Five Cents, Ten Cents, Fifty cents, a Dollar

 Five Cents, Ten Cents, Fifty Cents, a Dollar
There was a time when almost every town had a 5 and 10 cent store. G. C. Murphy, J. G. McCrory, and Woolworth were only a few. The stores I still remember vividly from my childhood were G. C. Murphy’s and J. G. McCrory’s located in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. The two stores sat across the street from each other. Their large display windows almost mirror images of each other’s displays. Both had upstairs and downstairs sections of their stores. Back then most were items made in the United States.
Just inside the entrance to Murphy’s 5 &10 cent store in Connellsville, Pennsylvania was a prominent candy counter with a hot nut display. The candy was displayed in bins and the nuts were on a carosel under bright heat lamps. The aroma of warm cashews and red Spanish peanuts wafted through the entire store. A lady would weigh out the candies or the nuts that were selected, then she would seal them in paper bags. Elsewhere in the store clothing, shoes, hats, and socks filled the surrounding counters. Downstairs were drapes, bedding, and toys. Murphy’s had a rest area with green leather couches and a restroom with pay toilets. Each stall boasted a thin slot to receive the dime that would unlock the stall door. I wonder how many men or women crawled beneath the privacy panel or sent a kid underneath to open the locked door from the inside. Some women would carry a dime in their shoe, “just in case.”
The J. G. McCrory store was situated directly across the street from the Murphy store. The J. G. McCrory building had just one floor. The basement of the McCrory store was for storage and stock. At the front of the building, a customer would enter at the street level and immediately found merchandise was on display. Because they only had one floor, their selection of items seemed smaller, but they did have a cafeteria. The long counter with padded swivel stools filled one side of the store. I can’t remember ever eating there, but the food always smelled wonderful. My Dad was more than frugal and it was rare that our family ate anywhere but at home.

The Soft Glow of Moonlight

 The Soft Glow of Moonlight
As I awoke from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. And as I glanced out my window, I noticed the bright moonlight reflecting on the snow drifts covering my back yard. The silver coating shone on the surface and shadows huddled beneath the trees. It reminded me of another time when I was captured by the beauty of full moon. I’d just graduated from high school and was driving home at the end of an afternoon shift working in the toolroomof the Walworth Valve Company in South Greensburg, Pennsylvania. There was nothing special about the drive or the night until I saw the old weathered gray barn. I’d noticed the barn hundreds of times before. There was never anything to make it memorable, until that night. That old barn in the snow was transformed in the moonlight to become something extremely beautiful and very memorable
For some reason the old weathered boards of the barn reflected the bright moonlight. The rough wooden sides glowed like polished silver. The same moonlight caressed the snow covered roof giving it a vibrant almost electric blue crown. The barn was built on the side of a hill. It was surrounded by more snow and the once weary-looking barn became a silver island surrounded by a sea of blue snow. I slowed to see it more clearly as I drove past, wishing I had a camera.
I drove past the barn recently, but the magic was gone. The metal roof had streaks of orange rust and someone had painted the sides of theweathered barn with white paint and red trim. It caused me to think, if the roof had been bare and the sides had been painted white back then, would I still have a precious memory or would I have just driven by ignoring the old barn?

Christmases Not So Long Ago

 Christmases Not So Long Ago
Elementary school children made decorations to celebrate the Christmas holiday. Brightly colored construction paper was cut into strips making interlocking loops to form long chains. These garlands were hung around the blackboards, walls, and draped from the branches of the live evergreen tree. The Christmas tree stood in a corner with colored lights peeking from branches and student-made ornaments. The classroom was transformed into a yuletide retreat.
Children saved their pennies to purchase items for their parents from the teacher’s stock. Choices included dish cloths for moms and handkerchiefs for dads. These gifts could easily be slid inside a construction paper envelop, cut into the shape of a Christmas tree. The children cut and pasted stars and bulb shapes from scraps on for decorations. The aroma of the thick white school paste soon filled the classroom.
Children quietly hunched over their desks also made Christmas cards, bringing to life their artistic talents. Teachers sometimes shared stars from their stash “perfect attendance” or “making 100% on a test” sticker to brighten the “Merry Christmas greeting.”
At home, children anxiously awaited the arrival of the Sears & Roebuck, Spiegel’s, or Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog. Mesmerized children would claim a spot on the floor with tantalizing photos of toys, sports supplies, and clothing capturing their attention. Soon names would appear as a wish list beside items the children hoped Santa would place in their stockings or tucked beneath the Christmas tree.
Fruit, nuts, and candy no longer fill stockings. Popcorn strands, gingerbread men, and paper loop garland no longer dangle from the branches of live fir trees. So much of the old Christmas flavor has been swallowed by progress and commercialism.

Cold and Snow

 Cold and Snow
It has been a cold and snowy week thus far. Snow and frigid weather are two of my least favorite things to endure. I’ve posted in the past I sometimes on occasionly enjoy clearing my driveway. The solitude and silence with the large flakes of snow drifting down cushioning the noise and confusion can be so relaxing. The darkness of the night and the curtain of the falling snow separate me from the hustle and bustle of the world.
However this week hasn’t put me in that frame of mind. The frigid temperature and the snow pushed into my area by strong winds is just the opposite. The result caused people around me to be deprived of electricity and heat. That is never a good thing. Some of the outages were for only a few hours while other folk endured the hardship for days.
I must give credit to the linemen and the tree trimmers; they did a marvelous job getting the power restored. Even though the winds hadn’t subsided, they were dealing with the frigid temperatures and the wind to lessen the effects of the damage. The snowplow drivers kept the roads passable.
I wrote to share my experiencefrom nearly a year ago. I am thanking God that I didn’t lose power and I was able to stay warm during this onslaught of cold and storms. The story I wanted to share is about a dental appointment and one for a diabetes study program. It was a trial for a new medication. That appointment was for ten o’clock. On Monday afternoon I had a call reminding me of a third appointment at eleven o’clock. Now I was getting nervous. All three in such a short period of time and the roads were snow covered.
I left home early and was at my dentist’s office half an hour early. All went well and then I faced the real challenge, driving down the Springfield Pike. The road is a series of hills and turns that have been the locations of many accidents. It I can be the bane of any driver who face its perils on a daily basis.
Gingerly I made my way along the snow covered road and made it to my second appointment early as well. I hadn’t driven over forty miles per hour until I got onto Route 119 and managed the speed of forty six. I filled out the papers and gave my sample of blood before getting back into my car for my third and final appointment. Again I was early. I was so glad when I drove into my driveway at home.

Snow, Go Slow

 Snow, Go Slow
    It has been several years since I have been forced to drive on snow covered and icy roads, but a friend and coworker’s rant this morning reminded me of the times that it was necessary to clean off my car and drive to my job at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania. She complained about having only one way to her home and that was a long hill. Taking her son to school this morning on untreated roads, she encountered a driver that stopped part way up the hill and wasn’t moving. She paused to thank the road crews for not addressing the icy surface on the beginning of another school day.
    Several other people lined up behind her, until a man in a truck ventured around them all and she soon followed suit, leaving the person in the stopped car behind. My friend lamented that she got her son to school late, which is never good for the child.
    There were so many times driving to work that would have been real nail-biters, needing both hands on my steering wheel. One time the hospital called to see if I could come in because the night shift person had called off. It was a Friday night and I was already scheduled to work the weekend. I agreed, but said if I made it home after the shift, I wouldn’t guarantee that I would be able to make it back to work. The predicted snow amount was very high.
    When my relief came in, I scooted out as quickly as I could. The snow was falling quickly and the roads were becoming worse by the second. Caution and fear were the passwords as I drove cautiously and slowly home. I turned off the main highway of Route 31 I began to encounter drifts of unplowed snow. The crews were having a difficult time keeping the main thoroughfares open so the side roads were almost unattended.
    By the time I reached my home, I was pushing snow with my front bumper and had to stop onn the road at the entrance to my driveway. I had to get a shovel to open an access to my driveway. It was a white knuckle affair.
    The kicker to the story is I was unable to leave my home from that Saturday morning until Sunday night about ten p.m. The highway department came through with a high lift and huge scoop bucket to open the road. I heard that several plow trucks got stuck in the snow as well and had to be rescued during that storm.

Joints

Joints
I don’t know whether it is because of my age, whether it’s the cold weather, or whether it’s a combination of both, but the aches and pains this winter have multiplied and have decided to remain much longer. I have resorted to using Tylenol, ibuprophen, and a heating pad to give temporary relief from the reminder that I am no longer young and that it takes longer to rebound from the daily tasks that I ask my body to do.
Last night I had a restless night of sleep. The need to reposition my trusty heating pad became a must. It was shifted from my right shoulder, to my left hip, and then to my neck. The warmth seemed to ease the aches and I could fall back to sleep for a little while.
I started the night by preparing my right shoulder. It is the survivor of many traumatic episodes in my past. It survived dislocation and relocation when a house trailer fell on it, several falls while I worked at Frick Hospital, and damage from digging up a cistern with a spade. I have been slathering on several brands of pain killing ointments and creams. I have found that a mixture of the different brands work better than a single type of cream. The gradual relief takes several minutes after a flood of a cooling sensation covers the area, but it does ease the pain. Taking the oral pain killers is next. Off to bed to use my trusty heating pad. I finally settle until another part of my body asks for relief and I shift the pad to that area and again drift off to sleep.
Last night seemed to need more shifts in position and the help of the heating pad than normal. I believe it was because my right shoulder has been more sore than usual and that I cleared my driveway yesterday. There wasn’t a lot of snow, but the snow plows always fill the first three feet of my drive with six inches or more of dirty snow. I always like to have it cleared in case of an emergency and before it freezed, hardens, and takes much more effort to chip it loose and to remove it. I carry each scoopful across the road to dump it in an empty field because that’s the direction the wind wants it to go. Otherwise, the wind creates drifts the snow across the road and then the snowplows stack the snow back in my drive. It becomes a viscious cycle.

Starving the Old Year Feeding the New

 Starving the Old Year Feeding the New
There are several New Year’s menus that I can remember distinctly. My mother Sybil Miner Beck always served pork and sauerkraut for New Years’ Eve. She told us that it’s an old German tradition to eat pork and sauerkraut to ensure good luck and to welcome in the New Year. The type of pork wasn’t always traditional, but with Mom it was a pork roast. At other New Year’s meals I’ve eaten sausage, kielbasa, or even hot dogs.
My wife Cindy Morrison Beck and I often shared meals with Cindy’s best friend, Deborah Detar and her husband Bill. We sometimes spent New Year’s Eve at each other’s homes to celebrate. Cindy’s menus were more “traditionally” flavored foods, while Debbie always added sugar to all of hers. Her sauerkraut was brown, heavily flavored with brown sugar and her mashed potatoes were one teaspoonful shy of being candy. Even the sour cream dips she made for veggies and chips was more like dips served with fruit. Her kids carry on that sweet tradition. Sadly Deborah and Bill are no longer alive.
Sometimes Cindy’s parents Bud and Retha Morrison would share homemade sauerkraut with us. It was a veritable feast eating its freshly canned flavor. Sadly, I miss its flabor.
Another menu that remains firmly established in my memory bank is the meal my dad and grandparents Ray and Rebecca Rugg Miner made for New Year’s Day. Dad would buy several cans of oysters, tiny round soup crackers, and vanilla ice cream. My grandparents had a farm and provided the milk, cream, and freshly churned butter to make the oyster stew. Gram always baked an apple pie or two. While we waited for the oysters to stew, we would play games like dominoes, Pachisi, or Uncle Ted’s favorite Sorry on the dining room table.
Gram’s house soon filled with savory steam from the stew simmering on her wood fired, kitchen cook-stove. It merged with the spicy aroma of the pies still in the oven. Hungry eyes of the older members huddled around the dining room table would occasionally stray into the kitchen “wondering if the soup was ready yet?”
Finally Gram would put the games away. She’d set the table with shallow bowls. Dad would carry the stew pot to the table; steam often obscuring sight through his glasses. The rich broth was ladled into the bowls. The cellophane package of crackers passed from hand to hand until everyone had some. Soup spoons clicked as we slurped the broth. The flavor was remarkable. The meal ended with slices of still warm pie and scoops of ice cream. My memory is still filled with those delicious flavors.