Reconnecting

Yesterday, I received a wave and a shout on Facebook messenger. I didn’t recognize the name and am leery of accepting people without knowing a little bit about them. There are too many robots and scammers who try to lure a Facebook user into accepting them. I’m not sure if it allows them to hack your account or not, but I try not to take chances.

When she messaged me, she gave me enough information to understand that we were related. She said she was the granddaughter of Cora. There are two of my relatives named Cora. I assumed wrongly that she was a grandchild or great grandchild of my great uncle Theodore Rugg, because I have had more contact with that side of the family at the Rugg reunion.

In reality, she was the granddaughter of my aunt Cora. Cora Hyatt was my mother Sybil’s sister. This young lady was the daughter of my cousin Peggy. I didn’t know that until I checked her profile a little more closely and saw she was from Sheridan, Illinois, where my aunt Cora lived. So I shared that fact and I was finally able to get my head screwed on straight.

As we messaged back and forth, she shared that she’d purchased my books and planned to read them. She was also starting to do research on the family tree. I sent her a few of the stories listing family members and about my grandparent’s farm. She mentioned her sister. I was able to connect with her as well. So, I’ve now extended the family tree to include these two young ladies.

The last time I’d seen them was when they were teenagers. I am hoping to hear more from them and if they read my BlogSpot, they may glean a bit more for their research. My BlogSpot is http://thomasbeck.blogspot.com. They should be able to read back through my posts and ferret out more information.

I finished the afternoon by calling my orthopedic physician for an appointment. My right knee and shoulder had been causing pain, but the knee is pulling ahead and has started to pop when I straighten it. It’s time to have it checked out. That appointment has filled my next week’s dance card. I hate weeks like that, busy and in constant motion.

 

Favors

A few weeks ago, I saw that the neighbor had some items at the side of her barn. One was a fairly intact riding lawn mower and the frame and motor of a second one. There was also a bicycle frame, an old hot water tank, and a few other metal pieces. My son Andrew with his family recently moved back to Pennsylvania from Amarillo, Texas. It was nice having them so close.

I helped unload their belongings into their new house. The place has 6.7 acres with about 1/2 of it in grass that will need mowed. Andrew has a knack with engines, so I approached the neighbor and asked what she planned to do with the mowers. She said that she was going to take them in for scrap. I offered $10.00 for the lot. Andrew has been known to save metal for scrap too.

When I told him what I purchased, he brought out a towing trailer and we had a struggle to get some items loaded. The fairly intact mower was easy to roll and we loaded it quickly. The frame was another story. Because of its location, it was heavy to move. Among the items was a 15 feet long chain. With the use of a come-along and chain, we were able to winch it onto the trailer. Soon, everything was strapped down and he hauled the load home.

About a week ago, the neighbor knocked on my front door and asked that we return the chain. She didn’t know it wasn’t part of the scrap, but when her father returned from a trip and asked for it, she pleaded that we return it. I promised that I would and did. Later, I found that he’d paid $250.00 for it. No wonder he wanted it back.

When I returned it, no one was home, so I draped it across the gate into their home, knowing that they would easily see it. Today, I was cleaning my pantry and found several boxes of cereal that had become outdated. They were flavors I didn’t eat and were leftovers from a time my kids were here.

The neighbor has chickens. They ramble through her yard, cackling and scratching for food. I’ve seen her scatter feed for them on occasion and thought, “Why toss the cereal into the garbage? Chickens aren’t picky eaters.” I walked them over to see if she wanted the cereal for the hens. She was glad to accept and gave me a carton of eggs as a thank you, saying the hens were laying more than she could use. It was just a favor given to an old man who chose not to be grumpy.

This is the post I had planned to share.

The Passing of Time

Fifteen years have passed so quickly in an agonizingly slow procession of minutes. Looking back, I ask myself, “How did that amount of time slip by to form so many pages in my book of life? How can it be that my children have grown and have lives of their own?” Fifteen years ago, they were all living at home, still children looking to me and my wife Cindy for guidance. Fifteen years ago March 24th, 2003, we all felt the sting of death and the apparent victory of the grave.

Fifteen years seems like such a long time as I write it, but is has passed ever so quickly. The seconds have accumulated, inexorably turning page after page of the calendar amassing themselves into a decade and a half. How can nearly one quarter of my life have slipped through my fingers leaving a dim trail of memories in such an excruciatingly rapid pace? Somehow, I’ve grown old. Somehow my youth has flown away. Somehow the form of the Grim Reaper has become more solid and dark.

It’s not that I fear the “shadow of death,” oh, no. I’m marvel at how fleeting time has become and how swiftly life passes. It seems like yesterday I dandled our first child on my knee and now she has a child older than she was then.

This anniversary is one I have never liked to “celebrate” but it is one that will always be remembered by me and our family. Death must have wanted to forever imprint this date on our hearts, our souls, and our minds, because on the third anniversary of my wife’s passing, my mother, Sybil lost the battle with Alzheimer’s disease.

I don’t write this to garner sympathy. I only want to share my thoughts and advise those who still have living parents and spouses to hold them close and to tell them that you love them. Time has a way of speeding by and before you know it, the loved ones in your life have passed. Tell parents, siblings, children, grandchildren, and friends how much they mean to you and let them know that you love them.

I just noticed, Up to the ending of the last sentence, there were 365 words. One for each day of the year, fill your calendar year with words of love.

I had written a post and cannot remember its title to retrieve it, so I will share some Haiku I am writing for April, poetry month.

snow shadows turn blue

dusk falls and twilight deepens

soot settles to black

full faced queen moon

stars vigilantly stand guard

spotlight dazzles moths

morning light glitters

filtered through wind shuffled leaves

templed gold pillars

horizon stained pink

pale gray parchment sunrise sky

lipstick edged teacup

sun’s golden pen strokes

appear on pale parchment sky

contrail Haiku

two haggard stars hang

stubbornly in the darkness

child’s bedroom nightlights

light bright smiling face

parts the early morning mist

clean tot pops from bath

children’s faces press

smiling against the windows

school bus at day’s end

Ice and Snow: Snow and Ice

Another round of freezing rain, ice pelleted sleet, and snow have once again delayed the arrival of spring. Geese have returned. Robins have flown back to lay claims for nesting and feeding areas. I even saw a few killdeer which have decided it is time to select a perfect spot to raise their brood. Jonquils, daffodils, and the blooms of crocus have been struggling to rise above the layers of ice, snow, and cold to announce that spring is here.

So far the warm, sunny weather has just been a tease. It has whetted our appetite for more, then we are slapped with the hard, cold reality that winter has not released Pennsylvania and the entire eastern coast from its bitter grip.

This latest storm quickly put down a layer of sleet on Tuesday. The roads were cold enough not to melt it and within 45 minutes, the road was covered. I made a run to Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania for a few groceries and when I returned home, I almost slid past my driveway. Only by twisting my steering wheel and the tires biting into the gravel could I maneuver into my drive. I was glad to be home. The meeting for the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society was cancelled. I was a little disappointed, wondering what the members would think of the rearranged meeting room.

A two inch coating of thick wet snow followed hiding the slippery ice below, then came a short lull. Although the weathermen predicted more was to come, the brief interlude sparked a tiny flicker of hope that it was over. Not so, before the road crews could get out and remove the ice, snow began to fall in earnest. It moved in from the north east, pushing the snow into the higher ridges where I make my home. Probably, there was 6 inches of the white stuff. The only good thing was the temperature dropped and the snow was much fluffier.

In communities nearby, I heard reports of 10 inches or more. This later dump of snow must have thrilled the ski resorts of Seven Springs and Hidden Valley, because those warm teasing days surely caused them concern.

Yesterday, I ventured out again, prying layers of ice and snow from my car. It was a daunting task, made worse by the wind whipping the snow back in my face and trying to frostbite my ears.

Funerals

Death and funerals are things that most people try to avoid thinking or talking about. Monday was my aunt Dorothy Beck’s funeral. The funeral service was more like a tribute to the wonderful woman that she was. Through the course of the entire service, any person attending was reminded by the shared poetry and stories of what a strong and faithful servant of God she was. Even though she had multiple setbacks in her life that would have destroyed other people, Dorothy continued to make a home for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

At this gathering of friends and family, those people who no longer live close by could reconnect and strengthen our family ties. Of courses, there were tears. Often grief has a way of escaping and trickling down our cheeks, but we were not inconsolable like some. Dorothy’s faith in God has been passed down to her children and their families in great scoops and we know they shall be reunited with her one day.

The gathering together of people touched by her allowed us to share stories and past history of Dorothy. Some were forgotten or true revelations to some family members that only enriched our memories of her. The new tales added pages to our family’s journal of her life. As we shared memories of her love of cooking and sewing, those remembrances made many smile. It was a celebration of her life.

Dorothy’s completed her journey and passed the baton to her family and to all who knew her. She was a fine example of a Christian woman, a mother, and a wife. The knowledge that she was saved and was a child of God gave encouragement and direction for others to follow in her footsteps and to accept Jesus Christ as their Savior. Christ was her pillar of strength and she reflected that strength to the world around her.

It was unusual for me and probably others, to see her so still during the viewing and funeral service, Dorothy always seemed to be in motion. Active in the church and often working in the nursery, her age didn’t seem to slow her down. She’s graduated now and has entered the bright shining halls in the haven of rest.

Looking Back

Over the years as a nurse and as a supervisor, I tried to pass along things that I learned; truths and shortcuts to make the jobs easier. After 28 years of supervising, I shared many things with anyone who oriented to the supervisory position. One of the first and foremost realities was to never let someone see that they’ve upset you. Excuse yourself from the situation, then go somewhere private, like private supervisor’s office, because it was separate from most areas of the hospital.

“Go inside and close the door. Then you can scream, cry, or kick the furniture, but always do it in private. If someone sees which button to push to upset you, they will repeatedly do it just to frustrate and anger you.” I explained.

The other truth was not to get comfortable either at lunch, on break, or with the job of supervising in general.

It never seemed to fail that I would no sooner get my lunch heated and sit down ready to eat, than I would get a page or a telephone call. Many of the times it would mean leaving my food and going somewhere to handle a problem or situation.

I would return later to cold, dried out food or because the situation took so much time, putting the meal away to take it back home, uneaten. For those who don’t understand what I’m talking about, have you ever tried to eat Tater Tots after they had been reheated three times?

The other part about getting comfortable with the job was thinking you knew all there was to being a supervisor, when nothing could be further from the truth. Almost every day the supervisor was called upon to face something new. They could have involved complaints from families, patients, or staff. Then there were problems with staffing, bed assignments, or the many things that fell outside of the normal policies and procedures.

The experiences expanded my scope of creativity, but believe me, after twenty-eight years supervising and dealing with all of the complaints, call offs, and unusual happenings, I was happy to hang up my spurs before I poked a hole in the water bed.