Disagreeing in an Agreeable Way
What has happened in America today? Are we reverting to a time in our past when someone who disagrees with your view on an issue calls for bloodshed in a duel? Is that confrontation so severe the ability to discuss a point of view no longer matters. Have we allowed change to physical violence to batter their opponent into conforming to their view? Have we lost the ability to argue our ideas, present our points, and to listen to another person’s thoughts on a matter still being willing to weigh what the other person has to say?
Have we regressed to the point when people with dissenting voices shout down an opposing point of view are being presented without giving the speaker a chance to lay out his reasoning? Anarchy and mob violence have replaced the person on a soapbox at a street corner preaching, sharing a different concept, or even sharing a new point of view. Whether the views expressed are reasonable or rational, the individual has the constitutionally guaranteed right to speak freely. What we have so recently labeled as hate or offensive speech was ignored and allowed to die without laws. Ideas that have no basis of truth, fail if not promoted or encouraged by media. In today’s society, a person sharing the absolute truth found in God’s Word the Bible, is ridiculed and labeled as intolerant. That person is branded as a hatemonger, narrow minded, a bigot, or racist even though the view isn’t against a nationality or skin color.
Galatians 4:16 says, “Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?” Today, the Liberal crowd has turned truth upside down and with a warped logic and distorted view of facts. In Isaiah 5:20 and 21, God’s Word says in the last days, “Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter! Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight.”
Tried and true morals are being cast aside, replaced with the “If-it-feels-good do it” perception of life. Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it” Jeremiah 9:5,6, also says, “And they will deceive every one his neighbour, and will not speak the truth: they have taught their tongue to speak lies, and weary themselves to commit iniquity. Thine habitation is in the midst of deceit; through deceit they refuse to know me, saith the LORD.” In the last days…?

What Ever Happened to Quality
I took the time to repair some clothing. I mended two pair of underwear where the stitching of the seams started to separate. Old brands of underwear held together for many years of wearing and washing. Those old cotton briefs held together until the cotton panels developed holes because they actually wore out. Newer materials and designs just don’t seem to last and I haven’t even begun to talk about the inferior waistbands where the “gummy” stretch seems to disintegrate much too quickly.
What happened to the old cloth materials? Long johns were often made of wool, cotton, or flannel. All wore like iron and kept us warm, but I found the wool of my Navy blue uniforms was itchy as all get out and the wool chewed the hair off my legs as I wore them.
My Navy dungarees were made of cotton and they too wore quite well. The dungarees were the work uniform for sailors. It was necessary for the dungarees to stand up to the daily rigors of hard work and outlast the challenges in all kinds of weather and doing all sorts of dirty tasks.
The denim of today is a far cry from the original heavy dark blue material. Too often customers now want pants that look as if they are old and worn from working hard instead of having jeans that only look worn and faded. Today’s “fashion” jeans have slits and holes already placed into the legs by the manufacturers instead of intact denim jeans. To me, those cuts only hasten those holey pants to wear out more quickly.
When I was a kid, if we found clothing with holes while shopping at Gabriel’s, we‘d stick them back on the rack. Gabe’s was a seconds store and often its clothing was possibly thirds. Holes like that or worse could be found while searching for intact clothing. Holey and mis-sewn or mismatched clothing were cast aside.
Finally I’ll remind us of the double-knit horrors of my past. This material seemed like it would never wear out, but it was easily snagged on sharp objects. Double-knit shirts and polyester pants were the rage; wrinkled shirts and trousers, only a worry of the past. Ironing was a chore no more. The ease that the polyester threads accepted dyes made flowered patterns and garish plaids the “in thing.” Solid colors were almost something of the past as printed shirts and plaid bell-bottom pants came into fashion.
I imagine the “ripped” jean trend will eventually come to an end. I just pray the polyester bell-bottom plaid trousers NEVER make a return to be the “in thing.”

 Chasing Memories
Yesterday I had the privilege to attend a memorial service and the dedication of the Indian Head Bridge in Indian Head, Pennsylvania. The span crosses the Indian Creek carrying traffic from Route 711 into the town of Indian Head. The bridge was built and rebuilt several times in its history. Today, the bridge was dedicated as a memorial in honor of my childhood friend, Sgt Earl Duane Barclay who was killed in Vietnam.
The concrete span was often the playground for me and my brother Kenneth Beck. My friend Earl Duane Barclay lived in Indian Head with his parents Evelyn and Bill Barclay with several siblings. Our friendship grew because of his visits to his grandparents Jesse and Carrie Hall. They were our neighbors. His nickname was “Weiner.” Because we lived several miles apart, many others were closer to him than I. But when he would visit, we would rough house, explore, build things, and generally find things to do.
With several ponds behind my parent’s place were several water-filled ditches that were filled with frogs, tadpoles, and crayfish. We’d hit those hunting grounds with glass jars and capture several jars full before we’d release them.
There was always used lumber around. We would add to or tear apart an old chicken coop, turning it into a clubhouse of sorts. The only thing we needed was our imagination and a hammer. Most of the boards already had nails in them. We’d pull them out and pound the rusted nails into straight reusable nails until we’d fill an empty tin can before we started our construction project.
I can’t remember if Weiner was there when we built the heaviest toboggan ever or if he was there when we created a weight lifting set from mine-cart wheels and an iron bar. He probably was there when his cousins and I built a cannon from a metal bed frame. Rock filled tin can ammunition and cherry bomb would blast the tin cans into the leafy tree foliage overhead. We’d play baseball in the vacant field across from Hall’s Arco then swim in Indian Creek after a hot game.
I know that he was with us one Halloween. Several of us hooligans were “Halloweening” in Indian Head. There was a stone house with a large picture window. A low hedge was next to the house under the window. His younger brother Bobby was there and we dared him to soap the window. The owners of the house were sitting next to the window. Bobby disappeared, the hedge started to move, and an arm rose from the bushes. Bobby began to soap the window and the people inside were following his arm’s every move.

Two Tuesdays
This is the second Tuesday of this month that I’ve been inundated with appointments. Tuesday last in the midst of the winter storm I had an eight-thirty dental appointment for a tooth repair of a large chip. Driving to Normalville, Pennsylvania was a daunting task on the snow covered roads. I was further discouraged by the falling snow and the prospect of driving to my next appointment down the often treacherous Springfield Pike. The hills and curves are always disconcerting in the fog or when the snow and ice coat the roads. I was early to the appointment. I watched the clock tick past my appointment time and still wasn’t escorted to the dental chair. The procedure didn’t take very long and I was soon in my car heading for my next appointment. It is a blind study for a new medication for diabetes.
I was early for my diabetic appointment, even though I drove slowly. My speed was always under 40, mostly 35 miles per hour and didn’t have any problems. It was my first visit and didn’t know what to expect. The appointment was mostly answering questions and filling out paperwork. The nurse did draw one tube of my blood for the project.
My next stop was to talk with my dietician. We reviewed the choices that I made for my daily menu. As we review my meals, he makes suggestions on how I can improve, but all in all he was happy with my selections.
This past Tuesday I had another round of tri-fecta of appointments. My first is the second visit to the diabetic study program. More history, vitals, and the necessary signing of permissions were the fare. I am still being evaluated as to whether or not I will be a good candidate. I know some subjects will be taking the new medication while others will be given a placebo. A placebo is basically a sugar pill or a capsule or an inert substance. The difference in the effectiveness of the drug will be compared with the placebo. I am becoming friends with the two ladies who are gathering my information.
My next appointment was for my annual eye examination. Everything went well there and I didn’t need to get new glasses or other problems with my vision. The eye drops caused me to be careful driving to get my haircut.
My last appointment is much closer to home. I was in need of a haircut again. My hair becomes fly-away when it gets long and I look like a wild man. The lady who cuts my hair has a salon is only several hundred yards from my front door. She is so pleasant and I always enjoy talking with her. Home at last.

 Rainbows and Beyond
    I believe I may have shared before my grandmother Anna Beck’s love for bright colors or it may have just been my grandfather Edson’s frugal spirit that colored their home. This was so apparent when anyone walked into their kitchen. The metal base cabinets and sink were white as was an old Hoosier cupboard and a white side cabinet. They were the islands of serenity in a swirl of color. The tiles on the floor made a sea of bright red. Brilliant blue Congoleum with white lined blocks rose halfway up the walls. Above the blue barrier, the wall was painted a bright sunshine yellow. The primitive hand-crafted upper cupboards were painted pale, pastel of sea-foam green. To complete the rainbow effect, ruffled lavender curtains hung at the windows. A small powder room claimed one corner of the kitchen.
    This area was the masterpiece of mélange. The rest of their home was more subdued with only splashes of color in the living room, dining room, and Granddad’s office. Old time flowered carpet made the centerpiece, while the dark wood dining room table and chairs rested on it with the china cupboard watching over all. In the living room, a plump maroon sofa and chair surrounded another flowered carpet; their material was stiff and itchy to sit on.
    Linoleum of pale gray embossed with flowers covered the office floor. In the center were Granddad’s dark multi-drawered wooden desk, his wooden roller chair, and two chairs for clients. Granddad made wills, deeds, and completed income taxes.
    In one corner of the office huddled a pale green metal stand; the resting place for his old Underwood typewriter. In the opposite corner, a huge safe hibernated; its single brass-eyed dial glowed. When the safe needed to be moved, 2X8 planks were required so it wouldn’t break through the old pine, tongue and groove flooring. A door led to an adjoining and narrow waiting room that held a few more chairs and a pale gray filing cabinet. Several calendars hung on the wall; the pictures helped to eliminate the drabness of the room.
    Grandma’s love for colors must have rubbed off onto her daughters Estella Strawderman and Helen Stahl. Fastidiousness and wide choices of décor could be seen in their homes as well, but I will leave those stories for another time.

 Cold and Snow
It has been a cold and snowy week thus far. Snow and frigid weather are my two least favorite thing for me to endure. I’ve posted in the past that I do sometimes on occasion enjoy clearing my driveway. The solitude and silence with the large flakes of snow cushioning the noise and confusion of the present time can be so relaxing. The darkness of the night and the curtain of the falling snow separate me from the hustle and bustle of my world.
However this week hasn’t put me in that frame of mind. The frigid temperature and the snow were pushed into my area by strong winds. The result was that many people around me were 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.
I started to write to share my experience. 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 Tuesday morning. I had a dental appointment Tuesday morning at eight thirty. I had a damaged tooth. I had an appointment for a diabetes study program. It would be 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. Al went well and now I faced the real challenge, the Springfield Pike. It is a series of hills and turns that have been the locations of many accidents. It I can be the bane of drivers 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 gladly turned into my drive at home.

 Something to Dye For
I am not a clothes horse nor am I vain person, but when I worked at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania I was given a dress code. I was to wear dress slacks, button down shirt, and a neck tie. Over the years I bought dark blue pants to wear in the winter and tan slacks for the summer. The dark blue slacks were less likely to show dirt from the slush and splash of ashes and grit. I liked lighter colors when spring rolled around after wearing winter colors. I already owned several ties. Sometimes by a few more, especially ties with a holiday theme. Ties I purchased were usually from thrift shops or yard sales. As fellow workers saw my various ties some would give me more. One switchboard lady had a neck tie made for me from one of her blouses, but that’s a story I’ve shared before.
Because my hair was sandy colored, my whiskers have always been red. When I was stationed in Iceland as a corpsman in the United States Navy I was able to grow a full beard and mingle with the Icelandic people unrecognized as an outsider. I kept the beard when I was discharged from the Navy and started college to pursue a career in nursing. I probably wouldn’t have shaved then, but for the constant haranguing from my mom Sybil Miner Beck. She fussed every time she saw me. I was living at home at the time. She said that it made her feel old. When I shaved it off, it took her two weeks to notice that it was gone. She didn’t believe me until my dad Edson Carl Beck corroborated my story.
So where does the dying part of the tale begin? The first happened when I was in nursing school and my hair became grossly soiled with blood from an accident truck driver patient. My uniform and hair were thick with blood and clots. I took some hydrogen peroxide to soak my uniform. The clots were sticking to my hair. Not thinking, I used peroxide with shampoo. The clots came out, but it also brought out red highlights in my hair. I’ve also told this detailed tale in past stories.
I dyed the second time when I worked at Frick. I had a red goatee beard. As I aged, gray crept into my hair and began to display itself in my beard, but only at the corners of my mouth. When I began to look like a cartoon fox with wide jowls of white against the red, I had two choices, to shave it off completely or to hide my encroaching age. I dyed it for about a year until the gray won the war.