Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

A Voice to Carry On

As I read the Melody Green's biography on her husband, Keith, No Compromise, I couldn't help thinking of my senior year and all the ideals I had then. At first, I was a bit distracted by the not stellar writing, but trying to be the nonjudgmental person, I overlooked it. Well, I thought how I could write it a little better, then I became drawn into the story and soon overlooked the writing style.
Keith came on the scene of Christian music in the late 70's. I had recommitted my life to Jesus the end of January 1979 at Seneca Hills. A winter retreat for the Covenant Presbyterian youth group nestled in the northwest hills of Pennsylvania with snow, fire places, food contests, fellowship and inspiring talks.
I looked then to the new industry for my music to glorify my Lord. Being an album freak, I bought as many as I could, Amy Grant, Daniel Amos, Don Francisco and Keith Green, promoted as the Christian Billy Joel. The man could play the piano. It is amazing that he didn't break into the music industry until after his search for spiritual fulfillment culminated in Jesus.
And sing Keith did, as well as being a prophet trying to wake Christians up from slumber in the pews. He and his wife tended to pick up strays and basically had a commune in California. I remembered my first trip to California in 1979. A beautiful trip, where I could see the spiritual climate of all that could be followed was. I enjoyed growing closer in my relationship with Jesus on this trip, enjoying the bright early sunshine, reading my Bible and one of the most intimate communion services I had ever attended.
I have a picture of the Rosewood Guitar business because after I graduated from high school, I attended a young adults Bible study in this home. Jim Twerdy and his wife also had a ministry there in this rambling old home. They had a couple of small children and a young woman lived there caring with the children as her help to their mission, as she also learned ministry tips.
I imagined this would be a great way to live, serving the Lord with my husband. The whole cotton dresses, peasant tops and sandals, making my own bread and counseling young girls. It really came from the hippie, seventies.
I admired Keith's passion, dedication and ever striving to live a life for God. He wanted everyone to be as dedicated. His zeal could turn people away. Interesting in his last months, he truly felt content, believing in the love finally of his Lord. He accepted the grace. He relaxed, but did lower his standards of discipleship, holiness.
To know a life snuffed out so early raised many questions, but Melody couldn't dwell there. For one thing she had a baby girl and another on the way, when Keith and their two other children died in a Cessna 414 crash, July 1983. He was twenty eight.
Like with Peter Marshall, I wonder if these strong voices had not been snuffed out, what would have happened. Melody explains the generation that follows is that voice. The light has been passed on, as Elijah with Elisha. Enjoy a taste of Keith's singing in this song...

Sunday, January 27, 2013

January's End

Here I am again, wondering what to write, since I haven't taken a picture of one thing I want to write about and I haven't finished reading Melody Green's book. Almost, but not quite. January drags me down for years. I wrote in my journal in high school or nursing school about the silver month. Ice, white, silver, cold and depressing.
It seems this January, we have had a lot of sunshine. We notice the sun not setting till 5:30 and now, even a little later. The late afternoon sun golden through the window, coloring the horizon pink behind the black, stark trees. The sun truly makes me delighted.
I can't believe this is the last week of January. I don't sense time dragging any more. Is there too much to do or is it true, time goes faster when one is older? Why is perception different as you age? More time to remember and more times that are the same in some subtle way?
I think of when I was young. The long weekend days if we stayed home. Reading in my room all afternoon. Eating pizza from Matsko's, or hot dogs roasted over our fireplace, while we watched all the great Saturday night TV shows. Sundays comprised of church, Sunday dinner, football and old movies when we didn't visit relatives. Couldn't shop on Sundays, except for Thrift Drug at the Eastwood Mall.
As I got into junior high, spending more time with friends on the weekends. We couldn't drive. Sometimes parents took us to Sharon or Hickory (as Hermitage was called then). We could walk around the mall, but that wasn't too encouraged. Mostly remained with parents during these years.
We did like to call Y-103, the new local rock FM station. We talked to the DJ, while a long song was on. Oh, we were so cool.
My senior year, I rediscovered the joy of winter outings. Sledding or inner-tubing on the Oakview School hill, that isn't there any more. We howled down that hill in the frozen night under the clear black sky. I pulled my sled over on the bright winter days after school as my exercise. I had a Jean Claude ski jacket, red, white and blue, with the only snow pants my mother could find- white with red candy stripes. Who cared? I was usually the only one there on school days. I loved the quiet of the snow muffled atmosphere and the sun bright and distant.
I also discovered cross country skiing then. I really fell in love with that sport. I never ventured down a mountain. That is a bit scary. I could imagine winter camping, although, I never did that. But the idea enthralled me, as the boyfriend who awakened my love for winter then, returned to Florida. I thought we would do that when we were older.
That relationship did not stand the test of time. I wondered though, years later, I found out from his nephew, he never married. Afraid of commitment? I know the distance then, as well as the cost of long distance telephone calls put a real damper on affairs.
I often think how different many of those fleeting romances may have ended up with cell phones and Face book. I never know and I'm glad I'm with the man who stood the test of distance and married me.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

His Hope is My Hope

Sit down and write I tell myself and it will come. Already, I thought of a few things to write about. I'm reading Melody Green's book on the life of her husband, Keith. I'm not finished with it, yet, so I'm holding off commenting. Then the words-it will come, brought back Field of Dreams.
This movie quote is used often with ministries, visions and ideas. I first saw this movie in Emporium. David's sister brought it for the family to watch. We crowded into my in-law's living room. I still admired Kevin Costner then.
I cried deeply at the end of this movie. The timing came shortly after my father died. Oh, to just see him again. Even in a corn field. Anywhere is how I felt then. I missed him so much. Unlike many movies about dads, I had no unresolved issues about my father, except that he died too young.
I also felt so alone, because no one else in that room possessed the fresh grief I had. Everyone else had their father, or it had been so long since their fathers died that I didn't think it dug as raw at them, like mine did. I escaped to the room we were staying to be alone.
In that early grief, that lasted many years, I never wanted to bring it up, even though it was constantly with me. Once in a while someone would say a kind word about my father or say they missed him. I clung to those moments where my ache seemed validated.
My father meant so much to all of us kids. After he died, we stumbled along, not wanting to cry. Our north star blazed into eternity, the spot empty for a long time. A void never to be filled, but we are thankful for what he was.
I look now at his picture on the wall and one we pulled out, placing on the TV, of him holding baby Katie Beth. How he loved his grandchildren. His wallet had Katie's hospital newborn picture, two of all his granddaughters and the one of him and mom, where he is holding her to stand for the picture after she hadn't walked for two years. The photographer asked if he could help her stand for that picture and he always could hold Mom. Mom walked because of his faith in her and his God to heal.
Even though those twenty three years ago after the movie, I felt alone, I know I was never alone in my grief. Reading my Bible, especially the Psalms, brought verse after verse of comfort to me. The letters to Timothy reminded me of Dad guiding me in my Christian walk.
I felt robbed that Dad left this earth so early. I reeled that some men still lived. I had dreams. I had a field of dreams. I missed him as I started home health. He knew these Mercer County roads. He taught me short cuts. He was better than Thomas, my GPS. I missed him as my children grew and my niece Sarah was born. I longed for him when my mother needed that extra help at home. I knew he could take care of her.
I think of how Mom had dreams of him standing over her bed, smiling at her, wordlessly. He glimpsed at us from glory. Hebrews 12:1 says we are surrounded by a huge cloud of witnesses. He is in that cloud. He is encouraging his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren on. Now, he has my mother with him in that cloud.
The grief is replaced by hope. Hope I will see him again. Hope that I couldn't have been raised by a better father. Hope that I have the best memories. His hope is my hope. Jesus.

Friday, January 25, 2013


Watching the movie Dave, about a look alike man being tapped to replace the president. Kevin Kline plays the dual role. The real president is not a nice person and has cronies that want to keep power, after the commander in chief falls victim to a massive stroke during an affair.
It is fun. Loaded with many cameos of famous people, senators, news people, Jay Leno. The idea that in our country, any native born citizen can become president appeals to us. We want that inner look of the White House. We want to believe the little guy can win, and get the beautiful lady in the end.
Katie thinks it could have been a Frank Capra movie.
I laugh though at how we perceive what the president does. He is only to be a policy maker. We expect the president to do all kinds of miracles, like creating jobs, promising all kinds of services. Do we expect too much from the person in this office?
I go back to where we need to read the Constitution. Our expectations need to be based on this document. Still, movies like Dave, tickle our fantasy about the house on 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. It does not instruct, only fuels imagination. Cozy way to spend a Friday night.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Winter Afternoon Fancy

I'll just tell you a little bit about my drive today up north. It is still cold here, the high of twenty degrees F. When the cold comes in like this, the sun shines, the skies are deep blue. The roads dusty white beneath my car, but watch out for the slick black for ice.
One road I turned on in the flat corn fields, I only knew it was the road because of memory. A white path between the stubble of harvested corn stalks, the only semblance of a way. I thanked God no other vehicles approached me from any direction. I did not know how I would fair on the side of the road, as I kept to the middle.
I reached the end of this road, the next more cleared. The sun over the hill-less landscape, bright, but so distant. I felt so small under this vast clear sky with the fuzzy clouds high, high, high. No warmth in this cold sky keeping the sun so far away.
I love this area, but I'm glad I grew up with my hills. I feel less alone, less exposed in my hills than when I'm in the big bowl. Yet, I also feel when I'm in this stretch of northern Trumbull County that I could soar. Take off into that distant sky. I know the earth goes farther north, but I have the end of the land feel. So close, yet so different from my Pennsylvania.
The farm land also feels so wholesome. The small crossroads of a town, with the white Federal style church and the Town Hall hump in this remote land. I glanced at the Town Hall of an 1800's building with new windows. Yes, real town business must go on in there. Just a few houses huddled together, then onto the surrounding farms with the yawning fields, groves of trees far off, covered with fresh clean snow. This town has no stores around. They all must travel a distance, even for milk.
I imagine living here, the difficulties, the watching the storms roll in from the far west. The small cemetery on the knoll. No hills, only flat. I can almost see the horse drawn sleighs. The women in bulky sweaters with heavy wool skirts and muck about boots. The men wear their flannel and overalls, with hulking boots. They come to the church for dinners on a Saturday. Maybe this church will allow dancing. I feel the warmth of wood stoves.
I can smell the wood stoves' smoke when I'm out in the country like this. With the windows closed, I faintly sniff that wonderful aroma.
I know these people are not from another era. They watch TV, have the internet, go into the big town or the city for their shopping. Their experiences may be different than mine, but they don't live in the past. Oh, how I can imagine the past there, though. I mentioned this land before, I let my imagination loose and plan stories, if I'm not answering calls from doctors or my office. At one time it didn't even have cell phone reception, but alas, that has changed with the times.
Thank you for riding with me tonight. I hope you enjoyed the winter afternoon's fancy.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Warming a Room

I see a pattern. Mid January blahs. I can tell by my recent posts. They got smaller and smaller. I seemed to run out of things to share. I couldn't hardly think of anything from my junior high years to write about. I do have one post in mind, but I have to take a picture to go with it.
As usual, as my fingers tap out these words, I can think of memories. I was back in my friend, Sherry's house. We sat in front of her fireplace. The family had gotten a board game called Careers. I guess it was a knock off of Life. Their dark brick fireplace housed a roaring fire to keep us warm. I walked down to her house and left at supper time. At home, we usually didn't have fires except on the weekends.
We spent many hours in front of both our fireplaces. At sleepovers, we stayed up late, playing 500. Diane came home for a few months between Okinawa and Thailand. She introduced me to such great movies as Dracula, and Charlie Chan on Chilly Theater. With my friends we watched The Midnight Special, shaking our heads at David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust. We had to see the latest rock group. Food, a major ingredient of these late night fun sessions, included chips, pop, cookies.
In eighth grade, the new weatherman on Channel 33, also hosted schmaltzy, scary movies after the 11 o'clock news. I thought this weatherman very cute, so I watched the news to see him, as well as stayed up on Friday nights to admire him on the breaks. I even sent in a picture I drew that he displayed on TV. My parents wondered if he knew how old I was. Did he think I was an elementary student, instead of eighth grader? Still, I thrilled at having my name mentioned on TV and the note he wrote when he returned the drawing.
Cold winter afternoons and evenings into the nights, in front of our fireplaces brought giggles, gossip and gobbling food. Dancing to the newest songs, if we weren't laughing too hard. Then there was Elvira, Big Chuck and Hoolihan to bring more laughter, if the movies didn't first make us snicker. No wonder I miss my fireplace. Nothing warms a room like a wood fire shared with friends.

Saturday, January 19, 2013

Choices to Run

I've been browsing through a book Katie got me for Christmas. It is a browsing book, The Bibliophile's Devotional, composed by Hallie Ephron, PhD. They are daily readings on literary classics- 365. Yes, I could just savor one for each day, but my mind goes wild reading all the possibilities.
I read the single page description of books I've read, some loved, some not so much. I dig into ones I haven't read and start making a list to borrow from the library.
I grow restless about my writing. I want to write historical fiction, but should I go wild, too? Writing opens a marvelous, expanding world. So all these ideas inspire me, but as I mentioned before, I think I'm being held hostage.
Next week, watch out! Starting Monday...

Friday, January 18, 2013

Another Man of Faith

A Man Called Peter Poster

We had a built in book case in what we called the middle room with glass doors. Shelves of books stared out, dull in colors, like brown or subdued green, with the titles simply printed in gold or black on the spines. A Man Called Peter caught my attention as a small girl. I thought it was about the apostle Peter. I never read it at home and I don't even know where those books are now.
I ran into Catherine Marshall's writings and bit of her history, reading my mother's Guideposts, and later getting them as a Christmas present in my early marriage years. Then I heard of their son, Peter Marshall and his writings of the Christian beginnings of our country  A book From Sea to Shining Sea is one name that stuck in my mind. He even came to Sharon Stadium for Mercer County's two hundredth anniversary. He spoke about the Revolutionary hero, Hugh Mercer of whom this county is named.
One day I was in a bookstore and saw this DVD. Having been filmed in 1955 and not one of those popular movies, the price was reasonable. I bought it, to see what the book on the shelf those years ago was about.
For the obvious flaws of a 1955 film, it enchanted me. Yes, even though set in the 30's and 40's, the women's fashions were the 50's. The Naval Academy scenes, on location,  highlight the sermon he felt he had to preach on death and dying given to the midshipmen on the morning of December 7, 1941.
I felt this movie portrayed real Christ followers. Peter preached a carpenter Jesus, who loved fun, not a meek and mild, mamby pamby man. Praying is a major part of their life, with vulnerability in prayers for healing. Being compliant in God's hands and surrender can also lead to healing.
The book, Catherine wrote about her first husband is of course much richer. The movie, though, is close in the feel of Peter, true to her writing. As I read of his death of a massive heart attack at age 46, in 1949, I  thought, Oh, if only he could have lived in our time. We can do much more for heart disease now.
Peter, though, lived and couldn't live the life of an invalid. He prayed boldly in the US Senate as their chaplin.
I'm sure today, he would be too sure of his Christianity to be allowed to pray on Capitol Hill.
I used some of his sermon quotes in my mother's funeral about heaven and resurrection.  I admired his teachings, amazed at how they are still relevant to today from the 1930's and 40's.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Help, I'm Being Held Hostage!

I am being held hostage by a three by four charcoal gray rectangular device that flips open. I hear whistling that starts my groaning and dread. "Hello, this is Mollie," I tiredly say.
For one week out of every seven, my life is on hold. I don't want to be caught any where without access to my work laptop. I may need to look up a number of things about the caller. How can I direct them or help them, I need to find answers. I listen as I read their diagnosis, the clinical notes and medications.
During the day, my clinical team leader may call that I need to do an admission with IV's or a feeding tube that evening, sometimes far away. Or I may just get home and someone's catheter fell out, I trudge back to the car, mark my mileage and off I go.
I have done call for twenty years. It is better than when I first started. We used to go for everything, no matter what. Now, it is not so much going out as answering questions like why aren't the results of a blood test back that the nurse drew this morning. Find out which nurse visited the patient, because they don't remember the names of the nurses. Then, hopefully find the nurse and ask where she dropped off the blood. Then call the lab, to hear them say, "The courier didn't drop it off yet."
"It's seven fifty, the nurse dropped it off at one."
" Well, we don't have it."
Five minutes later that whistle of a ring breaks the silence. Oh, they have the results.
Doctor and patient are mad. That is if I can get a doctor to call me. Cell phones with a scratchy connection make hearing orders difficult, so, I ask please repeat that. Doctors don't like that.
This is why writing has been sketchy this week. I didn't have a thought in my head. But today I had three ideas for posts. This one is an apology for not writing.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Key Words

Reading A Farewell to Arms, last night(yes, I'm still reading it), one little sentence brought back a memory that I really hadn't thought specifically. "They smelled cleanly of oil and grease." He has hopped a train to escape. Under the canvas are guns.
I could smell my brother and dad cleaning their rifles with those words. I've thought before of the beautiful gun cabinet in our upstairs hall. The glass displaying the hunting rifles. But I didn't remember till reading those simple words of the smell with cleaning rifles.
We only had rifles. My dad and brother hunted. Dan started as early as twelve, learning to drink coffee to keep warm on those cold early winter hunts. Dan really took to hunting. At fourteen, trapping muskrat to make some money selling the furs. He was up at four, before school, to check his traps. Then he delivered a morning paper, the Pittsburgh Post.
Warm in the house, winter nights, Dad and Dan, grabbed the cleaning materials, soft cloth, oil, brushes, anointing the home with that fragrance of manhood. We girls didn't hunt, although, we knew of those who did. My cousin, another great hunter, married a woman who traversed the woods for deer. We felt it was a great match.
My husband grew up in the mountains, where people from the Valley had camps, as well as Pittsburghers. The first year, David could join his brothers and father in the woods on The Hill,  he ended up on his grandmother's couch, sleeping. He often said he didn't want to be out in the woods with the crazy people. The first year he did ask, "What did that deer do to me?"
In the Navy, he was given a pistol. They had target practice. He's a pretty good shot. Actually, he excelled. He then found a passion for guns, shooting. He joined many gun clubs, so he could practice. We have guns in our home, but they are locked tight in steel lockers. No pretty glass doors on ornate wooden cabinets in our house.
I've never held a gun or rifle, nor do I really want to do that. I thought at times of joining my husband at the range, but life has drawn him away from that. I admire his knowledge of artillery. When we watch a movie, he knows immediately what gun is there and if it is accurate. It's fun to watch a movie and hear him spout out about the guns.
 Hunting is not the only reason to own guns. It is for protection. But I have never felt the need for one. I trust in God for protection. I can understand though we need to have this freedom to own guns. Freedom comes with responsibility and risks, but losing freedom has a bigger risk.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Friday =Family Nights

I had one of those nights last night. I started out with all kinds of ambition. Posting next on the agenda and I had to go to bed. Ended up in bed until almost seven this morning, dragging myself to greet the day, by making coffee.
It seemed this morning to be one of those days. I wanted to start early, but I needed to go the credit union. Windows on my laptop shut down without warning, I guess it does that. The rain slaughtered my car at times on my way to Ohio and around that area.
The sun by the middle afternoon played with the clouds. I got home, feeling slightly drained, but not sleepy. I plopped on the loveseat, watching Hulu shows from last night. My girls love to do this.
A quick supper of spaghetti and steak, the best my youngest declares. I asked her, "What about breakfast for supper?"
"Well, that's pretty good, too."
Now we're waiting to make brownies, served with vanilla ice cream. Soon, snuggling up with my family to watch Sunday evening show. Friday nights are family nights and so worth the wait.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


This is my five hundredth post since I started in February 2011. Not quite two years. Celebration time. I'm looking at self publishing two novels this month. I also want to finish one that I started in 2011 and have been languishing on it.
I so enjoy calling myself a writer. The journey has been wonderful. Sometimes I felt discouraged, but I have learned to place it all in God's hands and timing. I am amazed at how events have fallen in place.
So what am I going to do because this is my five hundredth post. Shoot some fireworks? That'd be fun, but no. I think Classy Cat for an outfit may be the ticket.
Keep plugging away at what I love to do. Plugging is not really the word, though, for such joy. Sometimes it is hard, when my head hurts or I'm tired or had an especially long or stressful day. I strive for the day I can make a living doing this. Because I love it.
Celebration and continuation. Lots of reasons. Publishing. Blogging for two years, next month. Feeling good. Maybe, I should get some fireworks!

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Post from Last Year on a Quiet Winter's Night
Today, I was again in rural northern Trumbull County on a bright winter day. I love the flat expanse of the white fields laying fallow. Last week, the wood fire smoke drifted into the car. I do love the driving when the weather is fair.
Lots of plans last year. Still working on them, but closer. Almost done with Main Street, revision. I see how much I told, and didn't show. There is a reason we put distance from our writing at times.
A quiet night at home. Mary Ellen plays in the pep band for the basketball games. Katie roams Macy's, working to get her sales goal. Seat time with the writing or computer work for my job. Hm? Yeah, I know bird-in-hand. Yet, part of me just wants to sleep on a quiet winter's night.

Monday, January 7, 2013

January Thaw

Everyone is talking about the thaw coming this weekend. When I was in seventh grade, we had a real thaw in the middle of January. The temperatures soared to seventy. The sun brightly shone as well. We ran around like it was spring. I loved it.
I had a long brown sweater, a coat sweater, that I wore with my bell bottom jeans, that I had finally. My friend Sherry and I strolled around town, marveling at the warm weather. We walked along the creek, near the cemetery at the end of my street.
We talked about what junior high girls talk about, boys. I still thought I was in love with the Pittsburgh boy, but he wasn't around and few letters arrived from him. So, my thoughts roamed to the upper class men. We giggled about imagined meetings and what would happen. Why do springlike days bring those feelings so strongly?
Even now when we have a break in the weather or spring faintly hints of returning, I'll think of being with my husband, riding bicycles- which we haven't done in over twenty four years, wandering under blossoming trees- nope don't do that, looking at violets- haven't done that alone for quite some time. Yet, I imagine all these lovely activities with the one I love.
I love when I walk, I'll see an older couple holding hands. Then sometimes I wonder have they been married a long time or is this a new romance? Sunshine, spring, warm weather as they say bring thoughts of love.
Wonder what this weekend will bring? Probably mud.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

Wesley-the DVD

File:WESLEY-MOVIE-POSTER-640.jpgMy husband bought me this DVD for Christmas. I watched it Friday and for a low budget film, I enjoyed it. As I have mentioned before, John Wesley is a bit of a hero for me. I am by no means a scholar of his life, but I have read a few biographies and this spring I read a book of a few of his sermons.
This film is interesting as the script is based on John and Charles' diaries and journals, including one just translated from John's secret code in the 1980's. I think I enjoyed it because of the all the reading I had done. Always fun to have pictures with the words.
My favorite scene is when John's heart is strangely warmed as he realizes faith found him. The joy that floods his soul, as he tells his brother Charles, who has been praying for him to come to this point. They cannot help but sing a hymn that Charles had penned earlier. They sing with gusto.
In the introduction to every Methodist hymnal, a page to instruct from John Wesley how to sing these songs. My girls discovered this at a UMC church camp, Jumonville, while we adults talked. The singers are encouraged to sing heartedly, learn the words before you learn any other songs and sing as you did the songs of the world.
John always sensed a purpose in his life. I can relate to that, I was told often how one surgeon wanted to end my mother's pregnancy with me, but the other won out. With strategies like his Holy Club and good deeds, study and teaching, he tried hard to earn his salvation, never believing he belonged to God, until that fateful service at Aldersgate.  By then Charles, also came to a living faith.  These men effected many social ills, influencing the likes of Wilberforce, John Newton, and Whitefield. The American Revolution can trace its roots to the Methodist movement.
If you want an encapsulated  rendering of John and Charles Wesley's life and impact, I recommend this movie. If you are a film  critic, it may be hard to watch. Some of the acting is stiff, but not the main acting between the brothers. It also seems very clean for colonial times. To me these are minor distractions. I truly was pleased how it followed the story with the men's own words. And Burgress Jenkins is not hard to watch.

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Honeymoon Train

 I worked today and I got to travel to Wellsville, Ohio. A beautiful bright sunny winter day with clear roads. No snow for a few days, but under thirty two degrees keeping the snow white.
I grabbed my phone camera as I knew I wanted pictures. I was also excited that it was such a wonderful winter day, as I believe Grandma and Grandpa Evans married in February. They either married in Wellsville or took a train, called the Honeymoon Train to West Virginia to get married.
This was a popular thing to do in the late nineteen-teen's. My mother had Grandma's Bible with a clipping on the Honeymoon Train. West Virginia didn't require a license or waiting time to marry. I wonder more and more about the story of Hazel and Lew.

I also wonder about Hazel's younger sister, Arvella or Jim. When did she marry? The cousins are about the same age. I know Jim, five years younger than Hazel, attended the Fredonia Teachers College. I don't know if she taught. Her first husband's name was Ralph Slater, with whom she had five children. So many questions that are unanswered for now.
I imagine the wedding day for Hazel and Lew. Were they in love? Was it a cold day, like today or a rainy, dreary winter day, kind of warm? Imagination is what I have now. And I always wanted to use the Honeymoon Train in my writing as soon as I read that article.
In Country, I plan on using that.

Wellsville is a old town on the River. They spruce the river bank with white benches. Some houses are spectacular and others are worn down. It nestles in a few blocks before the steep hills start. I know there are houses up in the hills. Someday, I'll go to visit the museum and get more information on the Honeymoon Train and pottery and everything else that once made this town a place to go.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Pennsylvania Style
 After being serious with my whole picture and word posts, I like lightening it up. Yesterday, was the GPS post. Poor Thomas.
Today, as I unwound from a day of feeling light-headed and nauseaous,wondering what this is? Sinus? Some stomach virus? Vertigo? Whatever, not in pain anyways. I checked my Facebook and came across this link from TV station in the eastern part of our state. I laughed and even though, I don't feel much better physically, this helped. Laughter truly is a good medicine.
After examining it, it did flash Sharon, St. Marys, New Castle. Quaker Steak flahses through the Sharon. When they like the Scanton girls- Electric City, The Office, has a second with Michael, Dwight and Jim.
Watching this explains how big our commonwealth is. We have diversity.In the east they call a soft drink, soda. We, here in Western PA, say pop or at least we did.
I love "warsh," "yinz," "dippy eggs," and "scraps" for scrapple- even know what that is?
So my challenge is for some talented musicians to come with a Western Pennsylvania parody. And don't forget the cookie table.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Dueling GPS

My GPS supplied to me from work is named Thomas. He speaks with a British accent, more patient than I am. I was reluctant to use a GPS. Give me a good map- we used to have one in our Youngstown office plastered on a big wall. Give me the street name and city, and I mapped it out- L/10 for Woodlawn.
I seldom got lost and if I did, I prayed. Before I knew it, the street would pop up in front of my faith mobile, that's what I called my Corsica that ended up with two hundred thousand miles. That was a great car. David bought me a plate for the front that showed I Heart Jesus. I felt protected always, even in the ghetto.I have been tooling around eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania for the last twenty years for work.
Then mapquest came on the scene and we never asked patients for directions anymore. Just plop it in the computer, copy and paste, voila, directions in our lap top. As new personnel came on board, that detail was left out of inputting information for new admitts.
I was forced to drag Thomas out. I know too much and he is often wrong. He still tells me to turn right, when I know I have to turn left. He often directs me to a field. Really, Thomas? Really? No one lives in a field.
Thomas can be a tool, though, to help me. I do tire of his "route recalication." Thomas, I am a human GPS, I've memorized these roads, I've studied maps, God gifted me with a great sense of direction. I think I know how to get there. So I turn Thomas off. He can get very annoying.
My dad loved to drive all over. He knew Pymatuning back roads. I often asked him ways to get around the Shenango Valley. I missed him when I started doing home health. All those Sunday drives, where I wasn't plugged into a electronic device, just the wonderful outdoors, I memorized where we were. Take me someplace once and I could get back there.
So Thomas and I argue. I do have the upper hand. I can turn him off. He can't touch me. And I won't drive into a lake.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

The Goals Listing

With the new year, of course, I ponder goals. Started yesterday with my picture of COURAGE, also my word for 2013. One blogger, I read today, posted her word as "Publish." Hmm, that is definitely on my list, too.
I want to read the Bible through chronically this year, to get the feel of the whole story. I have an NIV from several years ago, but I prefer the NLT. They have printed a Bible with this theme in the NLT. That is on my list to buy.
Books and authors to explore, always a running goal. I want to read new ones, as well as some old that I have never read before, though, I may be familiar with the story. I want to read more than last year.
Writing new stories, as well as revising the ones waiting. I'm thinking of different angles, edges to themes. I have been having dreams lately of oppression and escaping from captivity. I need to follow the literal dreams as well as the ones I conjure.
Either writing a book or a blog with my daughter this year on an experience that has changed our lives peeks over the horizon. Now, is definitely too early, but sometime this year, a shared writing project hides in the wings.
Anticipating celebrating 500 posts and two years of blogging. I look forward to finding joy in life.
The usual goals pop up on the list, exercise, more consistent walking- Harrison would love, eating less sweets, more fiber, etc. Getting more sleep. Starting to work earlier. Finishing my computer work in a more timely manner.
Philippians 4:13, I can do all things through Christ, which strengthens me.
In all circumstances, may I be content, rest in the Lord's strength and forge ahead where the Spirit leads.