Tying One On

Bowties, neckties, and bolo string ties, I own some of each. Mostly I have neckties. While I worked as a nursing supervisor and was considered middle management, I often wore neckties. I collected holiday ties that I could wear to celebrate Christmas, Easter, Independence Day, etc. Our clients seemed to enjoy the ties, as well as the staff. I had some ties given to me by other staff members. One I’ve written about before. It was sewn from a woman’s blouse. I had several musical Christmas ties and one with black cats for Halloween. I wore it one evening and gave it away. The shift was an unbelievably horrible shift from beginning to end. Coincidence, I’m sure, but I was taking no chances.

One of my friends from church also has a collection of ties. I imagine that between the two of us, we own nearly 200 neckties in all colors and with quite a few genres from patriotic to cartoon characters. I often tease my friend we should start a business of renting ties to men for special occasions and call the business a “Tie-brary.”

One type of tie that I’ve had difficulty finding has been a Thanksgiving tie that isn’t covered in cartoons of  Pilgrims or turkeys. I have a gold tie with wheat sheaves and another with a harvest of fruits and vegetables I wear for Thanksgiving, but want something that says “Be Thankful” or has the word “Thanksgiving” written on it. You have to remember I’m frugal and that I find most of my ties in thrift shops. I may have to break down and hit Amazon or Google.

When I was in high school, my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner gave several of my granddad’s wide neckties to me. This was when the very narrow ties were in style. I coerced several of my friends to wear some of the wide ties to class. My geometry teacher wasn’t impressed and actually acted like he was going to strangle me with the tie I was wearing. Believe it or not, right after that, fashion changed and wide ties were all the rage. Who knew that I was a trendsetting fashionista? Ha, ha.

 

 

Iceland

While serving in the United States Navy my overseas duty was in Keflavik, Iceland. Prior to that, I spent the winter of 1968 at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center for basic training and the spring of 1969 at the Great Lakes Corps School. I spent the next two years in Orlando, Florida at the Naval training center working in an orthopedic medical/ surgical unit and the emergency department. One of the coolest things about this assignment was I had my aunt and uncle, Helen and Jacob Stahl living there with a bunch of cousins surrounding me. It made getting away to go fishing on the ocean difficult because they felt offended if I didn’t spend my off duty weekend with one of them.

I left Great lakes when the temperature in the 50 and went to Florida with the temps hovering in the 90’s. My next assignment in the middle of August was to Iceland where 60 degree weather is considered a hot day. Who said the Navy has no sense of humor.

Some Icelandic women would erect a burlap box and sunbathe inside away from the wind. The landscape of Iceland is ruggedly beautiful I was blessed to be able to see much of it by hopping a military transport or by renting a small plane with several other corpsmen and having a doctor seeking his commercial license to fly us for free. It was a win-win deal. We didn’t have to pay a pilot and he got the hours he needed.

I was able to wear civilian clothing when I travelled off base. My rank of E-5 allowed me that privilege. Before my whiskers went white, I sported a full red beard. By wearing a sweater and sports coat, I blended perfectly with the native Icelandic population. Sometimes I would be approached when I strolled the streets of Reykjavik and someone would speak to me in Icelandic. I didn’t understand it, but I’d learned the phrase, “ég tala ekki íslensku,“ (I don‘t understand Icelandic.) Since most of the Icelandic population spoke English it was okay. By learning that simple phrase most people were friendly to me.

Waterfalls, glaciers, and mountainous terrain made each trip off base an adventure whether riding a bus, in a plane, or driving an ambulance. I was part of the medical team for the First Boy Scout World Jamboree. Several corpamen set up a first aid tent after driving a cracker-box ambulance to the site.

Again, the Navy‘s humor kicked in when I was mustered out, I left Iceland in the middle of August to the heat and humidity of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I was housed there with nothing to do in an old barracks without air conditioning.

Stress Filled Week

Have you ever had a week where there was a mountain of things to do? I hope and pray that the busyness of this week is behind me. The death of a close friend compressed the chores I already had on my list. An unexpected babysitting chore of my granddaughter further tightened things for me to do

Death is never a pleasant happening, but must be addressed eventually. The most difficult aspect of this funeral is that it was the third death to befall this family in an extremely short period of time. First was a son-in-law, then a daughter, but it was the death of the father that heaped the insults to an already injured family; a harsh reality that death is no respecter of people or circumstance.

Sunday is always a busy day for me; Sunday morning service, Sunday school, then Sunday evening services later. Monday I went to the funeral, not that I wanted to, but it wasn’t the funeral parlor where my wife Cindy’s funeral was held. This family and ours spent so much time together, we were like kin. After visiting, I had to hurry to pick up my granddaughter and not be late. I squeezed some time after collecting her to buy needed groceries and get a snack to share.

Now my concern was would her parent get home in time? I had a prescheduled appointment for a haircut. I made it with 15 minutes to spare. Finally home, I fixed supper and put my feet up. Somewhere in the hubbub of the day, my left hip became sore; it was a slowly progressing pain.

Tuesday I was at the funeral home, before having to dash away. I had another prescheduled meeting. I was about 10 minutes late,. That’s not me. I’m always early. The soreness of my hip made climbing in and out of the car made things worse.

In unclaimed minutes, I worked on the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society newsletter. Wednesday is our 4 hour workday and wanted something to share. Wednesday evening is our church prayer meeting. I’m also coordinator for the teen van ministry. Most times I’m part of the crew since two people are required for the children’s safety. Sometimes it takes some shuffling to provide coverage. Wednesday was no exception. I was chaperone-second, but the driver had to cancel. I was promoted to driver. We’d just had the older passenger get child clearance. He’s the first to pick up and last to drop off. He was pressed into service and the van trip was saved. The only drawback after he’s home safely is there’s no one left to talk to, on drive back to the church.

 

Not Understanding the Unbelievable

As I approach the twentieth anniversary of my wife, Cindy Morrison’s death. It’s difficult to believe that many years have flowed by since her passing away. I’ve shared her story of developing ovarian cancer and dying ten days after she was hospitalized. She posed no symptoms and had no pain…ever. She did become short of breath and was eventually entubated. When I say that Cindy’s death was a blessing, they look at me like I was an uncaring beast, but if I am to die from cancer…dear God take me that way, without pain. I’ve been with too many people who suffer from excruciating pain that medications do little to control.

Recently a family that Cindy and I spent a lot of time together has had a series of deaths; the son-in-law of my wife’s best friend, the best friend’s daughter, and now the husband of my wife’s best friend. It’s more than I can understand. It’s hard for me to accept. I know that all things work to complete God’s will. I understand that they were saved and that they are in a much better place, but it is so hard for me to understand, so difficult for me to accept. I know that there’s a reason, but I’m not able to see it. Is it the finite ability of my mind that is unable to comprehend the wisdom of an infinite being? Or is it that I’m not able to see beyond the clouds of grief and see the eternal sunshine beyond? I understand that clouds are fleeting and have trouble accepting them. But I also know that beyond them, an eternal sun is shining. God is there beyond the gloom. Heavenly halls await those who have chosen to accept the gift of salvation. It’s a precious gift that’s free, but one that was bought at such a great price. God sent His only begotten Son to take the form of a man and die on a cross to break the shackles of sin. Jesus was God taking on the flesh of man, donning the flesh and blood shell and yet remaining fully God.

I know that death is inevitable for every man, woman, and child. It’s so very hard for me to understand the “whys” when tragedies happen. I know God sees farther down the road than any mortal being and has reasons. Perhaps death intervenes when something even more dreadful might happen. I’m really not one to question God; however I wish He would give me more insight and understanding that down deep in my soul I can more readily accept His plans.

 

Something Smells

I’m not celebrating the fact, but it is the seventh anniversary of my fall on the ice with my head injury. It was February 2015 when I walked up the road to my mailbox. I wanted to post several bills that were due I have a rural mail carrier who drives her Jeep on her rounds. The driveway was cleared of snow, but had become covered in ice from the freezing and thawing of the snow. Ice is slippery, but the ice had a thin coating of water floating on top of it, making the smooth ice even slipperier. My daughter said I came to her bedroom door saying “I need help.” Although I don’t remember much more, about the twenty-four hours afterward, I ended up riding an ambulance to Pittsburgh for two bleeds the CAT scan saw in my head. I could have developed a myriad of serious consequences including seizures from the hematomas in my brain and the scars the bleeds often leave behind, but the only problems I ended up with were some difficulty concentrating at times and fleeting phantom smells.

Phantom smells are just what it implies. For some reason, the brain registers that my olfactory receptors are detecting an aroma of some sort. My odors my brain initially falsely detected were smells of car exhaust fumes or hot plastic. I had no trouble discerning the automobile fumes were just a phantom smell, but when I would detect the odor of hot plastic, I’d have wander through my house to be sure that nothing was burning. Recently I‘ve added the aroma tea brewing to my repertoire. That fragrant smell is more preferable than the hot plastic stench.

Some of my friends have lost their ability to smell things. The lack of the ability to savor what they are eating has to be difficult. This disability has affected two of my friends and a relative long before some of the symptoms of the recent pandemic virus has created the same symptoms. The virus causing the loss of smell and taste has to be difficult to bear. Since taste and smell are so tightly interwoven, I’m unsure which manifestation creates the greatest impact on a person’s life.