning of Easter to a bunch of eggs, chocolate bunnies, and jelly beans. We’ve lost the reason that Christians celebrate the holiday. It’s because of the resurrection of Christ and his triumph over the grave.

Christmas is another holiday we celebrate to recognize the birth of the Messiah; the redeemer that Israel and the Jewish Nation had been promised. Today, Christ is being replaced with an old fat man in a red suit who judges good and bad. We’ve mutilated the day by calling it X-mas, happy holiday greetings, sparkle season, light up night, or a myriad number of meaningless replacement words. Why should Atheists be given a day off from work. They don’t believe in the virgin birth of Christ the Messiah? Shouldn’t they be required to work?

Leftist Socialistic politicians are attempting to remove the very foundation upon which our nation was founded. Their main objective is to destroy the Constitution and not teach its tenets and to alter history. Each new law or proposal is an attempt to weaken or remove rights for freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and freedom to bear arms. They also feel it necessary to destroy our God-given and inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

They twist the phrase of “all men are created equal” into a warped outcome of all men will be equal at the end of the race by taxing all into poverty. In the past Pilgrim groups tried a communal system that failed utterly. Eventually, each family was assigned a plot of land for their own consumption. They found that following II Thessalonians 3:10-12 worked much better. “For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat. For we hear that there are some which walk among you disorderly, working not at all, but are busybodies.  Now them that are such we command and exhort by our Lord Jesus Christ, that with quietness they work, and eat their own bread.” Happy Independence Day.

Catnaps and Footsteps in the Night

When my baby daughter Anna got married I became the “proud” owner of a long-haired white cat with black markings. This feline was predestined for the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” not necessarily for me. This cat was born with one side of her body (that’s steadily growing wider) an elongated letter “W.” When my daughter saw this stray, she decided to keep it, determined that the cat should have a home and a name that commenced with the letter “W.” She started to brainstorm, working her way through the normal “W” names. As she proposed the various names, nothing seemed to fit. It was then that my warped sense of humor took over and I suggested Willow. I didn’t share how I came to that name, but she liked it and the cat was dubbed Willow. Later I explained that the cat was actually Pussy Willow. Anna kind of wrinkled her nose at the thought, but the cat’s name remains Willow.

The problem with owning a long-haired cat is that she sheds. Brushing her seems to just loosen more hair. Vacuuming clumps of hair eliminates the fur balls on the carpet, but for only an hour or two. The second problem is the puked up hairballs. Moving through the house barefooted in the dark without flipping on a light can be rather treacherous. Unexpectedly a squishing sensation can cause me to go into an episode of hopping on one foot and a dash for a paper towel. A third problem is that Willow is a long-haired cat of two colors. If I wear light slacks, the black hairs show prominently, but if I wear dark slacks, I gather the white hairs. A de-linter roller has to be used each time I leave the house.

Willow is a good mouser. The only problem is she plays with the mouse without killing it. Her collar bell rings wildly as she bats and chases the “toy” from area to the next. I take her toy away by using a shoe to stun the mouse. Willow sadly looks up at me as I flush her plaything away.

Willow’s day consists of eating, using the kitty litter, and sleeping, Interspacing these activities, she comes to my feet, begging for a snack. Little does she know is that I buy a different brand of cat food and give her a few of those pellets. Wet cat food? She may eat a bite or two then refuse to eat anymore and I waste an entire can. After sleeping most of day, I often hear her racing through the house at full speed and I wake, wondering how an elephant got into my house.

Education or Indoctrination

One thing I’ve noticed as I’ve aged is there has been a massive change in America’s education system. Some of it has been for the better, but much of it is cause for concern. Reading, writing, mathematics, and the Bible were the foundation of the Colonial settlers and remained the same for many generations. The books from which the children learned were passed down almost as heirlooms of the family. The printing of new books was expensive.

Slowly paper production expanded, and the printing took less effort and cost. Newspapers and almanacs began to circulate. Even they were prized possessions to be passed along and read from cover to cover. If a newspaper was left behind by a traveler, the entire village read it before it became so worn and tattered that it was no longer practical to read.

In the past, students were taught Latin and Greek. The classic languages were important so they might be able to read from Bibles and from the many classic works of literature. But something has changed. Children today aren’t less bright than our forefathers and they have more time available to study as chores and work at home has lessened. Is it that we expect less from them? I do know that as public education has been removed from the control of local school boards, the Federal Government has imposed standards education that has changed what is being taught, no longer reflecting the community. The introduction of government approved curricula and the watering down of history, geography, art, and shop skills have created a void. There’s been a loss of understanding, a loss of morals, and a lack of respect for our country, life in general, and religion.

Tolerance can be a good thing, but when open-mindedness is advanced to the point of flat-headedness, everything becomes acceptable. When a school’s ruling body overrides a parent’s desire for their children and the school administrator feels the need force children to participate in a subject that the parent feels is offensive or morally objectionable, that smacks of Marxism. I have a major problem with the government’s control. When does the school’s decision supersede the parents’ rights? I thought things like this happened only in Communist countries where the government used the schools to indoctrinate the youth to a belief in their political system. Is that why the books from which our children learn have to have government approval? Control of our children’s lives is being wrested away from parents to be raised by the government’s national village.