"Amount to something . . ."

       His small midwestern town of the 1950's  offered little encouragement to 'be all you can be'.  Then a family with a less provincial perspective moved into the area.  Recognizing the young man's native intelligence and potential, the older man encouraged him to "amount to something" with his life.  There was nothing in the admonition that belittled, that demeaned the ambient culture.  Rather, it was encouragement and recognition that someone believed in him more than he possibly believed in himself.

    En-courage has been defined as 'putting heart into someone'.
The older man was not trying to 'clone' the teen-ager nor attempting to have him be someone other than who his own potential could achieve.  Consequently, the young man experienced a new  'Hope' for his future.

   Thereafter his life fulfilled the promise inherent in a long ago song "I'm just an old chunk of Coal" by Billy Shaver: "I'm just an old chunk of coal but I'm gonna be a diamond some day. I'm gonna grow and glow till I'm so  blue perfect ".  Because of his professional and personal life, I know that countless lives were changed for the better.  

    I wonder how many others in this life need someone to 'believe in them' . . .
      
       Satchel

"I NEED TO MOW THAT DOOR . . . "

         "When my teenage daughter threatened suicide, my world turned upside down", the client said.  "For a couple of years we had known that she was 'troubled' but figured that, for the most part, these  behaviors were part of being an adolescent."  That all changed on the Spring afternoon when the daughter specifically threatened self-destruction and fled their house.  Disappeared !   Several hours later,  she called from a friend's house, talking nonchalantly as if the events of a few hours earlier had never occurred. Somehow, they were able to coax her home,  alerted the police who transported the daughter to a local hospital where a child psychiatrist determined that indeed for her safety hospitalization was mandated.

    The days that followed became a blur of tasks, details, 'have to's' with many routine chores falling unattended, such as mowing the grass. Consequently, the front lawn which was already grown up at the time of the tumult, had grown well past the point of needing attention.  Three days after the crisis, entering the  the driveway  the father in his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the high grass.  Parking the automobile in front of the large sliding  garage door, he remarked, "I need to mow that door". The incongruity of having conflated the two scenes  prompted his immediate laughter.

    When the client told that story, I immediately knew that stress
does funny (not necessarily humorous ) things to our brains.  I thought of that story this week when two other clients who have recently experienced family deaths told me that they were having difficulty remembering and feared that it indicated 
the onset of some form of dementia.  In their cases, such a diagnosis is highly unlikely.  

   Loss is usually experienced on several levels of our very being ---including physical functions.  Among the effects can be short-term memory issues.  It also follows that if grieving is allowed and expressed, at some point memory and other brain functions return to 'normal'.  Along the way, basic A,B, C's of self care need to be observed:  adequate rest, good nutrition, etc. 

   Occasions of 'mowing the door' I hope will not aggravate our grieving.
     
   Satchel

The story is true.  Details have been modified for privacy/confidentiality.
  
      

MY FRIEND DIED . . .

With J.R. in younger days

      Just a few weeks ago in a blog post on male friendships,  
I wrote of my long time friend and soul brother, J.R.  We first met in the Fall of 1960 when at Boston University School of Theology.

Fall 2016 visit to his West Virginia home

   Last October when  we were together with him and his wife,  I read him some of my writings and he offered strong words of encouragement to continue and expand my efforts and to send him pages that I wrote.  Being minimally interested in the world of technology (specifically computers), he asked that I call him when I had published and he would have his wife to print it from her computer.  So, on a Sunday evening I wrote and published the piece. The following morning, I called him to let him know that it was 'out there'.  From the moment he said 'Hello', I knew something was amiss.  He had been diagnosed with metastatic cancer and advised that he probably had a year or year and a half remaining.
 Just a couple of years ago, his oncologist had told him that he was free of the Stage IV lymphoma diagnosis.

   Facing what he called this "next chapter", he told me of two books that he intended to read as he died with intentionality.  Ironically, he had given me a copy of one of them in  1997 ---Stephen Levine's A Year to Live --- with a personal inscription.
The other book had been recommended to him by his long time mentor, Father Thomas Keating.

   We spoke by telephone on two later occasions and agreed that we wanted 'face to face' time.  So, when I called a few days later and his son-in-law, a highly respected physician, indicated that his condition was deteriorating, we made  plans to drive there on Friday, February 23, the day after my 80th birthday.
For years we  kept the tradition of calling each other on birthdays.
When my telephone rang early on the 22nd, I was not prepared for the news.  His daughter told me that he had died during the night.

   This, of course, is not my first experience with grief . . . but it is, what ?, different.  And, my clients often teach me about the many faces of grief, including not to suppress it, not to be impatient with it, and that we never 'get over' it but eventually . . . again, what ? . . . adapt, move on, etc.  I just had a new 'nominee': 'Remember' and remember with gratitude that our lives intersected in the long span of Time.  As Bob Hope said, "Thanks for the memories!"

Beethoven quote that J.R. kept on his bookshelf

    Satchel

17

           1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17  !!!

And these Floridians are but the most recent ones.  They all had names and futures (many 'bright' ones) , and they all had families who loved them and they all had the right to live.  And none of them should have their passing sullied by the rancorous, vile, hateful words that are passing for discourse in the aftermath.

It has often been said that "violence is as American as  apple pie", harkening to the 'Wild West' and 'the right to bear arms'.  Do military Drill Instructors still demand of their trainees as was done in 1962 when I was in Basic Training: "What's the spirit of the bayonet?"  To which we were dutifully to chant: "To kill!" Okay, that was military training but I think the same question can be posed for AK-14's.  They are for killing and as is often pointed out, they are not for hunting wildlife.  Rather restricts the potential 'targets'.  

Which brings me back to Florida and the many other tragedies  in recent years.  Every time the same mantras, the same platitudes ('thoughts and prayers') get spouted: 'it's not a gun issue; it's a societal matter'; it's a mental health issue; guns don't kill people ...people kill people.'  On it goes.  I do not disparage 'thoughts and prayers' 
         . . . but something else is lacking.

    In the meantime,  17  !

        Satchel

MALE FRIENDSHIPS

     THE  FRIENDLESS AMERICAN MALE . . . the title of a book somewhere on my shelves.  If you are a male, how many true friends . . . not the same as acquaintances . . . do you have?  O.K., so what is the definition ? 'Someone whom if you call at 2 a.m. , they will come.' ? 'Someone with whom  a lot of verbals are unnecessary in order to 'understand' each other.' ?  Much has been written about friendships in general and about how male friendships differ greatly from those of women.  The stereotype seems to be that men are more  proficient and  comfortable talking about topics external to ourselves: "Who won the ballgame?"; "Think it's going to snow?"; "What is the best car for gas mileage?"; etc.  And, as a male and as a psychotherapist who listens to many men struggle with articulating their 'inner worlds', I know that there is validity in the  stereotype.

    In his 1992 book, Wrestling With Love: How Men Struggle With Intimacy, psychologist Samuel Osherson noted that "research on men's lives reveals  that male  friendships are often noteworthy more for their absence than their presence.  (p. 301) He related some of the 'reasons' men put up walls against real contact with other men. (302 ff) 

   For now, I have been reflecting on my own history of friendships, which ones continue, which ones were important at a time and now for whatever 'reason' seem less so.  (At this point I think it important to distinguish between 'friendly' which one on-line dictionary terms being "kind and pleasant" and 'friendship' which denotes a non-sexual bond of affection and trust.) The 'realities' of career, family, geographic distance, deaths, as well as emerging differences in interests have contributed to the diminishment of once strong attachments.  From public school days, I remember few friendships that have endured. On those rare occasions when we are together, there is a friendliness, a warmth, a happiness to be seeing each other again, delight in sharing memories (at least most of them).  More relationships have endured from college, seminary and graduate school years. Naming names can raise sensitivity matters . . . like, why was so and so not included? etc.  So, without intention of excluding anyone whom I cherish, I want to note some recent reunions with men with whom I can also speak of soul matters. 

   As an undergraduate at a small liberal arts college, I joined a national fraternity, while still being 'friendly' with guys in other 'Greek' groups.  In the 58 years or so since graduation, I still have contact with several of my 'brothers'.  Even so, because of a confluence of various circumstances,  a half dozen of us maintained 'friendships'. . . Charles, John, Bill, Bob, Don, and myself.

     Bob died a couple of years ago.  A United Methodist Minister and genuine 'good man', he personified kindness, support, confidentiality, and many other virtues that make FRIENDSHIP possible.  Shortly before Bob's  death, Charles and I visited him and there was great delight in each other's company as we reminisced but also spoke of DEEP Matters, including what was acknowledged to be our last mortal time together.  In great understatement, his obituary noted that "Bob will be dearly missed."

With Bob (seated) and Charles, Fall 2014

      This past Fall, we other five decided to spend time together.

Don (on left), Me, John and Bill
December 2017

     Before that could occur, however, Charles experienced a stroke that for now has reduced his activities.   Professionally, we have had a great diversity of careers. After years in Journalism, City Management and then Congressional lobbyist, Charles ('Charlie' as an undergraduate) began a distinguished career as a writer.  (See his website, www.charlesfprice.com). Don went directly into the military after college and is a Retired Navy Officer; John was a United Methodist Minister and District Superintendent; Bill enjoyed forty years as Director of Greensboro (NC) Historical Museum. After several years as History Professor and then United Methodist Minister, I have been a full time Psychotherapist since 2001.  During 2018, we each will have our 80th birthday.  

   I met J.R. in September 1960 when we were students at Boston University School of Theology.  Over that time, we have been often together and supported each other through many of life's currents and cross-currents.   Many years ago, at his wedding rehearsal dinner, I offered this as part of a toast: "J.R. and I are brothers; we just have different parents."  My dad died in 1992; J.R. and Bev drove round trip in one day from Charleston, WV to N.C. for the funeral.  A graduate of the distinguished Blanton-Peale Institute, he recently retired after a long career as a psychotherapist.  While we sometimes  diverge widely in our views, I know that we can (and do) speak truthfully and vulnerably together.  When we speak by phone or visit in person, there is no awkward 'now where were we ?'; rather, a 'now as we were saying'.

With J.R. near Wytheville, Va.   Fall 2017

    These men (and others) have enriched my life in countless ways and I like to think that I have provided a measure of friendship to them as well.

     Satchel












   

THE 'SUNNY SOUTH' ? ! . . .

    Last week when we had only a 'dusting' of snow along with single digit temps, I had a chance brief conversation with an 'old timer' in the parking lot of a grocery store.
I made a 'throwaway' comment about the weather and he bemoaned, "I moved heah from New Hamp'sha to get away from this. I thought I was moving to the  'sunny South'."  I wonder what he is thinking of today's 'event' which began about 8 a.m. today and is still going strong now at almost 4 p.m.

   A few minutes ago, I stepped onto our deck and measured 6 3/4 "  on the railing.  According to the Weather Channel, we can expect the storm to last until 9 tonight.  Now, before some of you in more frigid zones 'tut-tut' , remember, you know what to expect in Winter.  Last week-end the temps here were in the mid-70's.  This abrupt change constitutes 'cruelty'.  Even as this system approached, meteorologists were advising that there was no need to stock up on the traditional 'milk and bread' because this would be minor and of short duration. A snowfall in excess of 1-2" is a major event for us. Now the tv newspeople have a grand old time showing road conditions and institutional closings.

   Knowing that a storm was nearing, I cancelled my Wednesday client appointments and scurried home last night  (Tuesday). Only as the system moved closer did we begin to hear hints of the potential depths. Consequently, I am safely in my home with my wife, our dog and  ample coffee, hot chocolate, and meals rather than being alone in our office building had I opted to challenge the forecast and remain there.

    There is something almost magical about the quiet that accompanies a snowfall. Of necessity, life assumes a slower tempo. Naps become a 'basic' rather than 'luxury' and I may soon follow the dog's example. Apparently, there are a few brave souls  driving due either to obligation or fool-heartedness.  I am not among their number. Southerners' inability to navigate on snow and ice has become the stuff of considerable jest.  Several years ago, I did a 360* on a snow covered rural road without injury either to me or the automobile.  I said, " 'Thanks', and Lesson learned!"  

   Our small town is  scheduled for mandatory water restrictions beginning this week-end.  I wonder what effect (if any) the eventual melting will have on that circumstance. Drought conditions typically occur during Summer's furnace. 

    Friends and relatives are posting photographs of children playing in the snow . . . making 'snow persons', sledding, etc.  My wife and I decided at lunch (there really was no need for discussion; it was unanimous) that Tommy's sled will remain under the house despite a perfect sledding hill out front.  Long gone are the college times when we 'borrowed'  trays from the school cafeteria for sledding down the perfect campus hill. March, 1960, remains in the lore of those of us 'of a certain age' when it SNOWED on each of the first three Wednesdays of the month.

  But for those of us now of disinclination to venture out, there is consolation in knowing that the season of the Jonquils is just around the calendar's turning . . . even in New Hamp'sha .

Noon on January 17,  2018

3:30 pm on January 17,  2018



Stay warm, dry and safe !

Satchel

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful . . . "

     This is the view from our front porch a few years ago.
I am unable to post a picture of the current conditions for the very good reason that I am not at home, unable to get there because of road conditions between there and my office.  Here ...but 65 miles distance... there has been no precipitation and other than frigid cold, it's beautiful outside.

    Compared to the impact of the blizzard that struck the Atlantic coastline and the Northeast in the past  couple of days,  accumulations have been minor.  Yet there has been enough to cause school cancellations, allow kidders (of all ages) to  go sledding, build snow persons, as well as adversely affect traffic.  Unfortunately, there have been fatalities attributable to road conditions.

    The temperature at home this morning was 1* F,   colder than the 8* in my brother's New Hampshire hometown.  Our high today is forecast  for upper   20's. . . "Bread and milk" conditions.  However, this one came in so fast and unexpectedly that grocery store runs did not occur.  Someone opined that folks will just have to forego their 'milk sandwiches'.  Perhaps you have seen the photographs of the storm's impact and now the plummeting temps.  A friend posted an app counting down the days, hours and minutes until Spring's arrival.

   It's five days too late for 'New Year's Resolutions', but here's mine anyway: "I will not complain about Summer's heat !"

    Satchel

     

SUNRISINGS

        The sun came up this morning . . . 
            as it has every morning for eons.

December 17, 2017

     I derive comfort from that fact.  Human experience is full of vicissitudes, changes, unpredictables, disappointments with  the net effect of all that uncertainty being often an underlying anxiety:  'We are ultimately not in control. Is there a consistency, a reliability anywhere?'

    Yesterday we began our annual Advent/Christmas time at the beach.  Well before arriving, I begin anticipating arising early and with my cup(s) of coffee watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. It 'restores my soul' like few other experiences.  The rhythm of the tide soothes me in ways that I can not articulate.  About the best that I can explain it to myself is that I reset my life's clock to God's metronome .
It's a necessary contretemps to the pervasive pace and routine of 'modern life'.  Additionally, for me, it allows a perspective that goes beyond the 'right now' (as important as the 'right now' can be ---sometime). 

      Our weather forecast for the next couple of days suggests that seeing the actual sunrise may be problematic because of the clouds.  I find a helpful metaphor there.  Again, the right now can be quite 'stormy' and not just 'overcast'.  The 'theologian' Little Orphan Annie sang it: "The sun'll come up tomorrow ! "  That's HOPE and not wishful thinking requiring a time frame beyond the clock and calendar.  Somewhere in my theological studies I learned  another meaning of "time" other than chronological.  KAIROS (according Wikipedia) means "the appointed time in the purpose of God" for the fulfillment of greater issues than the evening newscast.  With that I hear overtures for Advent, the preparation for  greater meaning than the immediate.

      Watching the sun rise over the waves reminds me to keep the chronos and the kairos in conversation.  Perhaps a better way to say it . . . to allow the kairos to keep the chronos in perspective and not be the entirety of our existence.
      
     Satchel

STAINED GLASS

        We are giving this piece of stained glass as a Christmas gift this year:

13 3/4"    x   19 3/4"

It came not from a commercial establishment but from our 'treasure chest' that we have chosen to share.  Long ago, it was a part of a large window in the old Presbyterian Church in a town 'down east'.
That structure had not been home to the congregation for many years and had suffered fire damage in the late 1960's and the large windows were doomed to the dump.  Fast forward unto the early 2000's when I met local artisan, Sam Zinaich, who began designing and restoring stained glass over 30 years ago.  Sam refurbished and framed the panel and it hung in the window of one of my offices for six years.  When I resumed having but one office, we stored this one.  Its 'sibling' hangs in a window of our house:

As an aside (which he will not know about until he reads this),

what began as a hobby for Sam has developed into a post-retirement business.  He was among the first artists in the "Arts Incubator" project in our hometown.  See his website "Stained Glass by Sam".  At 83, Sam does not allow his "chronological giftedness" to define his  artistic imagination and creativity.  Over the years, he has repaired and refurbished stained glass windows in several churches. My photography skills do not adequately capture the beauty of these creations in his shop:

Since Medieval times stained glass windows have adorned numerous cathedrals and churches in Europe.  The craftsmanship has a long history (see Wikipedia).  American churches early continued the practice of enhancing their worship spaces with pictures depicting Biblical persons and scenes.  The sanctuary of the small Methodist (pre-United Methodist) church of my youth had two super-sized windows.  One of the  churches that I served as Minister in the 1990's has these beautiful windows:

And a small Episcopal parish in the Western part of our state has its entire sanctuary enhanced with Tiffany windows, such as this one:

Over the years, we have added several pieces of stained glass to the decor of our house; so much so that I have occasionally quipped that we have as many panels as some small churches.  In addition to the frame above, here are some of the others:

In one of the Bedrooms

Over the kitchen sink

In my "next life", I want to be a stained-glass artist.

Satchel

          

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

Or so sang Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady.  "I'm so sick of words . . . show me".   Then there is the ditty learned long ago, "Sticks and Stones may break my bones; but words will never harm me !"  Now, to some degree, we have choice in how we respond (rather than react) to words spoken with hostile intent to or about us .  There is some truth in the aphorism that 'What Saint Peter tells you about Saint Paul tells us more about Saint Peter that about Saint Paul."

I often heard the admonition (not necessarily always addressed to me ) that we were to 'keep a civil tongue in our mouths'. The late journalist, Edwin Newman, long ago urged such in his book, A Civil Tongue.  Civil Discourse defined by Wikipedia is "engagement in conversation intended to enhance understanding  [emphasis added]".  So I searched for a couple more definitions to learn the accuracy of  my understanding : civil & profane. Civil means "polite, courteous, and well-mannered".  Profane by contrast means treating something sacred [like persons] with irreverence, disrespect, abuse or contempt.

Insults rank among the more hurtful of words.  I went to an online dictionary and found this for 'insult': "speak to or treat with disrespect or scornful abuse." Synonyms include "be rude to, disparage ... malign ... call someone names ...hurt,humiliate,wound ".  Insults typically, then, carry contempt and disgust with the probability that these create yet more conflict rather than a prospect for reconciliation.
Yet one more 'definition', Verbal abuse: (also known as verbal bullying) "is described as a negative defining statement to or about the victim . . . thereby defining the target as non-existent. . . . Anger underlies, motivates and perpetuates verbally abusive behavior. "  In over a quarter of a century as a therapist, I have observed many of the ill effects of verbal abuse on the human spirit.

As an historian as well as a therapist, I am not so naive as to believe that verbal warfare, insults, curses levied towards those deemed 'inferior', disrespect, etc. are recent arrivals in society, particularly American society. I do believe that more recently the vitriol and venom come rolling out of our mouths and actions with a ferocity that is more than troubling with a presumed 'end game' to be more divisive than to 'enhance understanding'. [see above re 'Civil Discourse'] 'Where two or three are gathered together, there is potential for disagreement'.  But for there to be 'winners' and 'losers' . . . , even eradication of the 'losers'!  We are in another 'time zone' and , Toto, 'this isn't   Kansas'.  And, 'actions speak louder than words' in how we treat others.  

I think it was  Otto Von Bismarck, the German politician of the  19th century, who originated the phrase "Might makes Right".
If that is true, then God help the underdog, the disfranchised, the minority, those whom Jesus called 'the least among you' who were to be treated with respect, kindness, and equality.

    Satchel

MY 'TOOFIES'

It began undramatically enough  . . . my dentist was explaining

options for dealing with one of my tooth crowns that had a 'challenge'.  Among the choices was to remove the remaining top teeth (I already had a partial denture) and put in a 'full set'.

Among my first thoughts . . . isn't that something that 'old people' do?  Quickly counting my 79 birthdays, I concluded that I may now be among that grouping.   I remembered that dad obtained his full set when he was about 40.

Dentists and I have had a long-term relationship.  As a pre-adolescent, without so much as asking parental opinion, I went by Dr. Marvin Jones's office one afternoon after school to have a procedure done.  And, along with many (most ?) adults, I have vivid memories of wisdom teeth extractions. (OUCH !, 50 years later.)  Someone told me that any time he hears an extolling of 'the good old days', he has a one word rebuttal: "Dentistry".

    Now this !  At a preliminary consultation with the oral surgeon, she assured me that I would be well sedated and have no memories of the procedure.  Was she ever right !!  A Halcion tablet 45 minutes prior to the appointment had me well on the way.  Following the 25 mile drive (of which I remember nothing), I remember arriving at her office, sitting in the chair and the anesthetist preparing the IV.  I have no recollection, however, of seeing the surgeon.  Today when I returned for removal of stitches, she told me that indeed we had had a brief, friendly chat before she began.  If she says so . . .

There are other gaps of time for which I have no memory . . .

the drive back to my local dentist for the dentures (yep, same morning), returning home, my wife going to the pharmacy, and who knows what else !

In the 'now they tell me' category:  From a booklet provided from one of the the Dentist: "Adjusting to dentures or partials is challenging.  You will have to re-learn basic things such as eating and speaking clearly. You may struggle initially, but it will get easier as you adjust to your dentures."

The late Lewis Grizzard commented that surgery would change one's attitudes about narcotics.  Although the strongest post-surgery med that I had was 600 mg of Ibuprophen four times daily, that was                                                                                                         generally adequate.  There followed several days of dietary supplemental drinks with SOFT fare coming later.

     Now, 9 days later,  most of the soreness is gone and I have a tier of 'pearly whites' that attest that I have experienced one of those Adult Rites of Passage.

         A couple of days ago, someone posted a video on Facebook of a woman blowing out birthday cake candles and in the process, blowing out her dentures.  I'll be careful when blowing out candles.  I guess my big challenge will be determining whether I can eat corn of the cob.

Satchel

TO HATE OR NOT TO HATE . . .

       If within the past two or three days you have had access to television, the internet, or any other form of electronic communication, you have seen the pictures.

    Charlottesville, Virginia, home of Thomas Jefferson's University and a symbol of tolerance became the site of an outpouring of hatred reminiscent of intolerance visited upon German cities prior to World War Two.  Article One of America's Constitutional Bill of Rights spells out without equivocation the  "right of the people peaceably to assemble  . . ."  When many of the 'protesters' came armed with high-powered weaponry, 'peaceably' did not rank high in their intentions.  

    It would be easy to fall into a kind of cynicism suggested by the late Eric Hoffer in The True Believer: "hatred is the most accessible and comprehensive of all unifying agents."
After all, the long-ago radio  drama, The Shadow, always answered  the question, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" with "The Shadow knows."  Evil (or to render its theological name, Sin) has been around for a long time and likely will remain.

     Is there an antidote or an alternative?  There are those among us who believe otherwise.  

    In the past two days there have been several  Facebook posts of Nelson Mandela's saying that "no one is born hating another person because of the color of  his skin or his background or his religion . . . People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love . . . For love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite."  Somewhat like the song in the  1958 musical South  Pacific ..."You've got to be carefully taught . . ."

    There is that often overused, misused and misunderstood word ---LOVE.  It is not always synonymous with LIKE. Here I am not relying on some kind of soppy, mushy or even affectionate emotion.  Rather, how about words like compassionate, kindness, shared humanity ?  

     Whether one is an adherent, a believer, a practitioner or not, the Judeo-Christian scriptures offer alternatives to the  violence: "He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8)
And, perhaps the best known single verse in the Christian Testament: "For God loved the world so much . . ."  If one is to claim "Christian" as an identifier, then loving that which God loves becomes the bedrock.  

     I know; some would dismissively call these platitudes.  Try it. I suggest that it takes courage ---variously defined as 'the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain ...    with out fear' and 'mental or moral strength to venture, persevere , and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty.' With that can come risks and consequences . . . personal, political, relational just to name the more obvious.   The Englishman, Edmund Burke, long ago noted that "the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

    Hate groups have no legitimate place within the fabric of civilized society !

     Satchel

    

LONG, HOT, DRY SPELL

   

   There has been no significant rain in our town in weeks.  A couple of times the skies looked promising --- many days of 90* temps, occasional dark clouds, and a bit of rumbling, and a splatter.  Wasn't like that earlier in the Summer . . . rains came frequently, lawns remained lush, plants and flowers flourished, days were mild.  Then, it just stopped !  Consequently, there have been many hours spent watering the vegetation.

    I have not heard the "D" word yet spoken (Drought). There do seem to be lots of beach vacation pictures posted on  Facebook; frozen yogurt and ice cream sales are strong; few coats and ties are being worn and lots of folks checking The Weather Channel.  Remembering my vow made in Winter not to complain of Summer heat, I 'plug along' (regional dialect for 'persevere').  

    Recently, realizing  that I have not written a blog post since June 15, I concluded that 'long dry spells' can also find parallels in my creativity and just plain disinclination to write. Perhaps that was part of the imagery that prompted Nat King Cole's song about The Lazy Hazy Days of Summer

     An Episcopal priest friend describing his rejuvenating Nantucket vacation years ago acknowledged that he had reached the  point that "I had nothing to say and no great desire to say it."  

   At times like this I remember the story of someone's asking an old Vermont farmer, "Reckon it'll rain?" to which he answered, "Always has.".  And, now, the tv meteorologists are hinting  for a wet week ahead.

    Can you locate your raincoat and umbrella ?

        Satchel