"We are BETTER than you" . . .

                                                                      SNOB

                                                      

   . . . Or, more IMPORTANT, or SMARTER, or WEALTHIER, or . . .   The  implications are always the same --- something like: "  We are more God-Blessed, than you" or, "We are more entitled . . ." or other insults intended to "put you in your place" (and it is not where WE are).  Words like snob and  elitist describe such rude and disrespectful behavior.  For many humans,  such is an all too common 'put down' whether due to gender, race, national origin, socio-economic, religious, political, occupational, etc. factors.  Has it ever happened to you ? 

   Here is a kind of litmus test: Do we speak  to, acknowledge, converse with  persons  in service professions such as (but not a full listing) service persons such as restaurant wait-staff, check-out people and baggers at the grocery, house-keeping staff in places such as hotels and schools, sanitation workers.  Such people often seem to 'blend into the wood-work'.

    In the 1970's, Haverford College President  John Coleman took a short sabbatical during which he worked in a succession of 'blue collar' jobs.  He wrote  Blue Collar Journal telling about his experiences in three jobs.  The last one was as a sanitation worker in College Park , Maryland.  He wrote of picking up garbage  while people were  going about life's routines and never "seeing" or acknowledging him and the suburbanite who  castigated him for  refusing to move her trash  can filled with cinderblocks.

   Recently after we checked in to a facility for a vacation, my wife was making adjustments to our unit door with a cloth towel.  When a couple in the adjoining  room were exiting their room, she greeted them  with a sincere "Hello" only to be met with a  supercilious sneer and no words.  Somewhat like what the old timers called 'looking down your nose' at someone . Perhaps they assumed that she was part of the housekeeping staff and thereby unworthy of a courteous reply.

   Her reaction was to be amazed, shocked and somewhat incredulous by such blatant rudeness.  How would you have responded?

         Satchel

  

HOW DO "THEY" DO "THAT" ?

 

                                                        "MUSE, SAY SOMETHING'

     The They are my younger brother and Sean Dietrich (aka Sean of the South).  Both are writers --columnists -- who have been doing That for many days, weeks, years.  I.e., turning out daily and/or weekly columns.  WHERE do they (as well as all the other bloggers, columnists, scribblers, journalist such as the woman in Kansas who sends me her weekly blog) find the ideas, topics upon which to expound, asks he who often finds the "let's write about ________" bank overdrawn.

   And, I must confess, that I have on occasion accused my brother of kissing the Blarney Stone. The 'gift of gab' comes readily and easily for him. And, reading Sean's posts and occasionally listening to his podcasts,  I suspect the same of him. 

   And, it is mostly pretty good stuff with a 'point'.  Unlike what his Preaching Professor at Duke Divinity School told a long-ago fraternity brother who had just completed a course assignment : "Bob, you say nothing very well".  Have you ever heard the dismissive term "That's bunk" or "bunkum" ?  It's a reference to a Congressional filibuster speech long ago by a North Carolina Congressman extolling ad nauseam the virtues of his home county, Buncombe. One source said that Bunkum has been American slang for "nonsense" for almost two  centuries.

   Like some of my sermon re-runs from another life, occasionally one of my brother's  columns has a slight whiff of prior use. Usually their compositions tell stories (not to be equated with lies).   Ernest Hemingway was asked long after  his literary success why he continued to write.  He answered something to the effect that he knew a lot of good stories and wanted to tell them.  About a 180* distance from what a prominent minister told me about his need for a vacation: "I had reached the point where  I had nothing to say and no great desire to say it."

   I tell myself that the primary reason the muse is often quiet is because I have professional responsibilities that preclude the leisure that seems to be my prerequisite for creativity.  Still, staring at a daily dead-line reminds me of the preacher struggling  on Saturday night to have a sermon topic who opens his Sacred Scripture and pleads, "Say something  "

   Do you have any topic suggestions to pass along . . whether it's something that matters or it's just a story?

     Satchel

"IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING . . .

 

  . . . YOU WILL PROBABLY END UP SOMEWHERE ELSE" .  So wrote Dr. David Campbell in his 1974 pop-psychology book.   Lewis Carroll (he of Alice in Wonderland) made a similar observation with "if you don't know where you are  going, any road will get you there."

   Allegedly, males do not ask for directions even when hopelessly 'disoriented'.  I found the above card in a stationery shop in California . . . all the way across the continental U.S. from our home.  The irony is that  the directional sign points to two towns in our county with state road numbers.  It might  be 'fun' to free associate and imagine a story that describes what is going on in that picture.

    Unless our intention is simply to "ramble", having a destination is assumed in our travels.  Parallels ? Some might say that such is a metaphor for the 'journey' called LIFE.   Many books, gurus, therapists, motivational speakers, etc. proclaim the importance of GOALS ( read, 'destinations') if one is to live a happy, fulfilling, 'successful' life. 

   I am beginning to think that  too rigid an adherence to goals we set at one stage of life may no longer fit at another stage.  In my office,  I have  a pair of bookends featuring my baby shoes embronzed. (Such was the tradition for many of my parents' contemporaries.)  When a client's early goals no longer fit their current situation, I put those shoes alongside those I am wearing to suggest  ways that life changes and we grow. Most folks in Western society wear shoes but sizes change.

    What is the alternative to drift ?  I would nominate things such as 'guiding principles', resiliency, and  growth. Occasionally, we encounter 'detours', reorientations, 'redirecting' on the trip.  Several years ago, I and several colleagues were 'downsized'  ostensibly for budget reasons by the college where I was a tenured professor. In time I reached an out of court settlement with the school for their violation of personnel policies. Fast forward five years . . . in a pro forma interview for the second part of a clinical program, I was asked, "What are your goals for five years from now?".  The words virtually spoke themselves: "Five years ago, I could not have seen myself here today. I have learned to plan as much as possible, put myself in favorable positions, and trust the remainder to Divine  Providence."  Unplanned alliteration.

   For sure, I have had several periods of drift; still, I am grateful that the overall trajectory has been consistent.  The late Grady Nutt titled his memoir So Good So Far.  I still don't know the details of the 'next steps'.  How about you ? 

    Satchel

   

   

   

        

PARABLE OF THE WATERBED . . . or. . . Check your sources

 

                         

                                   "Don't believe everything that you read on the Internet. "

                                                                 Abraham Lincoln

         Do you trust your sources?  What makes them dependable and what arouses your skepticism ? 

   Will Rogers, an American 'philosopher' of home-spun wit and wisdom, reportedly said, "All I know is just what I read in the papers" which is usually quoted without the other part of the sentence:". . . and that's an alibi for my ignorance." Today, he likely would be quizzed about which newspaper (or television network) he prefers.

   How do we know that what we hear is true, accurate and in good faith and what is concocted with no authenticity, perhaps to manipulate one's ignorance (or, if you prefer, one's not knowing) ?

  A parable is "a short story which teaches a moral or spiritual message."  Our friend Julie has multiple talents, especially her musical skills.  We came to know her when I was minister of a near-by church and it soon became obvious that she is a keen observer of human nature and possesses a sharp wit and subtle sense of humor.  Last week she posted what I call The Parable of the Waterbed and it is copied here with her approval:  (Sorry about the small type; my tekkie skills are limited. It is worth the read.)

   Maybe we need more George Washington 's

who cannot tell a lie or so he reportedly said.

  

    Satchel

                                   

"IF A BULLFROG HAD WINGS , , , "

" . . . he wouldn't bump his tail on the ground !"   

Or, so a wise man  often told me as I was growing up.  (And, have you noticed that a "wise man" differs greatly from a  "wise guy" ?)  The 'wise man' in this case was my dad, Frank.  And that was just one  among many of the wise aphorisms he  passed on to his sons.  After his death, I complied a list of "Frank-ism's" to share with  our extended family.

    Theses are among the more memorable of his 'sayings':

  . "You aren't going to learn any younger son." [When we would protest that we  didn't know how to do a task.]

  ."The world doesnot revolve around you."

  ."Don't wish your time away son."

  ."Boy, you ask more questions that a Philadelphia lawyer."

    But the one above seems to have more applicability these days and  not just in our family where it has been passed on to the next generations.

My daughter who began painting whimsical chicks as a way to raise funds for cancer research and patients sent me the  above 'frog' as a Father's  Day gift.  As she explained it in her 'Chicks4aCause' page, dad's wise words live on:

One of my brothers remembered that mom expressed a similar sentiment: " 'if' is  the biggest little word in the English language."

   Several years ago, a client provided yet another similar sentiment while describing how his life might have been different "if". . .  "If 'if's' and but's were candy and nuts, we'd all have a Merry Christmas."

   Someone claimed that  "if" expresses "forlorn regret" and another that it speaks of  unrealistic wish for better circumstances,  connections ,wealth,  wanting things different  and more advantageous.  I think Rudyard Kipling, one-time Poet Laureate of England, pointed to a loftier understanding, an ideal of dignity in a world of contentiousness.  His poem is a bit lengthy to include here but it is worth a read. "If" one overcomes several life challenges with dignity, then " you'll be a Man,  my son  !"  More inclusive understandings would say something like "you'll be a mature Adult, my friend".

  

     Sounds like a "Frank-ism" to me .

        Satchel

   

    

  

CUSSED CURSIVE, Or. "WHO WRITES LIKE THAT ?"

 

I

Over the blackboard in 3d grade classroom

"I can't read your handwriting.  What does that say?"

How many times I have heard that and wanted to say something like "that was  scribbled by my brother, the doctor" But that   would be unfair.  Pensmanship (as it was once   called) has never been my talent.  As part of my 'save that' penchant

I have all my public school report cards, beginning with the first one of 1944-45 school year.   In the second grade, I earned a year-end grade of C+ for my writing skills. Only occasionally thereafter did  that improve. (That was better than the X mark my 7th grade teacher gave for "laughs and talks quietly" !  Looking back, what makes that a social virtue ?! If you are going to laugh, why not a hearty belly-laugh ? But that for another time.)

"Cursive" . . . a dying art form, no longer taught in most public schools, meeting the fate of the slide rule. Over the blackboard in our elementary classrooms, forms like the picture above provided models for us to copy multiple times.   Take heart, You Tube offers videos on the how-to's of cursive. In addition to school teachers,there were lots of folks urging me to greater legibility. Dad had a beautiful flowing style and mom's was likewise distinctive. However, only  their youngest son's writing  has even a modicum of decipher-ability.  The middle son's profession of physician provides  him a socially acceptable justification for his 'hen scratching'.  My reasoning (some might say 'excuse') is that I spent too many years in academe, trying to take class notes while professors lectured like talking machine guns

Whatever the 'cause', when my writing becomes "cold", I often  struggle to read the script. Someone looking over my shoulder as I wrote, quipped "If you can't read it, take it to Revco (a once upon a time pharmacy) and they will fill it for you."

   With typewriters (remember those?) and now computers and word processors everywhere, my greatest challenge often is font styles changing without warning. Other art forms associated with cursive are on the brink of dinosaur-dom: the handwritten letter and for many the 

fountain pen. While I don't send many 'snail  mail' letters, I love writing with fountain pens. An undergrad professor in his thick accent instructed the class: "Ze dean has instructed that you fill out zis form withz your penten-found, er...fountain pen."

Write on !!

 Satchel

                                            

 

SODA JERKS AND 40cent PAY

                                                   Photo courtesy of Diana Metreaud

         Vanilla milkshakes ? . . . have all you can drink; hot fudge sundae ?... whenever you want; ice cream cone ? . . .  which flavor do you want ?  Oh, and soft drinks or freshly squeezed lemonade ? . . . help yourself !  All of this . . . a teen ager's dream.  At least it was for me  when I was hired as a 14 or so year old 'soda jerk' (a antiquated term) at Mrs. Pegram's  drug store.    Her 'logic' for this policy retrospectively was "spot on". After a short time, the desire for the 'goodies' waned. Probably because it was not 'forbidden fruit'. After our family moved and Dan McCrimmon hired me for after-school and rotating Saturday's, his attitude about 'refreshments' mirrored those that I had known earlier.

  Those 'fringies' were add-on's to my pay. Keep in mind that this was the early-mid 1950's when I mention that my monetary compensation at the first store was a whopping 40 cents per hour and Dan paid me and my classmate, Herbert Leslie, $15 per week, pre-taxes.  By the time my younger brother worked at Dan's ten years later, his pay was  the same as mine had been. In 1962, at age 14, he had obtained a 'worker's permit' and earned 50 cents per hour at another local soda shop before his 'promotion'  to Dan's. He recalled that one week when his coworker was on vacation, he worked 9 hours daily for six days and earned what he thought was a unheard of  $27.

  Drug stores at the time were vastly different than today's  cookie-cutter, seen-one-you-have-seen-them-all CVS's, Walgreen's, etc. There were Rexall Pharmacies around but these usually had their distinctive  local 'personalities'. In addition to  prescriptions, stores stocked various patent medicines, gift items, cosmetics, along with sundry personal items.  (As an aside, while many patrons would eschew acknowledging the consumption of 'alcoholic beverages', a common ingredient in many patent medicines was a high alcoholic content.) A necessary feature of stores that I knew was the 'soda fountain' or sometimes just 'fountain'. Those of us (usually high school kids) working there were called 'soda jerks'. [see Wikipedia for the origin of the moniker]. 

  Most had a few tables or booths where customers  could sit to enjoy their refreshments. The stores often served as gathering places for socializing. High school students living in town typically gathered after classes and were often  referred to as  "Drug Store Cowboys" (for reasons I do not know). As regularly as the sun rises, as Saturday night closing time of 9 p.m. arrived and outside neon lights extinguished and I had begun to sweep and carry out other end of the business day tasks, invariably two older women who had arrived earlier for their traditional soft drinks would continue to sit and talk until there was usually no subtle way to communicate that it was time for them to leave.( After nearly seventy years, I still remember their names and faces but shall go unnamed here lest there are still relatives there.)

   My brothers and I had also worked in the local version of a grocery chain. But to land a drug store job was a kind of creme de la creme  work spot.  Spring of my senior year, when faced with a choice of being a  'soda jerk' or playing my last season of school baseball, I opted for work and reluctantly told the  Coach that I would  be unable to play any longer.  Within a week, the store's schedule changed and I was allowed to rejoin the  starting  team, although the Coach benched me for the entirety of the next game.

      But, 40 cents an hour ?!1?  

            Satchel

"CHURCHES CAN HURT YOU . . . "

" Churches can hurt you  Some of you know that. Some of you will find that out."                                     The late Dr. Fred Craddock might well have  been speaking to a group of ministers in 2021.  Instead, this was in the mid-1980's. 

   The role of a Protestant minister has always carried the possibility (some might say 'the probability') of discord with member(s) of a congregation. Not all that long  ago,   many clergy found Antagonists in the Church  to be more than a 'self-help book'.

   Emotional, financial, spiritual, theological stresses among other pressures have cumulatively created a crisis among many ministers. In 2017, I wrote "It's An Epidemic" for the publication, Good Faith Media, addressing the mental health crisis among many clergy, including the frequency of clergy suicides.

   And, then came Corona Virus . . .  intensifying the already existing tensions between "Church" and "culture" or "politics".The well documented appropriation by evangelicals of  "Christian" has left others critical of Christianity itself.

   Flashpoints include matters of : to gather inside or outside the church building; to mask or not to mask (whether in 'church' or in general); to vaccinate or not to vaccinate; to be compliant with  or critical of 'social issues' such as racism, LGBT matters, 'politics' in the pulpit; theological polarizations and out-right criticisms of the minister and his/her family.  Often  that which is cited as  the "issue" serves as a cover for the actual "ISSUE'".

    CEARTAINLY  OPEN CONFLICT DOES NOT MARK  ALL OR MOST  MAINLINE PROTESTANT congregations  AND THE MINISTER.   For multiple 

reasons, 'go along to get  along' describes those who either have no objection(s) to the status quo or feel  trapped without alternative professions or jobs and consequently  choose 'not to make waves'.

   Then, there are 'the others' who either are forced out or choose to leave the ministry for  multiple reasons.  Attrition rates for clergy departures vary .  Some are simply wild guesses. One study that I found suggested that over 1800 persons left ministry every month in 2018 . Another source claimed that over 1300 pastors were terminated by local churches each month. Whatever the number or rate, many capable persons are finding that they can no longer acquiesce and be  faithful to their calling.  They find themselves virtually echoing the sentiments of my dad's friend who had a speech impediment but an astute OBSERVATION about a bickering church that was attempting to have him join: "If that's  ...lijon [religion], I don't want nutthin' to do with it ! "

    Many of my clergy clients and friends acknowledge their stress, burnout, degrees of depression as they search for alternative ways to minister in these anxious times.

  While optimism for the future of the institutional 'church' seems at low ebb, paradoxically, I hear affirmations of a faith that are not necessarily dependent upon once influential institutions.

    In the meantime, there remain those who are not only disenchanted but who join the ranks of the unemployed. They know that "churches can hurt you".

     Satchel

 

   

      

"Frank, have a Coke"

THE FOLLOWING IS NEITHER AN

ADVERTISEMENT NOR AN ENTRY 

INTO ANY POLITICAL CONTROVERSY !

  WRW, aka Satchel

Photo courtesy of Diana Metreaud

   The drink box held a prominent place in the community or country store.  'Once upon a time' the cost was only 5 cents. Just a nickel ! The 'menu' , in addition to the Coke and Pepsi, boasted an array of choices that might include Nehi  (orange or grape), Dr. Pepper, and a perennial favorite ... RC Cola (often  coupled with a 'Moon Pie').  For lots of people, "Coke" simply became synonymous with any  carbonated beverage . . .unless you happened to be a true devotee of your favorite.

   Our dad was always known as 'Frank', although his birth certificate identified him as 'Francis'. One hot day, dad was in Mr. C.E. Durham's community store and a friend said, "Frank, let me buy you a Coke."  Whereupon the other six "Frank's" who happened to be in the same store all stepped up and answered, "Thanks". Dad's telling of the story didn't include whether everyone was a beneficiary of the offer.

   There are two 'Clark Gable' Coke murals in our town. These were once among the primary methods of advertising. 

 

     "Travelling" often determined who among co-workers would pay for  everyone's refreshment. It worked like this. The original location of a bottle 

was stamped into its bottom. Whoever had the nearest location lost. Oh, and the bottles were made of glass... are they still?  When I learned the sugar content of most colas, I began consuming my calories with other sources.

   These days it seems that "Coca-Cola"has become a kind of political/cultural flashpoint topic. One nearby county's commissioners to resist the alleged 'political agenda' of several corporations recently voted to removed all Coca-Cola vending machines from government buildings.

   With all due respect to dad and his like-named friends, Clark Gable's famous comment fits for some who "Frankly don't give a [hoot]".

   Satchel

     

Country Stores

Photo courtesy of Diana Metreaud

                                                     

      This sign, like the business it advertised, has about faded away.  Once a  fixture in every small town and rural cross-roads, the Country Store served many purposes for area citizens.  The array of inventory reflected  Garrison Keillor's fictional Ralph's Pretty Good Grocery's motto: "If Ralph doesn't have it, you can  darn well do without it."

    Usually well stocked with items such as groceries, shoes, meats, gasoline, appliances, hoop cheese, and the ever-present drink box these stores thrived particularly in the era when difficulties of transportation made the distance to  "town" longer.

   Stores also served as community gathering places for socializing, catching up on 'the news', card playing, and with the advent of television, 'the place to be'. Winters were made more  tolerable with the pot-belly stove warming the place.  Depending upon a person's reputation, some stores extended credit until either 'payday' or the sale of  crops.  In a network radio program that broadcast from  the 1930's til early 1950's, Lum and Abner operated a "jot 'em down" store in a mythical Arkansas town.  The name originated when merchants would jot down a customer's credit purchases.

  Sometimes in the cotton mill towns of the  piedmont towns in the American South, a merchant functioned as 'the bank' on payday. I remember long  lines in Mr. C.E. Durham's store as mill operatives waited their time.

   My dad drove dry-cleaning routes through central North Carolina in the 1940's until 1954.  That was when I learned another services the stores provided: they were 'drop off' centers for area residents. One in particular that I recall from my summer travels with dad: a stop at Mr. Markham's store meant getting my supply of black licorice candy.  Many years later, just prior to his death, I drove dad around his former territories.  This was what remained of Markham's Store in 1992:

             Recently, the picture below appeared on social media of an acquaintance. Taken likely sometime in the 1930's, the photo shows Mr. R.J. Moore's store in the mill village of Bynum, NC.  For many years, my maternal grand-father served as postmaster in the adjacent post office.  Working in proximity for many years, the two men developed a close relationship. In their later years, Mr. Moore told my grand-dad how much he appreciated their friendship - - - he said, rather than postponing until the time of one of their deaths.

   Something that precious is nowhere to be found on the  shelves of a store.

Photo courtesy of Larry Pickard, Down Memory Lane

         Satchel

"Dinner on the Grounds"

 

          'tis the Season, again. No, not Santa, Jingle Bells, and Christmas.  Rather, now that Spring has made its debut and the weather is (usually) warmer, it's time for the Southern 'ritual' of "Dinner on the Grounds".  For the uninitiated, it is neither the evening meal nor is it literally 'on the ground'.  

    Celebrated mostly in rural and small-town Southern churches, Dinner on the Grounds is usually a staple of such events as 'Homecoming' , 'Memorial Day',  or 'Decoration Day' (placing flowers on the graves of family members).  The name likely originated with people spreading blankets for picnics on the church ground.

   Now the bountiful feast is on folding tables and sometimes under a shelter.  After the Benediction signals the end of the church service, everyone heads to the homemade delicacies (Occasionally someone will sneak in a 'store bought' item) such as fried chicken, fresh vegetables prepared in several ways, deviled eggs, sweet iced tea, casseroles of various kinds, and DESSERTS galore. (One of my all-time favorites was Mrs. Loucilla Chilton's fresh strawberry cake).

And the minister is often encouraged to sample Mrs. So and So's speciality.  How many kinds of fried chicken can one accommodate ? Postures for eating ranged from seats at a table to standing while balancing plate in one hand and keeping a close eye on one's nearby beverage.

   In his television documentary North Carolina is My Home, Charles Kuralt had a segment showing a Homecoming at Rountree Christian Church near Ayden, North Carolina. The musical accompaniment by jazz pianist Loonis McLohon, a native of Ayden, was originally Dinner on the Grounds at Rountree. Old-timers told me that his parents often brought him to the church when he was a youth. (To hear the version used in the t.v. program, search the internet.) Having been minister to that congregation from 1980-84, I recognized many people. (For purposes of the program, many non-members participated in order to boost the numbers, I suppose.)

   Largely absent now is the post-meal singing.  Various groups rotated segments of  their repertoires.  (Hear the late Reverend Grady Nutt's You Tube "All Day Singing and Dinner on the Grounds".)

   As a teenager, I often heard a Native American family's energetic performances. The son, Joel, who was approximately my age became overly zealous on one occasion only to have his father stop their song and admonish him to stop showing off.

    It was considered a compliment for a cook to carry home an empty dish as that meant the item was popular and often had     disappeared before the unlucky people at the back of the line had had their chance.

  Once at Rountree, a person unknown to anyone came well after the meal was over and began  preparing 'take out', telling a somewhat overwrought story of her needy family. The food  was freely given. And,it was well known at _________ Church that _________ always returned home with more food in their basket than had been earlier brought.

    In many instances, quite likely the day had its appropriate ending with a late afternoon nap, with   'visions of home-cooked goodies dancing in our heads'.

     Satchel

SCAMMING GRANDMA/GRANDPA

 \

     "Hello, Grandma" the voice on the line said.  My wife who has no adult grandsons recognized the nature of the call and quickly replied!"Hello, honey. We missed you at the family Easter dinner yesterday. Are you in the hospital, have you been in a wreck, is your leg broken, do you need money to return to the States after someone stole your travelers' checks?"  On the other end---silence, followed by 'click'.

Somewhat like the call I received a few months ago: "Hello, Grandpa".  Didn't sound like either of my grandsons, but I played along, asking which grandson. A  vague response and when  I asked for elaboration, the same 'click'.   And we are not the only household to have this kind of scam call.  Have you  received your plaintive request ?  If not and an internet  search of your personal information indicates that you are of grandparent age, your call may be forthcoming . And, by the way, however charming the caller may be, do not utter the word YES in any way.  Apparently, some of these thieves record the conversation and use  voice recognition in nefarious ways injurious to your finances.

  Those who 'fall for' the scam are usually asked for credit card info or to wire money, etc. for various spurious 'needs'.  Unfortunately , the scam must be 'profitable' witnessed by the longevity of the ruse.  A couple of years ago, a former client told me that he had wired several hundred dollars to his 'grandson' before he realized the deception.

   This  preying on the presumed vulnerability of older persons is repugnant at best and damnable otherwise.  Former parishioners were duped by someone purporting to enhance the outside of their house. When the wife became suspicious,  she  went back into the house  and found a second person rummaging through their personal effects.  Though  they quickly fled  with some valuables, the thieves were later apprehended.

  Do you need your roof repaired, house painted, driveway repaved, financial portfolio updated, . . . on and on and on ?  And, just now when I had my lunch break, a call came for  (my first  name . .  which  I do not use)   A kind person was offering to expand my Medicare benefits!  My wife having had a similar call a few days ago, I recognized this deception and decided to  play along.  I asked if mental health costs were covered, including hospitalization for  psychotic experiences because I had been hallucinating and hearing voices.  (In case you wonder, this was a fabrication.)  The caller assured me that would also be covered. Did I have my old white card with my numbers on it and if not, he would be glad to wait while I retrieved it. At that point, my hunger won over my fun and I told him that  I knew his game and hung up.

    When you are 'lovingly' addressed by a 'grandchild' asking for money, perhaps an idea that my wife shared will be helpful: tell the caller  the grandparent can be reached at the following number . . . which is the local police station.

         Satchel

PS    I have no idea why the font size changes randomly.   

He saved my life !

   

        "You tested positive for prostate cancer"  

   It was early 2005. I was 67 years old. The bearer of that stark message was  Dr. Daljit Caberwal, a Urologist to whom I had been referred following an elevated  PSA reading.  When my wife asked about the perception that older men died with prostate cancer rather than because of it, I loved his response: "Not someone as Young as he is."  Then he reviewed my options and I chose radical surgery which he would schedule ASAP.

    What a way to spoil a week-end getaway to the beach that my wife and I had planned ! We had already placed our packed suitcases in the car, stopping by his office while on our way.  I remember very little about that week-end.

   Surgery was successful. In the ensuing years,  I have seen him for check-ups and, gratefully, there has been no recurrence.  At all times, I have experienced him and his office staff as the epitome of professionalism and human kindness.  

With Dr. Caberwal on March 19, 2021

      In the ensuing years, I have learned more about this disease that can be so lethal for men. Recent publications in the UK and Australia indicate that more men now die of prostate cancer than women with breast cancer.  Suggested reasons include men's aversion to screenings. Prostate cancer is also among the most heritable types. And it is unclear why Black men are at higher risk than others.  Often I relate that I have become "a self appointed emissary to men over  40 to  be screened."  In recent years, two of my friends from high school and seminary times have died from this disease.

   Dr. Caberwal has practiced medicine for over 50 years and his nearby clinic is closing at the end of March after 45 years of serving patients in this area.  Known for his personal care, he has never conveyed a sense of dismissal of his patients. In an era  when 'the computer', also known as electronic medical records, and time-limited appointments have become commonplace, Dr. Caberwal and his staff's  personal care and non-hurried attention are reminders that medical care includes more than physical matters.

   As a devout Sikh, he is active in his Gurudwara. When I went this week for my final visit, I gratefully told him, "You saved my life." He modestly replied, "God saved your life. I was merely the instrument. Have to keep the ego in check."

    Along with countless patients , I shall miss his expertise but moreso his kindness and wish him a happy retirement.

     Satchel

What's Your Password

          "Please enter your password".

   I have seen that directive several times recently.  It began Friday when I made several unsuccessful attempts to connect with a colleague via his platform.  I worked on that challenge much of the night while sleeping. Seems that updating one browser and installing another solved the situation.  Was feeling rather pleased with my tekkie skills until . . . 

  And,  even now  I do not know how it happened, but my various electronic devices became 'unsynched',  A password that allowed access on one was met with refusal  from another instrument.  Finally, after many hours of experimenting, they again 'talked' to each other.  How did I accomplish that miracle ?  I do not know and am doubtful that  I could replicate the process from memory.

   Security of personal information appears in lots of ways.  Not that long ago, I still remembered the combination for my parents' post office box from my high school years. I did Army Basic Training in 1962 and have had no active service since then, but I still remember my serial number. Still,  'Breaches' of data occur often . . . personal, governmental, institutional.

  A county in our state recently experienced such an incursion by hackers who then  demanded a ransom against disclosure.  When government officials refused to pay, the hackers began to publish sensitive personal and official information on-line.

   So, the necessity for 'passwords' persists. There are lots of them and since we are instructed to make them complicated and not easily intuited, my creativity becomes challenged as does keeping a written record of these encryptions.  Yesterday,  I even attempted  '1, 2, 3, 4, a, b, C' .  You can readily guess the computer's response  !!  (and, without my knowing 'why?', the computer decided to change the font size!)

   Maybe respite will come in the next world. Unless Saint Peter asks "Please enter your password !"

    Satchel

 

    

"THINK IT'LL RAIN ?"

 

      

A  tourist driving through drought stricken Vermont asked a farmer,  "Think it'll rain ?"  The laconic old man  mused that,  "Always has!"   Anyone asked that question around here would likely retort "Think it'll stop ?"  Songs high on the local charts include "Rain, rain, go away" and  "Raindrops keep falling on my head . . ."

   Yesterday a local  meteorologist reminded listeners that 2020 had been the wettest  year on record and that  2021 was maintaining the trend.  Mark Twain receives credit for the observation that "Everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it". 

   

   "If you don't like the weather now, wait  five minutes and it will change", a familiar cliche, has lost its humorous ring.  Just a few miles to our north, residents this week-end are contending with ice, snow, power outages, slippery streets and roads. 'February-itis' it is sometimes named  . . . the combination of wet, cold, steel-grey days that turn hearts and minds towards Spring.

   Forgotten at the moment are the torrid days of July and August when vegetation and heat-exhausted farmers  yearn for an end to the drought.  

   Some find the monsoon season to be a kind of metaphor for the seeming deluge of stormy events in the world at large . . . Covid, political wrangling, climate changing, on the list goes . . . that weigh heavily on the soul and psyche.  

   Remember the 1981song, I Love a Rainy Night ?

Probably not a request for it to be played just now.

Without minimizing the toll that recent events have exacted, how to keep the gloom at bay?   Where and how does one find the precious perspective of HOPE ?  Somewhere in the recesses of my memory of French lessons is the word for "Raincoat" ; it is 

Impermeable.  Making our spirits and  well-being impermeable to the  rain, literal and metaphorical, will require constant attention to Resources that provide nurture. .  . music, prayers, art, movies, making things, finding ways to connect with friends and family when visits are limited. 

    Maybe Annie knew an important secret when she sang Tomorrow.  We are often reminded that it is darkest just before sunrise.

       Satchel

   

WAKE UP, SATCHEL !

 

     Recently I was talking with a long-time friend who has read these blog posts for many years.

"You haven't written anything recently", he noted, then  went on to say that " 'Satchel' needs to 'wake up". Well, he  is correct. There has not been a lack of stories for reflection of late.  Politics, politicians and Covid have been daily companions.

  There have been many pundits writing endlessly about these important developments and I have  chosen not to clutter these posts with my sentiments about those topics ...although I have strong feelings and opinions.

   A maxim learned somewhere along the way asserts that "You cannot replace by reason and logic opinions that were not placed there by reason and logic originally."

I have frequently found that to be correct (sometimes painfully so).

   Hence, the  cause of Satchel's lethargy .  There are SERIOUS challenges facing us . . .  as individuals and as a civilization.  In light of those . . .what to write about ? (or to be grammatically correct ...about what to write?) 

  At the risk of simplicity . . . how about this: Be Kind !  I think it was Henry Adams who told his nephew that there were three things of primary importance:

"Be kind; be kind, be kind". 

  Glen Campbell sang it in "Try a Little Kindness" :"And if you try a little kindness

 Then you'll overlook the blindness

 Of the narrow-minded  people

  On the narrow-minded streets . ."

Heaven knows, we all could use more .

  Ian and Stroud 

           Satchel