" 'twas the night before Christmas . . .' "

 

    With an apology to Dr. Moore's poem with the same line, this is about something other than Santa's visit.  Recently in conversation with a couple of Moravian ministers, they told of several modifications they were making in their traditional Christmas Eve Lovefeast due to Covid.

    When living in Winston-Salem, NC, I frequently attended these services which were always packed even with multiple services at many of the numerous Moravian churches there.

 In my first year in a United Methodist parish of three rural churches, I proposed a change in the previous format.  Three times were proposed ... 5 pm, 7:30 pm and 11:30 ... and members voted by paper ballots. Frankly, I was surprised when the latest hour garnered the most votes. (Only later did Kenneth sheepishly note that his family might have "stuffed" the ballot box.)

  So, on December 24, 1991, the church was festively adorned, complete with candles and greenry in the stained-glass windows. Consequently, the sanctuary was rather dim as people gathered.  Among the numerous musicians in those congregations, Willard was a talented guitarist who was enlisted to play "Silent Night" at the conclusion of the service. We noted that at its first use in a Christmas Eve service, a guitar accompanied.  When Willard entered the subduedly lit sanctuary, he said, "Turn on the lights. I want to see who voted for this 11:30 time."

  Truth to be told, there had been skeptics about attendance. But the church was packed each of the nine Christmases I was there.  Though in a rural area, we often had visitors from several miles away. Perhaps you have heard the adage that if you want adults present at an event have their children as participants. Even years later, I remember how  the youth with their exceptional skills with brass instruments brought beautiful sounds. And, also adults agreed to scripture readings placed throughout. 

  On some occasions, we included  our variation of the Moravian Love Feast. Many adults did the arduous logistic  preparations and serving of the buns and coffee (with no spillage).

   One year Norman Rockwell must have visited because as I opened the vestibule doors at the conclusion of worship, we discovered that snow had been falling for a time and an idyllic  postcard panorama surrounded us.

   The event became my favorite of the entire liturgical year. But I missed the last one of my tenure there. Sometime around December 22, I began having  abdominal pains. So on the 23d, I went to the doctor's office. Rather quickly he sent me to the nearby hospital for imaging test.  When the tech could (would) not disclose the results but left for the ER physician who returned with Dr. Kothapali, a prominent local surgeon, I knew this wasn't going to be good. "Guess what you are getting for Christmas?" the first doctor asked. "What?", I replied and Dr. Kothapali introjected, "Surgery".  "When?" "Tonight."  "But I have a Christmas Eve service tomorrow night."  He asked, "Do you have an associate?" "No, I am a one person staff."  And in case I was underestimating the situation, he  succinctly summarized: "You won't be there." And, I was not. A nearby pastor substituted and I spent the next several days in the hospital following surgery for an inflamed gall bladder.

  So, on December 24, instead of being at our service, I was "nestled all snug in my [hospital]bed", and watching televised services from Duke Chapel and the Midnight Mass from the Vatican.

   And the only "creatures stirring" were not the mice but the nursing staff.

      Satchel

  

   

THE COUNTDOWN IS ON , , ,

 

       Today, November 14, I heard the first "Christmas song" at the restaurant where I  picked up our "to go" order. This week our outside temps have been in the 70* range . . . no 'dreaming of a white Christmas' here.  The Church's Liturgical Calendar indicates that the Advent Season does not begin for another  fifteen days.

   But, for now, it's November .. . all 30 days. This has been a November unlike any in my remembrance !  Election day (week) has drained the emotional 'gas tank' for many.  And now there are reports of runaway Covid numbers.  Despite numerous warnings by public health persons to avoid indoor Thanksgiving gatherings, there are several indications many will ignore the advice. And there are predictions for yet another spike of cases two weeks after Thanksgiving.

  In my search for 'November quotes' this one from Annie Leck (?) catches the mood of many : "This November there seems to be nothing to say." Or this by Charman J. Forde : "This is going to be a November to remember."  (For that matter, this has been a   2020 to remember.  Somehow, that the font   size has change without my agency seems fitting for this year.)

  Then there is the  phenomenon of Christmas shopping with all its attendant hassles and how that may look this year. Even with the restrictions and horrible infection statistics, this observation by Cynthia Ryhart seems apropos: "In November, the trees are   standing all sticks and bones without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still." (Italics mine).  The countdown has begun; a time to be still may be especially needed this year.

    Satchel

: 

" . . . and I approve this message."

 

If I had the proverbial nickel for every time I have heard that phrase over the past six (?) months or so, I could make a sizable contribution to my favorite charity. And there is the  equally ubiquitous phrase, "This ad has been paid for by ______.".

Since 1948, I have observed elections with some degree of awareness (there were others; I simply was not engaged).  I do not remember an election campaign so filled with rancor as this year's - - -  and not just the Presidential race.  Judging by the allegations repeated ad nauseam , "my opponent is the scum of the earth and  needs to be banished to the outer reaches of the cosmos because  (s)he is not competent to be the ---FILL IN THE OFFICE-------------------------- !"  Actually, one of the nastiest political commercials I have witnessed was in a Senatorial campaign in our state in the early 1990's.

And the rhetoric of the candidates has amplified the disagreements within the electorate.  Sign pillaging and destruction unfortunately has a long history but I do not recall its being "legitimatized" before in this manner: an announcer at an area radio station in giving crime reports noted the vandalism from a local person's yard of signs for a particular candidate and then ad libbed, "who would want them ?"

Having earlier decided to write about this topic, I  was interested to learn today of the efforts of a 13 year old girl in Tennessee. Hannah-Kate McFadden became disenchanted with the toxicity of the campaign and drafted "The Candidate Pledge".  For more about her efforts, see  www.thecandidatepledge.com . Naive ? Maybe. Read the Pledge  before dismissing it. And a few politicians have signed, promising to adhere.  When I read her Pledge, I said, " . . . I approve of this message !"

     Satchel

   

"Purposeful Indolence" or "Being Lazy for Good Reason:"

   Have you ever had your words come back to you?  Something said to someone else and now they are using it in conversation with you !  So it happened this week when I was meeting with a client who is trying to maintain a semblance of balance in his life during a pandemic.  Professionally, he was already experiencing heightened anxiety and the 'new reality' of Covid is exacerbating  his  situation.

   A component of his coping strategy he said was to improve his capacity for  'purposeful indolence', and he chuckled, reminding me that several sessions back, I had used those words with him.  At the time, I was not suggesting sloth or laziness or what a colleague once labeled  sorriness. Rather I proposed that the Purposeful intent resembled something like "take a break for the purpose of  restoring energy, focus, clarity.

  By contrast, a long ago friend remembered his father's injunction: "I don't care what you do, son; but do something."  Rather like the cliche to the effect that " an idle mind is the devil's workshop.  Some might go so far as to claim that the old  Puritan work ethic of staying always busy is counter-productive for human well being.

   Suggestions I have heard for  being purposefully indolent include taking a walk, listening to soothing music, napping, just sitting still, reading one's Holy Book, meditation, physical workouts, 

yoga, going fishing,
loving a pet, making music , watching the sunrise . . . 

   (Certainly, there are among us those for whom such a notion can sound like 'privilege' . . . e.g. front-line health care workers, grocery store personnel, maintenance and housekeeping workers, as well as so many behind the scenes people  who 'keep things running'.)

   Recently a friend sent a picture of a resting dog and the caption "Sometimes the best therapist has fur and four legs."Along with our almost 18 year old Shit-zu, we have been enjoying feral Mamma Cat and her sole kitten who frequently dine on our deck.

  What have you found helpful in your experience of Purposeful Indolence ?

       Satchel     

  

  

HERE COMES THE BRIDE . . .

 

  

 "This isn't your first rodeo, is it ?"  my grand-daughter's Wedding Director asked during  rehearsal for the attendants.  Well, no, actually during my years as a parish minister I had conducted several weddings.

   The first  occurred prior to having legal authority to perform  such ceremonies. But in this  case, it didn't matter because the couple was not marrying but renewing their 60 year old vows.  When I said to Wilbur, "You may kiss your bride", he  replied, "Huh ?". Whereupon Nancy leaned over and put a 'big one' on him.

   Years later, Wally and Marie, widowed in their 70's, had planned a small church service before a snowstorm challenged my courage to drive.  So, they came to my residence and with a winter wonderland  outside the windows of our A-frame and my family as the witnesses they said their  vows, kissed and took off to start their new lives.

  Some of those ceremonies were 'sentimental'; others had elements of unrehearsed humor, embarrassment and incongruity.

  Once there was a 'time out' as the bride recomposed herself after the floodgates of tears overwhelmed her. I produced a clean handkerchief which she later proudly displayed in her wedding album. 

   His video-ing uncle thought it hilarious when Keith passed out and fell backward to the ground.  And when Robert could not locate the ring in his coat pocket, I offered him mine to use.  When it refused to come off, I whispered, "fake it".  After the recessional, he calmly found it in the pocket.

   Embarrassed ?  Well, just as we were dressing for the service, the Best Man realized he had not brought his tuxedo.  Nothing to do but make the 30 mile (one way) drive back home.  In the meantime, I told the congregation what was happening and everyone stayed calm.  Reminiscent of a friend's home wedding years ago when he, the bride and minister closed the parlor doors for an interminable conversation which we later learned was to decide whether or not to proceed with the wedding.  They did. But in the meantime, I remember the bride's mother panicking.

    In the early-1990's, Father Canice Connor and I jointly officiated a wedding in his church when his Bishop would not permit his hearing the vows but okay'ed the homily.  The embarrassment occurred the previous night at the Rehearsal Dinner. As I waited for the elevator, I discovered that the seat of my trousers had ripped sometime earlier. 

  Years later as I tottered with clear prospect of falling from the top step, Groom Stan gently reached out and stabilized me, preventing a tumble.

  As I was dressing to leave for a Virginia wedding, the bride called to tell me that he was calling it off. I hope that sometime later she realized what a good thing that was for her.

   Incongruity ... when two things do not easily inhabit the same setting .  In my former rural parish, chicken production was a mainstay of the economy.  Great care had to be taken to maintain constant temperatures in the large houses, particularly in the blazing hot summers.  Phillip had several houses with hundreds of chickens in each.  At the Reception following his son's wedding, Phillip in his tuxedo was noticeably absent.  Later we learned he had driven home to inspect the temperatures in his chicken houses.  Likely the first and only time a tux has been inside those structures.  

   One personally embarrassing story can not be omitted . . . there were too many witnesses.  When  I remarried in 2001 and the officiant instructed me (as I had so instructed numerous grooms) to  place the ring of her left hand,  I made several attempts to put it on her right hand until she clearly put her left hand forward.  

  So much for "first rodeo's" !

        Satchel                                                         

   

When our parents were young

                               My dad (1911-1992) when about two or three years old



         "If I am in therapy do I have to bash and talk trash about my parents ?",  the new client asked.

     Such is the stereotype that some harbor about what happens in counseling sessions.  I hear the question often although the words may differ.  And I respond that while some parents treated their children with willful cruelty or negligence, I believe that most parents had endeavored to do otherwise. Sometimes, however, the child's needs (not always the same as wants) had not been met and scars remained unhealed.

  Preferring to speak little about fault or blame, I focus instead on responsibility and accountability. And by those criteria, not all parents pass the grade, perhaps because, well, they  had parents who did not.  Some traits and behaviors are part of one's DNA as surely as physical distinctions. Identifying and healing those can break the cycle of hurts and abuse.  Such for me is the strength and appeal of Family Systems Therapy.  Individuals are not locked into a rigid repetition of the past.

   Knowing what life was like for our parents when they were young reduces the wish to blame and enlarges our capacity for greater self-understanding and responsibility for our own desitiny. Sometimes I invite clients to imagine their parents and grand-parents as children and  youth ---  not a  particularly easy concept.  Vast gaps of information exist, at least that is my experience.  All this came to mind again within the past  few weeks when cousin Sharon began  posting (from her mother's collection)  pictures of my youthful parents which I had never before seen.  These along with several that I already had sometimes raise as many questions as answers about their own youth.

             Sharon sent this undated photo of my parents
             Likely before their first child was born in 1938

Such as the above photo of mom and dad . . . we have no idea of when, where, or why it was taken. But, gosh, they were young. 


And, there are various kinspersons pictured from earlier days:

    Maternal grand-parents early in their marriage. I remember a lot about them. Wish I knew more

Aunt  Rachel (standing) and Cousin Clarice  

Both now great-grandmothers

                               Uncle Morris on his mother's lap and his brother Cecil
                                       Morris died in 1963 and Cecil in 1962
                                 Morris was the father of my cousin, Kenneth

                  Maternal great-grand-parents.  Mom spoke of him occasionally.
All I know is that he survived Civil War battles and walked home to NC  from Va

                        Paternal grand-father.  He arrived in the US around 1890.
                                           Picture taken before dad's birth in 1911


And, I believe all these relatives were good people and this has not been a veiled 'bashing'.  I have a better understanding of myself and a greater appreciation for their influence for good in my life.  If yours are still living, talk to  parents and grand-parents about their early years. You will likely learn a lot !  (Maybe even about yourself !)

      Satchel

RE--TIRED

   No, I  have not acquired enough birthdays to retire from my profession-- at 82, nowhere close!  That is a consideration for another day.  Actually, this has to do with re-tiring as one of life's little annoyances.

   It started out like this . . .  needing an alternative view other than our walls and yard --even for a brief interlude--last Sunday afternoon, my  wife and I spent an hour roaming back country roads around our town., having no particular destination.  'Meandering, it's called. (So named for the winding Meander River in modern Turkey, for the Trivia buffs.)

   When we decided we had travelled one particular stretch of road as far as we  wanted, I began searching for a turn-around spot. Finally, the long, gravel farm driveway provided ample space, and off we went in a new direction.  My wife had commented on the rather large size of the gravel but the conversation turned to other matters and soon we were back in our  driveway. 

   Two days later as I walked up the driveway, I noticed that the rear tire on the driver's side was flat.  At the time, I did not make the connection.  I lack both the tools and the muscle to change the tire, so Triple-A came to the rescue. (Not a commercial, paid or otherwise, but that has been a beneficial investment !)  The driver replaced the casualty with the small 'donut' spare, a temporary expedient but hardly safe for long or high speed travel.

  When I saw the deflated tire, the 'dots connected'.
A   LARGE piece of rock penetrated the tread, beyond repair. 
Then I remembered the gravel driveway from our  Sunday ride.

    And that was when I knew it was time to visit "Dr. Hal" who knows tires better than anyone in town.  He and his now-deceased father have operated a local service for many years.

Barely visible on the left, Hal plies his trade
               

He recommended a replacement and in  'no time flat'
(even I know that is an awful pun),  he had it mounted.
(Lest you may think otherwise, this is not an advertisement, paid or otherwise for his business.)

Good as new 

              Does this all-too-common automobile experience have a 'moral' to the story?   Not to over inflate its importance, maybe it's something like this: "Be careful where in life you turnaround, You may get rocks in your head or tires." 
   That last was so bad that it is time to retire this post.

     Satchel 

From Couch to Computer Camera

 
                              WELL,, IT STARTED IN VIENNA NOT SO MANY YEARS AGO . . .
                     
                                   Sigmund Freud sculpture by Andrew Thorne
                                                     (@ThorneSculpture)



     "GO HOME" our Director told me on March 18th this year. Gratefully, I was not being terminated.  The Corona Virus had begun  its devastating, still ongoing, disruption of life.  Aware that my age placed me in a vulnerable group,  she was expressing care and empathy that I minimize susceptibility  for infection.

    I have since seen the interior of my office only on a couple of  occasions when supervising one of our Residents who uses it rather than his smaller office. We are using video via a platform that the hospital has made available. Truthfully, there is a bit of 'homesickness' for the familiar surrounding; but not enough  to return just yet. Now I also  conduct therapy sessions in the same format, albeit on a different platform. . . Doxy.me (say it fast; it's a pun of sorts).  I have renamed my home office "Winston-Salem", the location of our Center .  Now, when I go downstairs for sessions, I tell my wife "I'm going to Winston-Salem".  Does not require the hour or so commute to the other office.

                                 Freud's Famous Couch
                          In Freud Museum, London, England

    The Chad  Mitchell Trio, a group popular in the 1960's, sang The Ballad of Sigmund Freud: "Well it started in Vienna not so many years ago when not enough folks were getting sick that a starving young physician tried to better his position by discovering what made his patients tick . . . "  Dr.  Freud famously conducted  psychoanalysis with the patient reclined on his couch.  Few therapists use that piece of furniture now.  For that matter, none of my colleagues even sit behind their desk while in session, dispelling another stereotype. And while still influential, Freud's theories hardly encompass the various modalities of contemporary therapy/counseling.

    Now, because of the Covid Pandemic, after 30+  years of doing face to face outpatient therapy, I, like many therapists, have transitioned to video 'tele therapy'. Initially, the 'learning curve, presented challenges because my tekkie skills are limited.  And even now EACH week seems to bring new 'learning opportunities'.  There were some normal anxieties associated with implementing the change. A few clients decided not to proceed; however, those who continued as well as new ones have expressed their satisfaction. Acknowledging the  'differentness'  helped to normalize the process.  Sessions initially focused primarily on establishing life routines for structure and identifying resources upon which to draw for promoting emotional stability.  

    So, to express the obvious . . . who knows 'how long' this will be standard practice.  Could not have foreseen it 'once upon a time'.
While I do not record sessions, I think it would be fascinating to see videos of sessions of the pioneers.  And, how would they have substituted their couches for computers . . .

                      Satchel

ROSES ARE RED , VIOLETS ARE . . .

                                                VIEW FROM KITCHEN TABLE

       A long-time friend sent a poetic inquiry as to why there had been no recent blog post.  Not finding John to be the Poet Laureate of the Internet, I answered him with a ditty of my own:
       Posies are red
       Lavender is purple
       Satchel's brain
       Is like Maple Surple !
His reply (with which I concur) : "That is really bad"

     However bad the 'poem', I have recently been thinking a lot about colorful flowers. Years ago, I enjoyed zinnias and sunflowers.  When she was a pre-teen, I urged my daughter to sell cut zinnias on our street.  She misunderstood my intention of affording her the opportunity to generate spending money for herself. Instead, she thought she was being asked to supplement the family budget and demurred .

    Now my wife has the 'green thumb' and we have had an array of color since Spring.  I am a 'water-er' and 'appreciate-er'. The rainbow of colors has been particularly welcome during the 'dark days' of  the Pandemic.  Recently I have  been taking  a lot of  pictures around our yard in order to import the splendor when Winter arrives with its dull grayness and  white snow.  

      There are (or have been earlier) roses, hydrangeas, dahlias, hostas, azaleas, jonquils, ferns, iris, petunias, and several other beauties. My favorites, however, are the lilies.  Over the past few years, we have been gradually adding to the assortment.  This year's display has been the most prolific in some time, in large part due to a spray that has generally kept the deer  away.

                    This Asian beauty is my favorite.  Unfortunately, it lasts briefly.

These pictures and others will provide us happy memories and a respite later this year when these will be our outside views:

  

  "ROSES ARE RED
    SNOW IS WHITE
    ENJOY YOUR FLOWERS
    WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT"

                   Is that verse any better, John ?

                                   Satchel


     

' WHO WAS THAT MASKED MAN ? . . .

"Who was that masked man?"  became a familiar question to those of us who thrilled to the adventures of the Lone Ranger.  "Why did he wear it?" received occasional explanation.  Something to do with not being recognized by a bunch of 'bad guys' who had

almost 'done him in'.

Well, there is a 'bad guy' out and about now and wearing a mask is constantly touted as among the best ways of avoiding the menace.

And, yet, warnings by medical persons and elected officials seem often to provoke an attitude of "I'll do whatever I wanna do 'cause nothin' is gonna infringe on my freedom".  Mask wearing in the current pandemic ranks as one of the most divisive questions in an already fractured society.

What makes opposition to this common sense inhibitor of virus spread become  such a divider?

The logic and science of masks has been cited as among major factors in reducing infection .

Somewhere in my training as a therapist I came across this truth: "You cannot replace by reason and logic something that was not put there by reason and logic in the first place." 

  Various emotional hot-button topics offered for not wearing include;  i) variations on 'real men' don't need that sissy protection; ii) masks aren't comfortable; iii) they limit my individual 'freedom' to do whatever I want; iv) facial coverings have become a way for many to indicate their political posture; v) a feeling of special-ness, of being somehow invincible and exempt from this killer.

Are there likewise emotional supports for wearing ?

Just asking the question in that way indicates that I believe so.  One comes from the religious mandate to love (be concerned for, if you prefer) one's neighbor as oneself.  The other is a nearly forgotten socio-political notion of the 'community', defined by one on-line dictionary as "a feeling of fellowship with others , as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests and goals." We are

in this thing together or as one old-timer insisted, "Your freedom to swing your fist ends where my nose begins."

"WEAR  IT !"

Or as one contemporary politician often rhetorically asks, "What do you have to lose?"  In this matter, a better question seems to be "What is there to lose if you do not wear a mask?"  The answer could very well be "YOUR LIFE"  and also MINE !

Satchel

BACKYARD SWING

many

  Another long, dry spell for creative juices.  Not that the 'Muse' was exactly silent . . . there have been many, many things that have (and do) beg for expression.  I believe that sometimes silence shows an eloquent command of the language.

Maybe  it has been Ecclesiastes operating: you know, a time to speak and a time to refrain from speaking.

  Many pundits have spent hours at their keyboards diagnosing and prescribing their assessments of these turbulent times.  Facebook (or what a client  once called Farcebook) and other social media provide wide open space for opinions ranging from insightful and erudite all the way to . . .well, recently I saw someone respond to another's post like this: "This is ignorant !"  In general, I have chosen to refrain from the fray, at least for now.  Still,  I have had no desire to write witty banalities and other irrelevancies.   But I have just wanted to write something , if for no other reason that to stir a few braincells.  Hence, the swing above and what it is about.

   That small photo is now on my office desk, having recently been fetched from my hospital office by a colleague.  Because of Corona, I have been working from home since mid-March.

Taken by my daughter for a college photography class, the photo is of a corner of my late  parents' back yard.

    In the 1950's, my athletic younger brother erected the frame as a chinning bar for his fitness regimen for high school football.  Sometime after his graduation, our father installed the swing. How much he and mom actually used it, I do not know. What does seem important now these years later . . . it was a place of respite . . . to slow down, to relax, to reflect and to plan amid the "got-to's" and the vicissitudes of life. And, at least as I project meaning onto the scene, a place for restoring mental and emotional tranquility and equilibrium in an often destabilized world.

    Perhaps that is the 'lesson' for me. Dad often said, 'there is a time and place for all things.' I thought  he originated the saying until I read Ecclesiastes.  A time to speak and a time to 'sit in the swing'.

                     Satchel

MY REAL UNCLE SAM

          Uncle Sam died Friday night.  My real Uncle.  He was 91 and dad's last surviving sibling  Though we were never together as often as either of us wished, I always knew him to be a kind, good man.

     
                                  Sam around 1933

  I have vague memories of an extended visit with us in North Carolina soon after his high school graduation. In the years prior to that, Grandpa Wachs would drive the family for visits in his Hudson Terraplane auto which  either Sam or younger brother Jack renamed the 'Terrible-Pain'.

    After serving as an enlistee, Sam graduated Officers' Training School and was commissioned as Second Lieutenant.  When Jack was in army Basic Training, he received a visit from Sam to the amazement of his cadre when they saw the brothers together.  

                        Prior to Officer's Commission

   In 1962, when stationed in Atlanta, I received my Sergeant's permission to catch a 'hop' with a couple of officers who were returning to their Alabama post.
Because they were flying a single engine aircraft, I had to have a parachute from our supply room. They dropped me off in Montgomery where I called Aunt June who picked me up. When Sam came in from work that afternoon, he was slightly bewildered to see a military parachute lying on his living room floor.

   In the 1990's, Sam was registering at a hotel in Westen N.C. where he was attending a wedding.  The hotel manager, noting his name, asked if he were related to me.  Turns out that the manager had been a long-ago fraternity brother, Mark Raby.

  A few years ago, my wife and I were having Sunday brunch in Blowing Rock, N.C., when the folks at the (very) nearby table mentioned Montgomery and engaged us in conversation. I said that I had been born there and still had an Uncle Sam who lived there. He asked Sam's name and when I spoke it, he said, "I know Sam Wachs !"   Turned out that indeed they were members of the same Presbyterian Church.

    Attending our Family Rites of Passage was of great importance to Unk.  He and June were among family members who came up for both my parents' funerals. And we were especially delighted that he and June came to our wedding in 2001.  When living in Alabama, my daughter visited them several times and felt very close to her grand-father's younger brother

              Dad's siblings:  Uncle Sam on far right side with Jack,            Lydia, Betty and RuthEllen
    More recently, Sam experienced a major stroke from which he had made extremely impressive rehabilitation and he and his wife had relocated to a nearby assisted living facility.  On my recent birthday, he FaceTimed me with a gracious invitation to come to visit them and stay in their house which was at the time  unoccupied.   Very soon thereafter, the Corona Virus restrictions came into being and there was no visit.  Within the past few days, his cardiac condition worsened and he died on Friday.

    The late author, Pat Conroy, wrote "among the worst things about growing old is the loss of those irreplaceable friends who added richness and depth to your life."  Uncle Sam was that person to many whose life he touched.

    Requiescat in Pace, Unk
               
            Satchel

AGGRESSIVE IGNORANCE

BE  ADVISED !!
    This is not a 'muttering'; it is a full-throated RANT  !!


    "Contrary to popular belief, it is not a sin to be ignorant,"
Dr. Stuart Henry of Duke Divinity School faculty told us. "God did not distribute an equal apportionment of brains.
What is inexcusable," he added, "is the aggressive display of one's lack of mental endowment."  

    Those long-ago words came to mind this morning.  My wife and I have been conscientiously practicing "Social Distancing", venturing out only for her post-operative visit last week.  Friends and family who have offered to bring necessary grocery items have deposited them at a distance, retrieving our payment after we had gone back inside.  I have been fortunate to continue my therapy practice via a secure, HIPPA approved platform.  And we have located churches who stream their worship services thereby helping to mitigate the loneliness. We recognize the heroic work being done by the 'front line' people.

    The 'front lines' are not where many of us can contribute.  All the credible information we have received says that our main tool to curb the spread of this plague is 'flattening the curve" and even that will require time to demonstrate efficacy.  'Keep your distance', 'self-isolate', 'avoid even casual contact with friends', 'don't be a carrier and infect someone else just because you may be asymptomatic' ... these seem to be 'common-sense' actions.

    In the face of the drastic toll this virus is exacting on a world-wide level and now that the US 'leads' the world in number of cases, nay-sayers avow that all this is an 'over reaction' and a politicization of the situation.

   Earlier today, an acquaintance who drops by occasionally rang our doorbell.  My wife with Lysol spray in hand stopped him at the door and demanded six-feet-plus distance which he grudgingly accepted.  Then he proceeded to recite several  pieces of 'disinformation' and to 'tease' by coughing several times, although it seemed that a couple of those were not faked.  While we thought that we were well into our 14 day zone of safety, now the count has restarted.

    In a few minutes, I am going to post "NO VISITORS' signs at our doors, indicating that we are observing social distance.  I hope that no one will be offended; but if they are, c'est dommage (that's too bad) as the French would say.

   Be safe and  be well !

       Satchel

PALLETS , COMIC BOOKS AND QUARANTINES

         'The Reverend' Charlie Gray pronounced it "Polo", like the equestrian sport.  Charlie was a self-appointed evangelist in our area in the late 1940's and 50' and prone to overbearing self-importance, at least to my adolescent reckoning.  But those are perhaps stories for another time.

    He was referring to poliomyelitis usually modified to polio or,  more rarely, infantile paralysis, though adults were also afflicted.  Probably the most notable adult to be stricken and partially paralyzed was the later-to-be President of the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt.  FDR was thereafter unable to walk with out assistance and wore leg braces.

    The villainous virus had been a recurrent terror for several centuries.  According to one source, the United States first case occurred in 1894 and the last in 1979.  Between those dates, summertime outbreaks terrorized many parents of young children. Most infected persons survived ; yet many experienced either temporary  or permanent paralysis and death was not uncommon. A common visual at the time were children in  'Iron Lungs' , respiratory machines.

    My own childhood and adolescence occurred during horrendous epidemics of this illness of unknown origins and causes.  According to Wikipedia, with 58,000 + cases and 3,145 reported deaths and 21,000 + paralytics, the outbreak of 1952 was the single worst year in  U.S. history.

    In North Carolina, 1944 strained the medical world's ability to provide extensive effective response for the 861 reported cases.  Then came the disruptions of 1948:  2516 reported cases.  Not knowing how to combat an illness of unknown causes, parents and other 'experts' relied upon         common sense prevention . . . rest, unnecessary exertion and good nutrition.

    While my friends and I experienced no formal quarantine,  social contact was reduced and  afternoon leisure was mandated.  My wife recalled that she and her family had to lie down in the afternoon to rest.  For my younger brother and me, there  were long afternoons on a pallet that mom put down for us on the screened in back porch.  And there were stacks of comic books and lots of soda and iced tea.  'Baby brother' , having just been born at the end of May, was kept inside the house.

    A Raleigh radio station,WNAO, (later WKIX) did its part to keep us entertained with programs of music, contests, etc.  A favorite was a kind of 'name that tune' wherein the host would choose a random number from our submitted postcards and call us to identify the just-played selection.   One day the host said  'we're calling 4501' (yep, just four digits) in my hometown. If we answered correctly, the prize was a $2 starter for a $25 government savings bond.  Consolation prize was $1 in cash. Well, i didn't know the song and asked my mom who was sitting nearby.
"The Yankees are Coming", she guessed (incorrectly). Instead it was the Scottish tune, "The Campbells are Coming". So I took my prize to the local post office and began my investment in a savings bond.

   In1955,  my high school Junior year, Principal C. H. McGregor called the student body into the auditorium to announce that Dr. Jonas Salk's research had  produced an effective inoculation against polio. Too late for at least two students at our school. Both thereafter walked only with a cane or crutches   Again, based on online 'research', I read that the last case in the US occurred in 1979, though  it remains in other parts of the world.

     Currently, health authorities predict that we are on the cusp of a public health crisis of epic proportions. Among the many challenges facing humankind is how to be attentive to our own well-being without being callous to others.  There will be times to 'lie on our pallets and read comics' and other times to find ways to be kind and humane to others.

  If I had those classic 10 cent comic books now, I could likely subsidize a lot of Coronavirus research and treatment.

    Satchel

    

                                    

MISSING IN ACTION or PRISONERS OF WAR or KILLED IN ACTION

SOME  DEFINITIONS  FROM  ON-LINE  DICTIONARIES:

;

MISSING  IN  ACTION :    DESIGNATION FOR MEMBER OF AN ORGANIZATION WITH WHOM CONTACT IS LOST  AND  WHOSE  WHEREABOUTS  ARE NOT KNOWN  BUT WHOSE DEATH IS NOT CONFIRMED   or   NOT  PRESENT  WHEN  ONE  IS  EXPECTED TO BE.

PRISONER  OF  WAR  :  A  NON-COMBATANT . . . WHO IS HELD CAPTIVE BY  A BELLIGERENT POWER DURING OR   AFTER AN ARMED  CONFLICT.

KILLED  IN  ACTION;  A CASUALTY CLASSIFICATION  GENERALLY USED GY  MILITARIES  TO DESCRIBE  THE DEATHS  OF  THEIR  OWN  COMBATANTS  AT  THE  HANDS  OF  HOSTILE  FORCES.


     These  terms  originated within conditions of military warfare but there are other kinds of "warfare", many of which currently are in the midst of pitched battles. Conflicts rage within cultural, religious, ethnic, political, educational, medical, and environmental arenas (to name just a few of those more potentially lethal for human as well as societal survival ).

 And these ''wars" have other types of MIA's, POW's, and KIA's.  A nominee for the greatest casualty is "VIRTUE', defined as "behavior showing high moral standards".  Virtue has historically had several manifestations but  currently many are casualties of pecksniffery:  very hypocritical people whose traits include (among others) rudeness, crudeness, injustice, 'mean-ness', and corruption.

   The vault where society has preserved its words signifying magnanimous behaviors and traits  has  been breached and the words and behaviors taken captive.  Just today, someone posted a 'Calvin and Hobbes' cartoon where young Calvin says to his  dad: "The meaning of words isn't a fixed thing and can mean anything.... By giving words new meanings, ordinary English can become an exclusionary code! . . . To that end, I'll be inventing new definitions for common words, so we'll be unable to communicate."

   So, if you see any of the following virtuous words that currently are mia's, pow's or even kia's, please bring your dictionary of correct definitions to the  rescue:
    courage,
        dignity,   
           honesty,
             honor,
                incorruptibility
                   integrity,
                     justice,
                      kindness,
                        politeness,
                          respect,
                             TRUTH

Our survival is on the 'front line'.
   Satchel