Speak to Me

I just saw an article pondering the beginning of speech in human beings. It caused me to research farther. I Googled the phrase “Origins of Language” and of course a plethora of choices appeared before my eyes. Selecting one site, I wanted to see what it had to offer. I was mildly surprised at the theories posed by noted theorists and linguists. Each one of their suggestions shared a common conjecture with a very limited scope.

Each one of their proposals held the same premise; initially man was unable to speak. Like an infant, mankind had to learn how to speak, forming words through mocking animals in trial and error. They proposed that mankind was a dumb beast and language evolved.

The first proposal was called the Bow-Wow theory which is mimicking of animal sounds. It is the suggestion of an onomatopoeic process, where humans heard animals and copied their voices. But that fails on several counts. Who gave the animals their vocalizations? Wouldn’t they have started out with a blank slate as well? Or how does echoing animal sounds equate into actual words with meaning, speech, and language?

The second proposal was called Ding-Dong theory. Theorists propose man’s speech was in response to the essential qualities of objects in the environment, but again, there is no connection between a sound and any real meaning.

The third was called the La-La theory. It introduces the idea that language developed from sounds associated from love, play, and song. It too fails without a bridge between emotional and rational parts of mankind’s ability to speak.

There was also the Pooh-Pooh theory. It holds that speech began with interjections; a spontaneous vocalization to pain, surprise, and other emotions. No language has enough interjections to cover clicks, intakes of breath, and other noises with speaking and those noises would again have little relevance to paring of vowels and consonants.

Yo-He-Ho theory says speech began from grunts, groans, and snorts emitted during heavy labor. It may account for the rhythmic quality of speech, but does little to explain where words came from.

A much better explanation comes from the Bible. Mankind had language from the beginning. In Genesis, God speaks with Adam and Eve in Eden. They replied to His call, so they had speech from their Creation. When God asked Adam about his sin Adam answered God.

Adam was also instructed by God to name to each anima and until God divided mankind’s speech pattern at the Tower of Babel, people spoke one language. They were able to communicate with one another. God’s Word answers exactly how human speech occurred, how it happened, and why different languages are used today.

Really Rough Sledding

Winter isn’t my favorite season of the year. Even as a child, it was a time for doing things indoors. The lure of the sled was the major draw to get me to play outside in the snow. Flexible Flyer sleds were the most common brand and it was the brand I had.

Three shiny thin wooden slats were bordered by thicker pieces of wood; one on each side of the main body. Thick wooden braces supported the thin slats from underneath. They allowed kids to belly slam themselves onto the sled without breaking it. Another yoke-shaped piece of wood on the front allowed the sled to be steered. A short length of binder twine or rope looped through the its holes permitted the sled to be towed behind the owner.

Two painted red steel rails curved up at the front end and several upside down v-shaped braces supported the sled body and the body of the rider. The number of braces depended on the length of the sled. Similar metal pieces ran the length of the sled connecting at the front. It attached the steering piece to the runners.

When we got older, we rode our sleds on Coal Bank Hill Road. It was a less traveled, unpaved road with curves and steep slope. At the bottom was Route 711. The traffic was heavier. Because of high banks, riders couldn’t see oncoming traffic, so riders had to be extra skillful turning their sleds to run parallel to the highway on the berm or to roll off the sled stopping short of the traffic.

When rod crews spread antiskid ashes on the road to give vehicles traction, sometimes clunkers would grab a runner and bring the sled to a sudden stop. Many riders, including me, lost buttons from coats as we slid over the front of the sled doing a face plant in the snow.

Because of our adventurous nature, we helped the neighbor boys build an “Our Gang” type of snow contraption from spare pieces of wood and old car parts. Because of its weight and after several rides, it was abandoned. It took two kids to pull it and no one wanted to drag the heavy beast back to the hilltop for another ride.

Some other friends made a toboggan from a long piece of corrugated aluminum roofing. The sled was lightweight, able to fly over the snow without sinking in. It slid so fast and far on its maiden run. We were all scared as the toboggan jumped a deep ditch at the bottom of the hill. It came to rest halfway across a cow pasture.

Recession Depression Revisited

The panic from the Corona 19 virus whether from the virus itself or the promotion of its virulence, has caused a worldwide uproar. The shutdown of businesses, travel, and the quarantine of workers has caused an intense impact on families, here in the United States and in countries all around the planet. Its intrusion into everybody’s existence is nearly unbelievable.

Before the C19 collision with civilization, there were media reports on children going to bed hungry. Many organizations existence was solely based on reaching out to them and supplying their needs. Relief organizations gathered donations and sent food stuffs to curtail those starving in foreign lands. Their herald pierces many generous hearts and the donations have eased the suffering and diminished its torment.

Now, the shutdown and quarantine has ripped the bandage off this terrible wound. Hunger again will gain the upper hand. Starvation isn’t sudden exsanguinations, but rather the slow death drawn out over many weeks and months. The loss of products and finances in the homes of the United States will hasten a severe impact all over the world.

Forty percent of deaths from the Corona Virus in America occur in nursing homes. Old age homes are where Americans warehouse and stockpile the elderly who have “outlived their usefulness.” Would the incidence of death have been lessened if we cared for our elderly as do our Amish friends and neighbors? It is reported sunshine and fresh air has a major impact in defeating C19. The elderly are for the most part kept inside, often isolated in their rooms. Even with the “protective barriers” in place, the caretakers move from one client to another. Unless the caretaker, which is impossible, showers and has a complete change of clothing and shoes, viruses and germs will be transferred from one person to another.

I know that I am older, 71 years old to be exact, but I don’t fear death. I don’t relish the thought of ending my life tight now, but I do know that I’d rather pass into eternity in a quicker death than a long drawn out wasting away from starvation.

Politicians have changed our onetime masked cowboy hero’s television introduction of, “A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty Hi-Yo Silver! The Lone Ranger!” into “With a virus curse, a cloud of fear, and a home alone order, they take our jobs away and steal our silver.”

Horns

As I was returning from church Sunday morning after worship service, I passed a friend who was walking outside of his home. I tooted my horn. It’s often customary for neighbors from the “mountains” to say that you saw them and just wanted to say “hi.” It was the first time I’ve blown my horn since I bought a new car over a month ago. The horn sounded harsh to me, but then again most horns were to be created to be a warning and not as a friendly greeting.

Maybe it’s just me, but horns of yesterday sounded much different. If we go back to the time of the steam whistle, they seemed loud, but when a train or ship sounded in the distance, it was muted, sounding so nostalgic. In bed late at night a train would pass nearby. Its whistle would float through the open bedroom window softly saying goodnight. Even the newer diesel horns seemed to lose their sharpness in the night air. Steamboat captains whose sternwheelers and tugboats that plied the rivers around Pittsburgh were known by their whistles. If you recognized the whistle, you knew the captain. If he changed boats, the whistle and the cook moved too.

When automobiles were invented the first ones were steam driven and whistles remained. They were smaller and perhaps a bit more shrill, but they still sounded like a person or a bird whistling. When people invented vehicles and chugging gasoline motors, their first horns were bulbs which honked when squeezed, sounding very much like a distressed Canadian goose. Bulb horns were replaced by electrical ones that vibrated to make their sounds. The variety was nearly endless and depended on the size and shape of the trumpet. Their sounds ranged from a barely heard buzz or beep to the vintage “Aah-Ooo-Gah” of yesteryear.

Trucks had a need for larger and louder horns. Some were electronic, but many were equipped with air horns. A blast from the trucker warned others that they were coming, causing pedestrians and other drivers to scoot out of the way. Even those horns had a different, less harsh and threatening sound to them. Some of the air horns of truckers, even pickup drivers, actually played a series of notes, sounding out a recognizable tune. “Dixie” seemed to be one of the favorite refrains on their hit list.

What's Missing

More than me missing my parents, Edson Carl Beck, my mother Sybil Miner Beck, and my wife Cynthia Morrison Beck, there are several unsolved missing items that move to the front of my mind. I know where my parents and my wife are now, heaven. They are safe and I know they are in Heaven.

These two missing things have haunted me over many years. One mystery that has never been solved is just a small frivolous item; a tiny pouch with a thin pull string to close it. The bag originally contained bubble gum. The pink pieces of chewing gum were covered with a hardened gold colored coating of sugar. The gum was to look like prospector's gold nuggets.

Every once and awhile as a child I could convince my parents to buy the linen-hued sack with the bright red pull strings. The happiness of having the bubble gum didn’t end when the last bubble had burst and the gum was tossed into the trash.
The drawstring pouch became a storage place for plastic figures, ball bearings, marbles, lucky stones, or money. My family wasn’t a wealthy one, but when I could gather a penny, a nickel, a dime, and a rare quarter, it would find its way into the sack. The little bag became a repository for this young man’s treasury. My stash needed to be guarded and hidden. That was the rub. I'd hidden it so well I could never find it again.

The second missing mystery involves a handmade game that I shaped for my dad as a Christmas gift. It was fashioned after the old games of Parcheesi or Pollyanna. Some people might be old enough to recall gathering around the table, rolling the dice, and moving the pieces until they were safely home. The game board was about 25 inches square with a raised wooden border. The spaces around the board and into the home goal were laboriously drawn and hand painted. In each of the four corners contained a circle with a barn, shed, or pasture with fencing to reflect the theme of a farm design. I painted each circle to match animal figurines. Each animal about three quarter of an inch high: sheep, cows, pigs, horses; four each. They were also cut and painted. The board could be stored on the wall like an art piece with the animals and dice perched in display on the frame.

Somehow this potential heirloom disappeared and remains missing.

Who knew that Facebook "Community Standards" were accumulative. I made four posts since last year and have been put into their Facebook dungeon and not permitted to post for seven days. This site uses its Liberal bias to screen and muzzle voices with opposing views. I understand it's a private entity and FREEDOM of speech has little meaning to them. Keep up the good work, Facebook. Book burning and voicing dissenting voices is dead on your tyrannical site.

Post It Notes

Since I started my blog, I’ve shared 1,292 posts. With this post it will be 1,293. The blogs started by recalling my adventures in nursing, as a corpsman in the United States Navy, my years in college, and my history as a child. I also make note of stories passed down to me by my parents Edson Carl Beck and my mother Sybil Miner Beck. I share these tales from my heritage because I don’t want them to be lost. There are so many stories I know I have forgotten and that upsets me. I wish I’d have noted them much earlier while they were fresh and I wish I would have listened more carefully when Uncles, Aunts, Grandparents, and Parents were talking.

My children Amanda Yoder, Anna Prinkey, and Andrew Beck asked me to write a biography of my life. I thought my blog was what I was doing. At their insistence, I did a brief outline of the facts, but it was like an iceberg lettuce salad without dressing. It was bland. I wrote the biography listing where I was born, my home, and my school days. I shared first jobs, my enlistment in the United States Navy, my duty stations, and college. I shared the time after graduation with a BSN degree in nursing, the hospitals where I worked, and positions that I held.

Then came my retirement and the beginning of my writing career, where I felt the stories from my past were better served in a blog form than in a written journal. Blogging is in essence is electronic journaling and was more expedient for me. I’ve led a rather sedate life with some scattered incidents of excitement. Those are the things I try to include in my BlogSpot. They are the things I think might be interesting to others.

After I became a published author, I had to promote my books and became a little more outgoing. Couple that fact with my house being empty except for my cat Willow I enjoyed making excursions out of the house and meeting people. I was able to talk with someone, anyone.

As a nursing supervisor, I was able to talk with others on a daily basis, form friendships, and share small portions of their lives. Retirement curtailed that outlet and I needed the stimulation of talking with others. Sometimes it was with complete strangers.

I completed the task of the dry biography for my kids, but the really interesting and likable stuff was already written and saved in my blog. PS, I am just rambling because I haven’t any idea of what to share today.