A Little More of the Stuff You Can't Make Up . . .

    

 Bob died in 2015.  He had served as a United Methodist minister for over 40 years and was  remembered as one who ministered "with  overwhelming  compassion and  understanding." From 1958 when he transferred to our college and became a fraternity brother until his death, I counted him as one of my best friends. 

   As free of guile and  ill-intent as any human can be, Bob  had a unique talent for doing and/or saying stuff that was both humorous and perplexing.  I  heard my first 'Bob-ism' in 1958: "Contrary to popular opinion, God's last name is not Damn."  Asked if he intended to see the recently released movie The Ten Commandments, he replied that he had read the book.

   We who knew him still chuckle when we remember his plan to ride the train home to Charlotte. John drove him the 2 or 3 miles to the train station.  Sometime later, he was startled when Bob appeared at his dorm room.  "I was waiting to hear the conductor call 'All  Aboard'", as he explained how he had watched the train pull away from the platform.  His suitcase made it to Charlotte; he didn't.

    His first ministerial assignment was as Associate at a church in our college town. Years later many friends had gathered at his retirement home.  Among     those  present was the former Senior Minister and his demure wife. Bob told me how once in a staff meeting as he was sitting in a low rocker, he had accidentally rocked on his fingers.  "What did you say", I asked. "Oh, shucks", he answered. From across the room came her stern correction, "No, Bob. You said sh*t"."

   John asked Bob to preach at the baptismal service for his son. As John read the Scripture, Bob sat nearby, resting his chin with his arm propped on the arm of his chair.  Somehow he manage to slip and fell  to the floor right at John's feet.  Bob told me that years later, in another city, a woman approached him and  said, "I know you. You're the man who fell at the feet of our minister."

   Recently, John related a story that  I had not heard previously.  Once when  performing an infant baptism, as he took the child from the parents' arms something  went akimbo and Bob wound up baptizing the child on his bottom rather than the top of his head.

    Then there were the times he "put his foot in his mouth" while preaching but somehow maintained his composure.  He told me of the time that his point was commitment; his manuscript read "We don't need any half-hearted Christians". But that was not what  came out.  I asked  about the congregation's reaction. "I got  a couple of Amen's from the choir."  One Sunday he told those gathered "I'm  almost inclined  to call you a bunch of dumb-asses". Realizing that what he had said was not what he intended, he took a long pause, then continued, "Well, you are."  At the end of the service, a man told him, "Bob, you really told us; but you told us with a smile on your face."

   Did you know that Jerry was Mary's husband ? Neither did the congregation that heard Bob's reading  of the Christmas story as he consistently spoke of "Mary and Jerry . . ." After several repetitions of this, a woman in the choir whispered to him ,"It's Joseph". Reportedly Bob didn't miss a beat and opined that         Jerry was an ancient Hebrew name meaning Joseph.

    Most  everyone knows that Christmas floats across the various days of the week whereas Easter stays fixed on Sunday.  That little detail alluded Bob one year as he and his staff were doing advanced  planning. With total sincerity, he exclaimed to them that "Easter comes on Sunday this year !"

   These true snippets have been vouched for by my collaborator and fraternity brother, the Rev. John Davis. In no way are they told to belittle Bob. When  he realized the  absurdity of his comments, he was the first one to laugh and wonder 'where did that come from?'

    And you can't make up this stuff !

      Satchel

          

    

   

You can't make up stuff like this . . .

 

    "Truth is stranger than fiction" might be another way to express it.  Or, "I find it hard to believe that (s)he said such a thing !". Or, "I can't  believe what I just saw (or heard) ! "  The following really happened and were unplanned and unscripted.  You can't just 'make it up'!!

   The lake behind Chestnut Hill restaurant in North Myrtle Beach has been 'home' for alligators for many years.  One cold December day, a lady sitting at the window beside an alligator-less lake asked her waiter if the absent alligators had "already migrated South".  To his credit, the waiter maintained his composure. For us, at the next table, with great effort we  suppressed our impulse to laugh.  Later, we conjured up images of an alligator herd crawling down I-95 for their Winter in Florida.  You can't 'make up' questions like that.

    On vacation during a recent Halloween, we were concerned when our home security system detected motion near our front door.  When I activated the camera, I saw several large guys coming across our lawn, expressing several profane comments about the motion detector lights. When the leader rang the doorbell, I used the microphone on my device and made a blood curdling sound. More profanity.  One apparently late teen fellow lifted his mask and heard me say, "Smile, you are on candid camera." After a few more profanities and mutterings, they left and we said thanks for the security system.  Didn't see that one coming !

    Most graduation speeches prompt naps. Several years ago, a former faculty member kept our attention by relating humorous questions he had heard when  a part of our Faculty. One choice one: Taking a co-ed back to her home after babysitting, she asked in all seriousness, "Dr. Tucker, have you always been three years older than your wife?" Huh?

   Unexpected questions, comments and suggestions often garnish church conversations.  Replacing burned out light bulbs had become a frequent task. That prompted the 'suggestion' that we install new ones throughout the building at the same time. In that way, the 'suggest-er' maintained, they would all burn out simultaneously requiring only one change. The Maintenance Committee chose not to implement the idea.

   Weddings and funerals produce a constant source of 'head scratchers'.  I had seen many televised videos of brides and grooms passing out and other embarrassing moments.  None of that prepared me for the day when Keith turned ashen while saying his  vows. After rocking slightly on his heels, he fell backwards to the ground.  Though he regained consciousness immediately, he remained on the ground, unaware that his uncle was videoing the event for posterity.

    The late Art Linkletter's t.v. program. Kids Say the Darnedest Things, regularly demonstrated the accuracy of the title.  Walker was the first child that I ever baptized; then two years later, it was baby sister's  turn. In our tradition, infant baptism means applying water to the child's head. A few days after her baptism, I learned that big brother had inquired as to why "Ron had given Lisa a bath at church ".  After hearing the explanation of the event, he further contended that  "he didn't have to wash  her hair . Mom had already done that at home."

    One last 'true story': Kids playing 'army' proved dangerous when my 9 year old son scored a direct hit on his 7 year old brother's eye with a 'hand grenade' in the form of a magnolia pod.  This  occurred on a late Friday afternoon in the  town to which we had recently moved and knew no opthamologist. Finally, I located one in a nearby town and he examined the eye, applied medication and bandage. "Bring him back on Monday and we can determine if  the eye can be saved' made for a long weekend.  On Monday after he removed the bandage, the doctor asked Chris to read the  top line of the chart.  There followed long moments of the second grader shifting in the chair, squinting, and turning his head in various contortions. Asked a second time to read the letters, Chris in all seriousness said, "I can read it; I can't pronounce it."  And you can't make up that kind of answer.

   Satchel

THE Whistle and THE Whistler

 

       Neither of his three sons can replicate the sound. But we heard its distinctive lilt many times. Whistling, like singing, is something I do when no one else is within hearing distance. But his was not a 'tune'. Rather, he had a two note trill reserved primarily for summoning us from distances of at least a quarter of a mile.  At those times, the appropriate response was "Coming".

     I don't remember the first time that I heard it but it happened often in various occasions.  Many 'championship' basketball games occurred in the backyard of  Phil Tillerson's home.  A heavily wooded area separated his home and ours. Many of these late afternoon games terminated when from across the oaks and pines came the notes that told us that either the evening meal was ready or that our chores awaited.

   My PhD graduation occurred in cavernous Carmichael Auditorium at UNC-CH.  Dad and Mom found seats high in the 'nose bleed' area.  Each student received our diplomas individually, usually followed by hearty applause.  Above the noise, from far away, I heard "it" and knew it to be an expression of pride.

   When his middle son enrolled at UNC-CH, dad's weekly routine took him to the Metropolitan Insurance office in nearby Durham.  Consequently, my brother enjoyed the perk of weekly laundry service.  Once when dad came by, the roommate did not know his whereabouts, nor did anyone else.  So dad went out into the Quad and whistled.  Playing ping-pong in the dorm basement and with no foreknowledge of dad's presence, Dennis appeared below the transom and gave the usual response, "coming".

    The younger of my two brothers thinks that he may be able to imitate 'the whistle'.  But as  for  volume, he wrote. "No way." However, he likely is the last one to have heard it. 'It happened this way': he lived nearby to our parents but had not seen them for a few days prior to dad's death.  Now, my brother is "of sound mind" and not given to dramatics nor hyperbole.  As a minister, one Sunday morning he arrived early at the church.  Sitting in the silence and reflecting on recent events, he vowed that he heard the whistle. 

   Are you familiar with the terms 'thin places' and 'thin experiences' ? As much of a rational and cerebral person  I think myself to be, I believe that what my brother experienced was a 'thin experience' defined by one source as the "where the veil between this world and the eternal world is thin. . . where one can walk in two worlds ." (see Eric Weiner, "Where Heaven and Earth Come Closer Together",  The New York Times, March 9, 2012.)  Having had such fleeting experiences, I know these are not the domain of psychosis.  Nor do they belong just for the formally 'religious'.

   But this point is a digression.  "THE Whistle" is deeply ingrained in the memories of his three sons. Is there a  comparable sound stored away in your deepest self ?

     Satchel

     

     

    

"I didn't know that . . . "

         "  . . . holding your breath when around yellow jackets  will prevent your being stung "

     ". . . squirrels lick cement to compensate for a dietary deficiency "

    ". . . ultrasonic solar devices can sometime keep deer away from flowers "

    " . . . plant based vegan burgers taste as good as the 'real thing' "

   ". . . 'ignorance' is not necessarily the same as 'stupid' or 'aggressive ignorance' "

  ". . . "old dogs can learn new tricks."

   ". . . silence can sometimes be better than words "

   ". . . hearing is not the same as listening "

   ". . .  and what else ?

    

     Here is how  I learned (am learning) these bits of trivia and important insights:

    For several years we have found yellow jacket nests (holes) around our yard.  Efforts to remove them have been reasonably successful but we have not been certain we found their escape hole. Last week a friend lost a close encounter with one of those ill-tempered pests.  We called a pest exterminator who demonstrated that by holding our breath, no sting would occur. He further told us that he had learned that useful tidbit during his training and had never been stung.

 Our outdoor camera captured a squirrel licking    around downstair bricks. An internet search disclosed the info that doing so provided him needed minerals. There was a further suggestion to place a small salt lick near the area. Beats having the foundation eaten away.

   We have tried many deer repellents to protect daylillies and hosta and still lost most of this year's growth.  As one last effort, we have installed 8 ultrasonic devices near the foliage. Some emit an eerie noise; others project  sound waves beyond human hearing.  So far, results have proven successful. 

   Some day, my mischievous self  plans to serve plant-based vegan burgers to a 'nothing but beef' aficionado to test his taste buds. Mammalian meat is no longer an option for us. "Where's the beef?" has become an unnecessary inquiry when we savor these Beyond Burgers.

  Being 'ignorant' need not be a negative matter. After all, a dictionary defines the word like this:"lacking knowledge, information, or awareness about a particular thing".  As such, everyone is ignorant about various topics. Benjamin Franklin observed that  "we are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to stay stupid."  I first heard the distinction explained by Dr. Stewart Henry at Duke Divinty School. Paraphrased, he told us that brain power was not equally distributed so being 'ignorant' was nothing of shame. On the other hand, 'aggressive ignorance' marked a concerted effort to demonstrate one's lack of endowment.  Stupid is a word of scorn or condescension and I attempt to use it sparingly although there seems to be an increase of aggressive ignorance abroad in the land.

    Calling someone a 'dog' does not have a complimentary connotation.  But just remove the negativity and just let 'old dog' mean someone with a lot of birthdays or 'old' attitudes.  Likely you have encountered new situations that take you out of the well-known 'comfort zone'.  When a youth facing a new 'challenge', I would sometime complain to dad that I did not know how to do X.  His consistent counsel was "You're not going to learn any younger, son."  Dad never met a computer and the numerous challenges electronics spawn.  For me a major 'new trick' occurred with the  onset of Covid and therapy became 'online therapy'.  It was at that time that I remembered the saying that an old dog could learn a new trick if two circumstances were in  place: the    old  dog had half a brain and the old dog wanted to learn a new trick.  I decided that I qualified and have not had an in office session since March 18, 2020.

   Silence has been driven to the edges of life. It can be a challenge to escape the noise.  We introverts need it like we need oxygen. I find instruction in John McQiston's book, Always We Begin Again: The Benediction Way of Living : " Consider the value of  silence in  community. Our ability to listen should be our gift to those around us.  Too much talk is a sign of self-centeredness and insecurity.  If you hear yourself talking excessively, take care." (p. 36) With new clients I indicate that times of silence are meant as respect and not manipulation or 'head games'.  The most memorable instance occurred a few years ago . We had conversed  for a few minutes then she became silent and neither of us spoke for the next forty minutes.  When I indicated that our time had expired, she  enthusiastically responded, "This has been most helpful!"  So much for my verbal interventions!

    Today I had an appointment at my audiologist for hearing aid adjustment.  On a previous visit, I saw a distinction to the effect that hearing occurs when sounds are detected, and listening occurs when meaning is ascribed to  those sounds.  Close listening can facilitate that precious connection of empathy.

   By now, you may be wondering  something like what is the POINT of these meanderings. A seminary student (not I) asked his professor "How many points should a sermon have?" to be told, "At least one !"  The matters noted here may be termed either trivial or, at most, of  modest importance, but I believe the common theme has to do with keeping an inquisitive approach to new information, new understandings and a willingness to be influenced by those?

    What's new for you ?

          Satchel        

    

 

Blog meets GPT

 

             Originally, this was going to be just a regular blog about how we tried to stay cool when kids. "Cool", not in the sense of being trendy; more like, "it's hot as blue blazes ! How can I get relief?" And, that is a pertinent question now that much of the world is experiencing record high temperatures.  My chosen topic was something we called "getting under the hose" i.e., spraying each other with a water hose.  

        A.I. (artificial intelligence) captures a lot  of attention and numerous predictions about how this will affect all aspects of human life.  I decided to install ChatGPT to give it some random, innocuous tasks. When I assigned it the topic of "getting under the hose" . . . well,  I decided to proceed with my musings and follow with ChatGBT's version:

    Our small Southern town in the 1940's and early '50's had no municipal swimming pool. One family had their private pool and my brother and I were regularly invited over, typically on Sunday afternoons. (In time, after many self-invitees continue to come, Mr. Schaub filled in his pool.) Thereafter, the nearest pool was in Raleigh, about 20 miles away. And, at any rate, I couldn't actually swim.  As a young Boy Scout on a troop event to  a YMCA, I had jumped from the diving board at the urging of our Scout Master. If one's life flashes before one's eyes just before death and you have just a short life, the flashing process doesn't take long. Gratefully, I avoided the dying part, thanks to swift action by the Scout Master.

     Bereft of a local pool, what were hot, sweaty kids to do! We needed to be resourceful in devising ways of relief. Often the hose proved to be the solution and when our parents said o.k. to our pleas, we had 10 or 15 minutes of absolute delight.

    My brother and I, along with any cousins who might be visiting and neighboring kids, would take turns as "sprayer in chief", sometimes with youthful mischief. Looking back from the vantage point of about three-quarters of a century, it is easy for me to see that this game provided a kind of group  camaraderie along with heat relief.

   That was the essence of my musing on the topic; then, ChatGPT came to mind. I assigned this project:

"Write an essay about the pleasures of 'getting under the hose' in small town South in 1940' when there was no swimming pool nearby." 

   An extensive essay, complete with Title, Introduction , Body and Conclusion appeared in about ten seconds.  I include snippets of the prose:

"In the idyllic small  towns of the South in the 1940' . . . where swimming  pools were a rare luxury, people found joy in the simplest of pleasures. One such pleasure was 'getting under the hose,' a delightful and refreshing activity. . .  This essay explores the  pleasures and memories associated with this cherished pastime."

   There followed discussion of topics like 'Escaping the Southern Heat'; Embracing Resourcefulness; ... Nostalgia and Fond Memories'.  The last topic noted

"For those who  experienced the pleasures of 'getting under the hose' during the  1940, the memories  remain etched in their hearts. "

     Among my initial reactions . . . 'it lacks something. Warmth, maybe.' Then, 'I am glad no longer to be a History professor assigning term papers and other research projects.'  AI is here to stay and will continue to produce more important topics than 'getting under the hose'.  So, Satchel's promise:

Any future use of ChatGBT in these blog posts will be duly noted and not fobbed off as being original.

     SATCHEL     (himself)

  

     

Ninety (90 Years !

                            Mom and Dad shortly before his death

            Were they living still, tomorrow (July 1) would be mom and dad's 90th wedding anniversary.  Like many young couples during the Great Depression, they opted to elope rather than have a traditional ceremony. So, with friends they went secretly to South Carolina; no doubt with some trepidation, when dad went to visit his new father-in-law, he asked, "Should I run?"  Whereupon, the reply, "I think that you have run enough already". 

   They were well matched although greatly different in temperament and 'style'. Mom tended to be direct, plain spoken and often opinionated.  She loved her family---immediate and extended ---and expressed it  largely in non-verbal actions. My mom could cook! Dad filled the 'encourager' role and was hardly passive in his relationships. He was forever grateful to the woman he called 'Mamma' who had taken him as an infant when his biological mother abandoned him and his father was for a time unable to care for him. 

   Coming of age during the economic hardships of the 1930's, they both were hardworkers and over time rose from 'blue collar' to solid 'middle class'. Dad moved from mill operative, to employee at two dry cleaning companies, to owning a dry-cleaning business with a brother-in-law, and retiring as an agent of Metropolitan Life Insurance Company.  While they were not high school graduates (Mom acquired her GED and LPN when her sons became adults), they both possessed an abundant endowment of 'Wisdom'.  My brothers and I were probably college graduates before we knew we had options because of their frequent refrains "When you go to college . . ." and "We want you to have opportunities that we  didn't have."

    On two previous occasions, on the evening prior to a neighbor's anniversary party, the husband's each had a fatal heart attack.  So as their 50th anniversary approached, Mom and Dad told us that there was to be no formal party or reception for them.  Instead, all of us spent several leisurely days on the  Outer Banks of North Carolina. Good choice. . . he lived almost another ten years.

  An online dictionary defines legacy as "giving something that will be valued and treasured by those who survive after your death".  Using that definition, my brothers and our families have been bequeathed a rich legacy.

      Satchel

 

" Oh, Deer ! What can the Matter Be ?"

 

   How are they are 'counted' ?  One wildlife agency guesstimates that currently 1.1 million deer live in our state.  Judging by the decimation wrought on our flowers and other vegetation this year, a high percentage of those live close by.  In years past, we have steadily added to our daylily varieties and have delighted in the many colors.  Not this year.  This view of one 'harvested' plant 

        (look  closely for places buds have been eaten)

contrasts with these view  from past years:   

           

                 

       There have been 'challenging' times in previous years; however, grazing has been more intense in 2023.  I can tell you lots of deterrents that don't :

  .a granular substance placed around plants that are designed to make the deer scram.

  . small pieces of  a well known hand soap place at intervals

   .coffee grounds

   .aromatic plants such as lavender and thyme

   .lots of marigolds

   .most recently, ultrasonic sensors that emit sounds and flashing lights

   .a neighbor indicated that the presence of her indoor dogs and their barking have not always been effective.

   Up until recently high fencing has not been thought a realistic option given the size of the lawn.  Today, we are considering a high fence (8 feet seems to be minimal, given a deer's capacity for jumping great heights) for next year.

   In addition to destruction to vegetation, deer are a huge threat for vehicular traffic. Last summer, a deer jumped into the street one block from our house and totaled an approaching  vehicle.  One of my brothers remarked once that he had killed more deer with his pickup truck that year than most hunters.

  What have you found effective in deterring Bambi ?

   

Satchel

  

                    

White bucks and Blue Suede Shoes

           "It's an exercise in nostalgia" my friend Jay and I decided this morning. He was wearing lookalikes for Blue Suede Shoes (think Carl Perkins and  Elvis) and I had my White Bucks (think Pat Boone--- if you  are old enough). While  some distance from my age, Jay did remember Pat Boone. For me, their origins lie deeply embedded in the 1950's.  It was during that time that  a new Easter clothing outfit likely included new 'white bucks'.  

   Revived by the 'Ivy League look' of that era, the style continues to  provide a versatile footwear option. Many of my contemporaries considered them an integral part of the late-Spring and Summer male wardrobe.  They still blend well  with  casual and semi-'dress-up' attire.

  Pat Boone and white bucks almost became synonymous in the "50's", so much so that he was sometimes referred to as "The Kid in the White Bucks".  My friend Larry told of being at a wedding reception in the  early 1980's when an elderly, slightly inebriated lady, whom he did not know approached him and asked "Have you seen my husband? He's wearing white buck shoes".  To which Larry, himself slightly into the sauce, replied, "Lady, I haven't seen anyone in white bucks since Pat Boone."

 

   For anyone ultra fashion conscious, I found an article on the internet with 'do's and don'ts' of wearing your bucks, such as  'don't wear with shorts; wear with socks ; do not wear them to evening formal occasions, etc.'.  I think that they are simply a 'fun shoe' with a nod to nostalgia.

   In the recesses of memory , I recall having a pair of Blue Suedes shoes and I think that I wore those with my drastically 'pegged' slacks.  (What are 'pegged' pants ? The cuff is so severely reduced in size that one reputedly had to remove the foot prior to getting them on,)

   And, by the way, if care is not taken to maintain the white luster,  bucks can  almost be mistaken for blue suede  shoes.

     Satchel

       

   

SOME THINGS WE ARE LEARNING

  Several responses to the recent post regarding Alpha Gal allergy confirmed that there is widespread lack of awareness about it. Even many medical professionals have slight or no knowledge of causes or treatment. The learning curve is steep but essential given the potentially lethal outcome of an  episode.

  Being bitten by a Texas Lone Star tick is the usual route for infection. Numerous "causes"...most of them mammal-related, even dog hair and food fumes... can trigger an episode. Reactions include anaphylaxis (swelling or closure of the throat which can stop breathing; drop in blood pressure, rapid pulse, and dizziness or passing out), nausea or vomiting, heartburn, cough, shortness of breath and severe stomach pain.  To date there is no cure, so precautions, avoidance of triggers and use of  epinephrine  (EpiPen) as first line treatment are essential.

   Matters such as diet, medications, medical and dental care rank high among considerations: Some anesthetics produce reactions and should be reviewed pre surgery; some OTC drugs such  as NASIDs, lisinopril, clonidine and hydrocodine are to be avoided as are pig valves for cardiac surgery; reading labels before purchases has become routine.

   In recent weeks we have expanded our knowledge and resources for contending with AG and thought these might be useful to some readers, their families or friends. Helpful discoveries include: an internet search of AG can produce useful data as can books pictured here, and a  couple  of sites on Facebook... The Alpha Gal Kitchen and Alpha Gal Support.

           

          Arm and leg repellent gear for wearing while gardening or yard work is available from Lymeez.

We just purchased these and await arrival. (This is not an endorsement; rather, another precaution as further tick bites can elevate allergic reactions.) A bracelet giving emergency medical information is available.

      If you know other sources for helpful information, please indicate that in the "Comments" section below.

      

       Satchel

    

    

OCTOGENARIAN CLUB

 

                Surrounded by Edna and Dick   May 5, 2023

 "How old is OLD ? I asked my colleague, 

Dr. Dick Horn, a spry, 'sharp as a tack' therapist with 88 birthdays.  His wise reply noted that "it depends".

He, along with Edna and me, constitute 'the Octogenarian Club' of our Counseling Center. At 85, I am the young one  of our 'Club'.  He and  I continue to  carry full case loads and Edna oversees the Center in evenings. For me his answer echoed Satchel Paige's famous aphorism, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" (You probably noticed that his question is the subtitle of this blog and my nom de plume honors Satchel.

   We are part of a diverse group that met together yesterday for the first time in over three years---the onset of Covid.  After months of staff meetings via Zoom, Barbara, our Regional Director, hosted a gathering of staff and therapists. It was good meeting several of the under-30 year old Residents who have joined the practice in the interim.

  "When are you going to retire?" is the question  frequently posed to the three of us. "Why retire when what we do provides us such a sense of satisfaction and purpose?" is the gist of our replies.

    Just this past week a client nearing the magic '65' for retiring from his faculty position affirmed his need for something to do thereafter that would afford him a better alternative to sitting in the rocking chair and possibly being  part of the statistic of men who die within a couple of years of retirement.

    Ageism is real; if you want documentation, do a search of 'ageism and health care'. My body no  longer can do the 'first baseman's stretch' that I did as a high school athlete; and Dick can no longer pitch like his 12 year old self did in the first ever Little League World Series.  But the  all too easy assumption that chronological age means cognitive decline is, frankly, insulting. Apparently, a would-be contemporary politician with Presidential aspirations has suggested  a  cognitive exam for political candidates 75 and older.

   In an April 2023 article in Atlantic magazine, Jennifer Senior cites research that differentiates between how old  one is chronologically and how old  someone feels attitudinally.  Feeling younger is not a kind of dysfunctional denial; it can indicate a form of   optimism and gratitude that one is still useful.

    How 'old' are you?  

         Satchel

      

       

 

"TICKED OFF" about ALPHA GAL...This may save your life

 

                                              

                                                                 Lone Star Tick

                               Do you know about ALPHA GAL ?  

          And, no, it does not refer to a 'first lady'.

    Or do you know about the LONE STAR TICK?

If you have not heard of this potentially deadly allergy and the tick bite that can cause it, you are not alone.  Even many medical professionals have not yet learned of this rather new disease, first identified in 2002.   (For further information, search Alpha gal and Lone Star tick).

  Untreated Alpha Gal allergic reactions result in Anaphylaxis... an inability to breathe. When a clinical assistant in a medical office began experiencing AG symptoms, EMS personnel were called to transport her to a nearby hospital. The most obvious trigger for AG is eating any kind of mammalian meat. Forgoing dairy products is necessary for some AG people.  There are several subtle causes as well,  including medicines and foods that contain mammal byproducts such as gelatin in capsules.

   We became aware of this pest-borne allergy when my wife awoke at 2a.m. with severe hives, requiring a trip to the Emergency Room. In the ensuing years, many facets of our lives have changed. Since Covid we eat out only where there is outside dining but prior to that restaurants provided challenges beyond menu options (often very limited and at a risk of cross-contamination of salad ingredients). Food preparation needs to occur on a separate grill away from mammalian food.  Smell can sometimes precipitate an episode. Lingering at a restaurant with friends, we were near a large table of guests who had steaming mammal entrees. In time, Alpha Gal symptoms began.  Fortunately, she had appropriate medication.  Now we go nowhere without epipens. 

   But the prohibitions go on:                              .certain kinds of exercise can aggravate symptoms.    .the allergist at UNC-CH advised against wearing woolen garments.  My wife had recently purchased a long-sought-for woolen jacket. Never worn, it and all other woolen clothing were donated to a local benevolence.                                                             .prescription options can become limited. Methods of anesthetization must be consider prior to surgery and dental procedures. Pig heart valves, long a primary replacement in cardiac procedures, must be avoided.                                                                        .pet dandruff limits options for those who want  indoor pets.

   While there are no 'cures' for AG, precautions almost to hypervigilance are advised. Gratefully, some assistance for navigating the new terrain have begun to appear.  A local restaurant owner who left her business due to her AG later began a catering service featuring safe foods. AlphaGal Kitchen on the     web provides numerous recipe options.

     Tick season is near. If you have 'possums nearby, protect them as ticks are a part of their menu. Otherwise, take precautions.

    Satchel

 ('Thanks' to my wife who co-authored this post from her personal experiences.)   

 

    

BRACKET-OLOGY

 

                                                                        Reid

      Check your calendar, it's March.  For lots of people in the US, that signifies "Madness", at least of the basketball kind.  Do you have a favorite team? This year in our area, 3 high school teams made it to their State Championship games. However, the title eluded them all.

    I live in central North Carolina where there is a kind of year 'round mad-ness for basketball, given the proximity of several college and university teams with national prominence.  As a college freshman, I watched on tv the undefeated UNC Tarheels defeat Wilt Chamberlain and Kansas in triple overtime.  So intense was the play that one person in our state had a fatal heart attack watching the game. 

    Duke's presence in yet another NCAA tournament this year evoked my memory of a long ago athlete at that school telling a pep rally "I used to be arrogant but now I am humble and proud of it !"

   While my "career" was hardly stellar and my general interest has waned, I once upon a time enjoyed playing the game. I had not played high school varsity sports until my Junior year and spent most of that season sitting on the bench next to the coach. Sometimes that carried its own form of entertainment such as the night a guard on the visiting team was 'hot dogging' in front of our bench. Coach drawled, " Name , I would like to buy you for what you're worth and sell you for what you think you're worth." As I recall, we lost that game badly. Occasionally, I would get to play and went scoreless the entire season up  to the last game when I scored my 'all time high' of 18 points. The final score of our 77-27 win  is sealed away in some corner of my brain.

   The following year I was a starter but hardly a 'star'.  We did avenge the previous year's loss to Name's team with all our starters scoring in double digits. When we played the team from my previous school, I played respectably and when my former algebra teacher said to me after the game, "I didn't know that you could do that", I replied, "Neither did I!". Not much else of that season was memorable. Gratefully, I was a better baseball player.

   Two of my wife's great-nephews are outstanding high school athletes, especially in basketball and baseball.  Luke excels in both sports as well as track;  and this year Reid is opting to focus his energies on his basketball travel team. Their travel coach has had a colorful playing career, having once played with the Harlem Globetrotters. (Johnny coached at a nearby high school team this year. Last year that school had a lackluster season and his first year as coach this team posted a 29-5 record and played in the State championship game. They lost to a school that was also coached by a former Globetrotter.)

  This year,  Reid's consistent performance earned his selection to First Team Conference All Star team in his Sophomore season. His average per game statistics are impressive: 19.8 points, 10 rebounds, 3 steals, 55% field goal accuracy, 40% 3-point shot accuracy. His season totals were 496 points, 120 assists, 249 rebounds and 46 steals.  And, there is another most important attribute that does not show up in a statistical compilation : He is an overall "good guy".  We are proud of him---for his hard work and achievements and for who he is.

   When I told a friend of Reid's achievements, he wrote back, "I guess you are no longer the best basketball player in your extended family." No longer?  How about Never was !

   Satchel

"A month of Sundays . . ."

 

  How long is a "long time" ?  The English language expresses duration in several colorful idioms: 'a blue moon'; 'right smart while'; 'a dog's age'; 'a lifetime'; 'when pigs fly'; 'not in a coon's age'; and this one: 'A       MONTH OF  SUNDAYS'. Now that's a long time. One dictionary offered this definition : "A very long time; a period regarded as too long." Why that metaphor?  One suggestion focused on Sunday's  being a long, dreary time caused by various amusements not being allowed on that day. A movie with Rod Steiger, a novel by John Updike and a once popular song appropriated 'A Month of Sundays' as a title.

  Like many teens,  it seemed to 'take an eternity' to reach the magic age of 16 when a driver's license marked a rite of passage. When I was a child in the early1940's, December had days without number before Christmas arrived.

  This vast expanse of waiting came to mind  when I saw this Pogo comic that someone had posted on  Facebook :   (The dialogue boxes are a tad small but worth the read if you have an appreciation for Walt Kelly's Pogo-esque humor.  Also, try enlarging the view on your screen.)

   These denizens of the  Okeefenokee Swamp recognized the subjective nature of  time's duration, even though not using the phrase. In the last panel above, one critter asks "So how about 104 days for the month of DECEMBER ?" That's about how long it took for Christmas to arrive in my pre-adult years. Now another expression seems more apropos: Tempus fugit . . .  time flies.  It seems that we have just put away seasonal decorations and here we are bringing them down from the attic.  And around here this year, the pace has accelerated  with Spring temperatures in the 80's in February.

   Rumor has it that accumulating candles on one's birthday cakes has a direct effect the speed of time. I and several of my college friends have had or will celebrate 85 years in these months. With that, yet another phrase comes to mind  Carpe diem eloquently phrased by Robin Williams's  character in the movie Dead Poets Society, "Carpen diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary."

   It's been a month of Sundays since I have heard better advice.

     Satchel