Would I Have Had the Courage

As I was driving in my car, listening to a talk radio station, the announcer was talking about the young men, barely out of puberty unstinting volunteering to go to war. They were brave and patriotic, knowing full well that they might be cut down during the invasions of Europe and the South Pacific, and yet they went. Many were naïve, barely off the farm and yet they came in droves to fight for the freedom of other countries, trying to save them from the evil of the Nazi despots or the Oriental emperor.

They couldn’t have imagined the horrors of war and the pain from the wounds, the cold of winters, the heat, humidity, and insects of the jungle. Bad water and lack of food would further weaken them, but on they fought, because it was what their country expected of them. My father-in-law Elmer “Bud” Morrison fought in Germany, as well as the struggle with other GIs to complete the Alcan Highway. My father Edson Carl Beck, fought in the Philippines, was in Australia, and visited Hiroshima, Japan. His visit to Hiroshima must have been after the dropping of the A-bomb. It was something I didn’t know about him until later in his life.

I marvel at the courage of my father and my father-in-law as well as the thousands of others who flocked to the recruiting stations to report for duty, long before the draft boards called them. All throughout the history of the United States, we have had men and women who have put the love of home and country above their own lives.

It made me think. Would I have had that much courage? I think I might. While the conflict in Vietnam was in full swing, I volunteered, not for the Marines. I wanted to keep people alive and decided to be a corpsman in the Navy. Later, I found out that the Navy provided the medical help for the Marines. If I would have been asked to report to Vietnam, I believe that I would have gone, not happily, but I would have followed orders.

I Have a Plan

I made plans to visit with some other graduates from Connellsville High School for lunch, but as usual, my plans were changed. Some dear friends were visiting the area and it was more important to visit with them before they returned to North Carolina. I had every intention to visit them the day before, but another friend who was going with me was ill. I had to postpone the visit which changed my plans to meet the graduates. My son Andrew and his family are visiting from Texas, so it has been difficult juggling time and getting the balance right.

Each year, those Carolinian friends come back to this area to renew friendships, visit family, and to rest and recharge from their demanding jobs. They are remarkable people and it was imperative that I kept that friendship alive. They rent a cabin in one of the nearby parks and “hold court,” not really, but it allows others to visit them as schedules allow.

The drive yesterday to Keystone State Park was enjoyable. No snow or ice to contend with, but seeing green seemed out of place for Christmas celebrations. Sorry to my Floridian friends, you have no idea what I’m talking about.

They had several of their children and grandchildren at the cabin. It was great to meet them all. Some I knew and was impressed with how much they had grown. Of course, my changes in the bathroom mirror are more gradual. I saw some photos of myself and was astounded of how much I reminded myself of my GRANDFATHER.  Have I actually grown that old? Surely not, but photos don’t lie unless they are photo shopped. My body doesn’t lie and it says I’m no longer a youngster. SIGH.

Going Home for Christmas

As I grew older, there was nothing so wonderful and good as to be home for Christmas. It was the place where I grew up. This was the home place where I learned to walk, talk, and play. It was the house where me, my brother, Kenneth, and my sister, Kathy were raised. It was the place where we were nurtured and loved.

When my father, Edson Carl bought the land is had a small cottage covered in brown Inselbrick tar paper. Inside, there were two tiny bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room that surrounded a covered porch in a U shape. The House had a half basement and half crawl space. I didn’t forget to include an indoor bathroom, because there wasn’t one. There was an outhouse to the rear of the yard.

It expanded over the years to include a full basement, another bedroom, and indoor plumbing. It became a home filled with love where life was celebrated, routine days, birthdays, and of course the holidays. My favorite celebrations were Christmas and Thanksgiving where everyone gathered and shared our lives with our parents and each other sitting, talking, and eating.

When my parents died, my sister held many of the family gatherings, but this year, I opened my house for Christmas. Since I am widowed, it meant more than usual cleaning and providing an extra table and chairs, but it was worth it. I made ready my home for my kids, the house where they learned to walk, talk, and play. It was the house where they were raised, a home where they were nurtured and loved. They came home to celebrate Christmas.

My grandchildren were here and hopefully the memories of love and a home will be passed on to another generation. Merry Christmas.

Sweets

Every year during the holidays, but especially at Christmas, sweet things magically appear then disappear into the mouths of friends, family, and have been eaten by the creator of the confections. These cakes, cookies, candies, popcorn balls, and even Jell-o salads made for festive get togethers. My grandmother Rebecca Miner always made orange Jell-o with sliced bananas imbedded in it. My mother-in-law, Retha Morrison made a delicious cranberry and nut Jell-o salad. My mom, Sybil Beck made mini nut rolls and iced cinnamon crescents.

My grandmother Miner also made pink candied popcorn with butternuts. Sometimes she would shape them into popcorn balls. I thought that the butternuts were strong tasting and gave the popcorn an odd flavor, but Grandma made them, so we ate them.

My grandmother Anna Beck would make pies. I can remember one year when she made pumpkin pies. There was a small amount of the pumpkin filling left. Being the thrifty, never waste anything person that she was, she made enough egg custard to mix with the pumpkin for another pie. It was delicious with a mild pumpkin flavor and the smoothness of custard.

This year, my sweet offering for the Christmas season is various types of brittle. Some were for home consumption and some were for gifts. I made several batches. Because after “sampling” them, I had to make double batches.

The types of brittle that I made were peanut, pecan, almond, English walnut, cashew, and sunflower seed. I tried the sunflower brittle because the person who wrote the recipe said it was her favorite. I thought that the sunflower seed brittle was just okay. I was much more enamored with the pecan and the peanut candies. I just made another batch of peanut brittle last evening because I managed to “sample” most of the supply I had made for visitors.

Sweet wishes for a Merry Christmas to all of my friends and readers.

Spray Paint

The older I get, the more worn I get by wrapping gifts. Each year, I get closer and closer to carrying the gifts out into the front yard, then spray painting them. I’d choose a different color for each child and for each grandchild, then I’d go at it. I would imagine if there’s snow on the ground and if I’d use a latex based paint, there should be no problem with pollution. But my kids have already nixed that idea, and I still have a heap of gifts waiting for me, SIGH.

When I was young and still living at home, somehow I ended up wrapping most of the gifts. Mom would keep my presents hidden and pull out the gifts for my grandparents, my dad, my brother, and my sister. She’d gather the wrapping paper, ribbons, tags, and Scotch tape. The one thing that made the task more miserable was the lick and stick name tags. The glue tasted terrible and they made my mouth dry after wetting so many.

The brightly colored paper was different back then. There was no shiny, metallic looking paper. Many of the colors were beautiful, but the designs were either very simple or extremely lavish. Then the paper was thicker and I am sure the ink that colored the paper came from metals; because as I burned the trash and tossed the wadded paper into the fire one at a time, the flames of the fire would change colors: blue, green, and sometimes orange. It was necessary to carefully check the trash to be sure that no stray sock or lost underwear had gotten into the discarded paper and burned.

My wife Cindy was fanatic about wrapping gifts. Everything had to be wrapped. If she bought a nail clipper as a stocking stuffer, she concealed it in paper. Any gifts that I bought for her had to be wrapped as well.

She snooped, shaking and feeling the presents once they were wrapped. She wouldn’t allow herself to peek in bags or boxes before they were paper clad. She considered them off limits; that is until they were wrapped. It was my mission to camouflage them so she couldn’t guess the contents until Christmas.

A Tale of Two Stories

My grandfather, Thomas Edson Beck was a Squire in Fayette County, Pennsylvania. He did legal work for the residents, completed deeds, wrote wills, and worked with state and federal taxes; as well as other routine bookkeeping for two multi-million dollar firms. My mom, Sybil Miner Beck, started to help him in the office soon after marrying my dad, Edson Carl Beck and continued doing taxes long after my grandfather retired. She also did bookkeeping for two large firms and helped local farmers with their taxes, notary work, and with Social Security payments.

Now comes the second part of the tale and I will attempt to connect the two. While I was picking my granddaughter up from her Mt Pleasant, Pennsylvania school, after her hard day in kindergarten, I saw a vanity plate on a SUV. I’d seen it several times before. It had my mind churning about the name and the driver. The name on the license plate was the same last name as one of a local farmer who passed away several years ago. I knew that this farmer was someone that my mom did taxes for and helped him with the large amount of government paperwork generated from the farm. It took me several times just talking with the driver before I worked up enough courage to ask her about the last name on the vanity plate.

When she said, “Yes, that’s my last name,” I asked her, “Are you related to Mr. So and So?”

She said, “Yes. That was my father.”

When I shared my name and told her my mom’s name, I said, “I think she did taxes for him.”

She said, “I am so thankful for your mother helping my dad. If she hadn’t helped with taxes and to set up a Social Security account, my mom would have nothing to live on.”

After talking a bit more, I felt so good, knowing that the good things my mom had done still resonated in the community.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

I can remember my mom Sybil Miner Beck singing that song on cold mornings. With the temperature at 4 degrees Fahrenheit and a wind chill of minus 7 degrees Fahrenheit, it is plenty cold for me. In my youth, school schedules were never delayed just because it was cold and I can remember walking to an unheated wooden bus stop, huddling inside, and waiting for a long yellow behemoth to arrive, trailing a plume of steam and fumes. The brakes would squeal as it stopped and it opened its maw. I would hurry to be swallowed up by it and join fellow students in 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 much earlier this year and have been practicing, so it will be easier for me to keep. That promise I made is “If I am grumpy, I won’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 more are the cashiers at stores where I shop. They particularly enjoy it and will sometimes share a horror story of a rude, nasty or irate customer.

So, to my friends and readers, I challenge you to adopt the same New Year’s resolution. Smile and pass on the Christmas spirit.