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
                           

"YOU HAVEN'T WRITTEN A BLOG RECENTLY . . ."

       . . .  So said a colleague recently. And a friend from college years commented the same just today, wondering if I had 'writer's block'.   And for reasons not entirely clear to me, I have not written.  This much I do know:  There is a 'mood' that I seem to be encountering from many sources . . . clients, the news, social media, politicians, public discourse (often coarse discourse), deaths impacting friends, etc.  . . . that weighs heavily upon the human spirit, or at least my own. 
   Among the 'causes' and 'casualties': 
       ..human lives (after how many mass shootings, including two  at a funeral today);  Just saw a survey claiming that a full 50% of the American populace fear being present at  a mass shooting.
         ..tolerance for views differing from one's own, an attitude someone labeled "Why should I change my mind if I know that I am right ?";
    ...Minimal regard for our common humanity: 'commonwealth' it was once called;
        .. basic manners, kindness, dignity and respect; optimism about the future.

  In, the face of all this, Disengagement  from any  awareness, involvement, information, 'news' offers some folks a means of coping.  Diversions such as athletics and other entertainments serve the same function. Denial works for others. Some become Depressed.  (Just realized that I have a string of 'D' words.)

    Levity, nostalgia, hope, gratitude . . . among the ideals that I have wanted to convey in these musings and meanderings . . . have seemed somewhat out of place, irrelevant, and even trite against the backdrop of the recent social and political landscape. 

    For those who profess to be adherents of faith in a Being, a Higher Power, God, or other such designations , how in the Name of what is Holy and Good can kindness and compassion, love even, be expressed in realistic ways that make a difference? Especially when there are  'believers' who turn their 'religion' into instruments of divisiveness, self-righteousness, hatred, rancor.  Mark Erelli sang, "I refuse to let my hope become the latest casualty."  I like the sentiment; how to live it, protect it are my daily challenges.  

    Re-reading the preceding paragraph, I focused on "realistic ways that make a difference". For me,  Difference needs more clarity of definition.  Erelli again: "If I can't change the world, I'll change the world within my reach."  

    Occasionally, a client will inquire as to whether I am a "Christian".  To my understanding, I am. But before responding, I ask for clarification of what that means to them. I am not attempting to be coy or disingenuous; I simply do not want to say 'yes' or 'no' to their subjective definition which may not comport with my own.  Whatever else Christianity and other religions are,   cognitive dogmas that have no influence on how we live and treat  others seem inadequate for 'making a difference'.  

    How are you 'making a difference' these days ?

           Satchel
    
     

ONLY 366 TO GO . . .

   Or, is it  365 days ?  Not certain since 2020 is a Leap Year.
That is . .x. . days until next Christmas Day.  (Note: Christmas Day).  Christmas season began yesterday and continues for the next 12 days for those who are influenced by the liturgical calendar.  The often-sung Twelve Days of Christmas gets little air time after the 25th.

   Aside from the 'religious' significance of the Season, I now remember rather the . . . what to call it ?  . . . the cultural, the commercial, the nostalgic experiences associated with  CHRISTMAS.  And, of course, there is the collective impact of the music, the emphasis on home and family, the gifts under the TREE, the venerated family recipes , and other such memories.

   As a youth, I thought dusk on Christmas Day ranked at the top of the SAD list.  Another year  to wait !! Seemed like an eternity. Not that the current year's toys were broken or even worse for the wear nor that  all the nuts and candies had been eaten. Perhaps it indicated the end or at least the suspension of the magic and the 'visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads', even long after  we were 'wise' about some of the gifting origins.

   Now as those 365 days come and go in a flash and 'Christmases Past' have greatly increased in number, I often wish that time's pace would slow down a bit to give more opportunities for reflection.  Whatever your opinion may be of retired journalist, Dan Rather, his Facebook post on Christmas Eve seems to me to offer Hope in the midst of our challenging  times.  He wrote in part: "I sometimes   wonder how many Christmases I have left. The truth is none of us have any way of really knowing.  This is a time to . . . try to take stock of one's relationships, with family, friends, and with one's self."  He went on to note that while reflecting on Christmases past, he also feels "the warmth of the blessings of the present.  I breathe deep a hope, always hope, for the future."

    HOPE , not 'wishful thinking', not even magical thinking, coupled with a greatly misunderstood word ...LOVE*... seem to offer spiritual sustenance for making our way through the upcoming 366 days.
  (*not the same as sentimentalism or 'liking' but the conscious choice to seek  others' well  being as well as our own)
     Satchel

DON QUIXOTE and IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS

  I begin with an acknowledgement (or apology): I have never read Miguel Cervantes's novel Don Quixote, second only to the Bible as the most-translated book in the world.  Many years ago, I saw  a stage production and the movie version of The Man of LaMancha.  Consequently, I lack qualification to offer literary interpretation.  Variously characterized as farcical, moralistic, tragic and idealistic, the book/dramatizations continue to open profound vistas into the human soul/psyche.

  Recently we went again to Brookgreen Gardens in South Carolina where I have always been drawn to the statue of Don Quixote (and to the one of his traveling companion Sancho).  On our most recent visit, I realized that I was moved almost to tears . . .  without clear understanding of "Why?".  So these are my personal projections of 'meaning' of the story and the statue.  While 'orthodox interpretations' make DQ a deranged idealist  out of touch with 'reality', I wonder if a surface view of 'reality' blinds many of us to other ways of understanding and 'Meaning'.

   When I first heard the song The Impossible Dream, my reaction was dismissive : I thought it something akin to 'schmaltzy.  Then  I saw  the dramatization and the movie and the compelling context.
Defining his 'quest', DQ spoke of "to fight the unbeatable foe; to run where the brave dare not go. . . to right the unrightable wrong. . .to fight for the  Right without question or pause;  . . . to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. . . and the world will be better for this."

   Squalor, corruption, "I-ness",  and other  expressions of dehumanization need no elaboration.  And, confronted with such, 
"why try to change things for the better ?" becomes a prevailing cynicism .  A clear expression of such occurred in the musical 
The Sound of Music when Captain VonTrapp's friends attempted to persuade him to violate his principles and serve the Nazi movement, declaring 'There's No Way to Stop It'.  "You dear attractive dewy-eyed Idealist. Today you have to learn to be a Realist. You may be bent on doing  deeds of daring-do, but up against a shark, what can a herring do?  Be wise, compromise . . .     Let them think you're on their side, be non-committal"  The Captain's protest that "I will not bow my head to the men  I despise" was met with "You won't have to bow your head, just stoop a little".

  Whatever DQ's motivations may have been, capitulation to the status quo of evil was not acceptable.  For aspiring DQ's, clarity of motivation as well as awareness of our own inconsistencies (some would argue "hypocrisy") in the presence of 'evil' can offer protection against self-righteousness.  

   So, what did DQ accomplish?  How to evaluate his 'quest'? Or, what difference did he make?  Let's ask Aldonza who while absent in the novel was prominent in Man of La Mancha.  When he insisted on calling her a 'lady', she protested that she was anything but a lady.  Ultimately, according to the dramatization/movie interpretation, a  transformation occurred and she became 'a different person'.  Pursuit of the 'impossible dream' does not always (often) produce immediate positive outcomes. Do we then accept Captain VonTrapp's friend's admonition ? Is it naive to be 'good for Goodness's sake' (even if Santa Claus is not watching) ?  Have you seen the movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood? that is based on Mr. Rogers (Fred Rogers) life changing relationship with a magazine writer?  

   In the eulogy for his murdered brother, Robert, Edward Kennedy remembered his belief that "some men see things as they are and say why; I dream things that never were and say why not ?"  Might that mean that 'quixotic' behaviors can result in scorn, ridicule and possible death ?  Well, there are several notable examples in the 'real world' and not exclusively in literature.

Sancho's statue at Brookgreen Gardens

    I'm still holding the matter of  DQ, his statue, and 'meaning' open for further understanding.  When Aldonza asked Sancho why he travelled with DQ, his answer was "I like him, I simply like him".




      
                  Satchel

"We will have chicken and dumplings . . ."

         How often we sang the little ditty, She'll be coming 'round the Mountain . . ." with the promise of "We will have chicken and dumplings when she comes . . ."  The blue-ribbon champion of chicken and dumplings in this region is my 92 year old aunt Rachel. 

    She has excelled with this 'delicacy' for years.  When her son had a local restaurant, it was  common knowledge that on the day that her c&d was the 'specialite de jour', late arrival would mean "all gone".

     For the past few years, she, her 'children' and spouses have invited my brothers and our families to her  house on the day after Thanksgiving for an evening of food, fun and fellowship. When we gathered this year, like a magnet I was drawn towards the kitchen stove to see this year's production.  This is what I found:

While she maintains that this is not her favorite food, others of us tell her not to lose the recipe ; that is unlikely to happen.  She could probably cook them in her sleep.

    At 92, she continues to be a marvel and the family 'jewel'.  Since 1996, she has travelled in all 50 states and in 12 foreign countries, continuing a tradition that she and her late husband Wade had enjoyed.

      I cannot lie.  The chicken and dumplings are delicious; but just being with her is a big adventure. Last night we demonstrated again our gratitude for her culinary skills.

You continue to cook them and we will eat them.  Thanks !

           Satchel

"T" TIME

    

                                               T

     The calendar indicates that it's time to "T up"; not as in golf.  Rather,  in the "T" words that accompany this season:  turkey, tummies, time, touchdowns, t.v., together-ness, travel, traffic, tempers,  toys, tots, therapy, trees (as in 'when can we put up the Christmas tree?'), tradition, thanks, and, oh, yea, Thanksgiving. Likely, you have additional "t" words to add.

    At the risk of being "thanktamonious" (please forgive),  I nominate 'Thankful' as the most  desirable attribute for the season as well as for living.  Thankful for what ? the  cynic and the wounded could ask.  Well, for some, there is the old guilt-inducing Count your blessings, name them one by one . . .".   Nor do I find  winsome the attitudes of  entitlement and  exclusivity,  as in "We are special and we deserve..."  Instead, gratitude  cultivates kindness, 'play it forward', sharing whatever bounty one has, and magnanimous actions and attitudes, to mention a few conditions of the heart. For sure, I am hardly fully  there yet but I believe that   THANKFULNESS   is one of life's  Main Things.
     Satchel

"Sattidy is Coming"

    

An appealing sentiment

  Or so the 'old-timers' around whom I grew up sometimes pronounced it. In the small-town/rural oriented  milieu of my youth and adolescence, Saturday was kick-back and ease up day.  Even for those of us with 'jobs', there was something different.  Don't believe it could be called 'festive' and certainly not 'celebratory'.  

    Much of the local economy was driven by agriculture.  Before the advent of so called 'farm to market roads' in the late 1940's , the distance to 'town' was longer and not as often travelled.  Saturday was the exception --- especially Saturday afternoon.  That's when we would see our rural friends as they came for their weekly grocery store run or having their prescriptions refilled or just plain ole socializing with folks that they had not seen since last Saturday.

    In my freshman and sophomore years in high school, I worked in one of the two local drug stores.  At that time we had an added feature that today's CVS, Walgreens, etc. do not provide their customers ... we had a 'soda fountain', complete with soft drinks, milk shakes, banana splits, sundaes, ice cream cones, and various concoctions limited only by the 'soda jerk's' (as we were called) imaginations.  Pay was not so great but access to all the treats of he fountain helped ease the strain.

    Two women invariably came in around 8:30 pm, thirty minutes before closing time.  Their order was always the same :  "a small coke and a pack of nabs". When the outside lights were turned off and I began sweeping the floor, they continued their conversation.  I do not remember how Mrs. Pegram, the proprietor, eventually diplomatically had them to leave.

    Having previously worked in a local 'branch' of a regional 'supermarket' chain, I had already had a front-row view of the Saturday phenomenon.  On one particular Saturday evening, two of the most beautiful girls my 14 year old eyes thought they had ever seen continuously walked up and down the sidewalk in front of our store, making eye contact in a flirty (or so I thought) manner. Only when school began that fall and I knew their identities, their beauty (as well as any they had perceived in me) faded.

    Prior to my junior year,  our family moved to another small town about 15 miles away.  Soon I was back working in the same chain's local grocery.  Most people still did their weekly shopping on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars was a large weekly grocery order and 'carry out service' was usually provided by the high schooler who bagged the order.  And that usually meant carry arms full of bags great distances ... and tips were  forbidden.

     Then one day Dan, a local pharmacy owner, sent a note asking me to come by and discuss coming to work at his establishment where I received compensation above the 40 cents per hour that my earlier parsimonious employer paid.  Invariably, Saturday was the busiest day with Friday nights a precursor.

    The Statler Brothers had many songs that evoked nostalgia for an 
idyllic past.  One of their recordings asked "do the stores still stay open on Friday nights downtown ?" and "do the kids still spend Saturday nights riding  'round Hamburger Dan's ?"

    In time, the advent of 'Shopping Centers' and malls, extensive highway pavings, and several other social and economic changes made Saturday into 'just another day' and changed many small downtowns into rows of empty buildings. 

    A former colleague noted his transition to retirement as "every day is Saturday."  I have the birthdays to qualify for retirement but, gratefully, find satisfaction in my profession and my dislike of  the 180* different time ---Monday morning --- is minimal.   And every day as a "Saturday" sounds alluring . . .  but without the 40 cents per hour salary.

     Satchel