UNCLE FRANK AND THE ORIGINAL CHATHAM RABBITS

  Uncle Frank and me around  1940

  As a child, one of my favorite people in the world was my Uncle Frank Durham.  Actually, he was not 'blood kin' ; he was married to dad's foster sister, Louise.  Living their entire lives in the mill village of Bynum , North Carolina, at the time
of his retirement, he had  risen to Superintendent of the mill.
He kept my brothers and me supplied with dimes and Juicy Fruit chewing gum.

   The archives of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill's Southern Oral History contains an interview with "Unk" that I treasure. His and other interviews in time became Like a Family, a study of Southern  cotton mill villages, published by UNC Press.

    A hallmark of many of these villages was their "string bands", as they were usually called.  Bynum in the 1920's and '30's also had several   musicians that attained some regional acclaim.  One such group was "The Chatham Rabbits", for which Uncle Frank was one of the guitarists.  In recent years, a husband and wife duo calling themselves the  Chatham Rabbits is achieving wide recognition. (Check their web page.)

    So, what's with the 'Rabbit' ?  There is even a great coffee shop here in our town with the name "Chatham Rabbit".

And, this mural on another  downtown business pays further tribute to the past importance of the rabbit.

   In the late 19th and early 20th century, the furry rabbit was prolific in Chatham County (NC) and was valued for its fur and its meat. Huge quantities were shipped by rail along the  Eastern US seaboard.  Between 1910 and 1914 , according to an  article in a local newspaper, 94,342 rabbits were shipped from Siler City alone. (If this interest you, put your search engine on 'origin of the Chatham Rabbit.)  According to Unk, an illness of some type virtually decimated the rabbit population, probably in the early 1930'.

   When he was around 20 years old, Uncle Frank became part of  the 'Rabbits'.  By the late 1920's there were several string musicians in the village.  The chief influence for this was a string virtuoso named McKinley McDaniel.  'Unk' credited McDaniel with his own early training and decision to purchase a guitar from a pawn shop.

   Uncle Frank identified the original members as "two good fiddle players" (Walter Farrell and his son, Frank), a "banjo player" (David Baker), "a harp blower" (harmonica) (Talt Riggsbee), "a mandolin" player (Briggs Atwater)and himself and Bob Clapp as guitarist and vocalists.  The band  quickly gained local recognition and soon was performing on radio station WPTF in the capital city of Raleigh. He remembered that "we got a lot of telegrams, including one from Alabama".
The radio gigs apparently ended when spouses complained about the amount of time the men were away.

    Walter "Corkey" Harris , 'unofficial' historian of Bynum. remembered that  his grandfather (Frank Farrell)  told  him stories about the band. "They played for a lot of  dances in the area and had a pretty good reputation. Pa played the fiddle as did his daddy. . . . They would travel to Raleigh and play on WPTF radio station."  He further recalled his grandfather's telling him that "they had to walk down a long hallway to the studio where they were to play.  At the end of the hallway was a large wall mirror.  As his daddy, I.W. Farrell (Walt) came to the turn, he tipped his hat to the man he saw coming toward him. That fellow tipped his hat at the same time to Mr. Walt who never realized who it was that was so polite."

  Unfortunately, no recordings by the original Chatham Rabbits have been located.  Uncle Frank continued to play with other groups as this photo indicates:

   Front row left, McKinley McDaniel; Right, Morris Ellis
   Back: Uncle Frank and Cecil Ellis.

     In researching for this post, I came across the names of other Bynum musicians, including Raymond Gerringher and Archie Ross.  The new Chatham Rabbits who also live in Bynum wrote of having learned that a former occupant of their  house, Randolph 'Suzie' Riddle, had played guitar with the original 'Rabbits'.

    Thanks to the new "Rabbits" for honoring and keeping the music alive.

     Satchel
   
     

"TO HELL WITH POSTERITY . . ."

. . . was  the title of an audio lecture that I heard several years ago.  The essence of the message was that there exists within society an attitude of  'get yours while the getting is good and let those who come later get whatever may be leftl'.
There seems to be a lot of that sentiment in the 'air' these days. (Pun intended !)

    During a drought, a tourist asked a farmer, "Think it'll rain?"
The response: "Always has."  In some places in this world, the  more accurate questions are "When" and "If"; and in other parts of the U.S. the question is more like "when will these floods stop?"

    Mark Erelli sang "We are passing this world on to our kids from the moment they step out of their cribs . . . "  If the current pace of consumption, pollution, and pillage continues, what are we 'passing on'?

Planet  Earth as seen from outer space

Wendell Berry, the Kentucky farmer, novelist, poet, environmental activist  wrote that  "to cherish what remains of the Earth and to further its renewal is our only legitimate hope of  survival."  And another of his poems that I recently saw was even more poignant :   

           

If you believe that 'climate change' or 'global warming' are either hoaxes or much ado about nothing, the purpose of this post is not  to convince you otherwise.  Today I saw three separate items that reenforce my conviction that 'the times, they are a-changing'.  One was from an anonymous  source : "No amount of money, oil, or gold is worth more than the bees, trees, and clean water."  The other was a news release from NOAA noting that July 2019 was the hottest month on record and that 9 of the 10 hottest Julys on record have occurred since 2005.  Furthermore, "the record-warmth shrank Arctic and Antarctic sea ice to historic lows."

Dr. Rachel Cleetus, an economist and policy director at the Union of Concerned Scientists, in a New York Times article on August 15, 2019,  said that "this is not a challenge we can overcome as individuals [but only] by pooling collective resources, whether it's time or dollars or political action, that we will get to solutions."

And, while I believe her assessment to be 'spot on', I do not think that it absolves us from our  individual efforts to 'save the planet'.  There is still truth in the admonition that we should plant a tree in whose shade we will never sit.

Years ago I heard Dr. Fred Craddock say that those who cannot see beyond the time of their own birth and death are "orphans in the universe".  Posterity matters !!

Satchel

"SOMEBODY'S DARLING"

          SOMEBODY'S DARLING  was a song from the American Civil War that lamented the deaths of so many young men.  The strong message was that they were not simply an impersonal statistic or collateral damage accompanying the violence and horrors of war.  These were REAL PEOPLE with dreams, hopes, kinships, futures...
And, then, GONE !

     Unfortunately, 'somebody's darlings'  continue to die in combat  that seems universal.  A poignant line in Reuben James  (about an American vessel sunk early in World War II):  "Many years have passed since those brave men  have gone, many years have passed and still I wonder why  the worst of men must fight and the best of men must die ! "

    Warfare while horrific hardly accounts for the deaths of 
Somebody's darling.  TWICE yesterday (August 3, 2019) innocent 'darlings' going about the normal routines of life, minding their own business, wishing no one harm  did not return home.  The latest body count that I have seen indicates  20 deaths in El Paso and 9 in Dayton, Ohio.
Before that, how many ?  If, as is often claimed, 'violence is as American as apple pie', then the time has come for another kind of  pie. 

    ANGUISH  follows this violence.  An online dictionary defines anguish like this: 'severe mental or physical pain or suffering'; 'sorrow, grief, heartache, heartbreak, woe, despair'.  And, while 'thoughts and prayers' has become almost a benign cliche, there is little meaningful effort to address the complicated  matter of guns.

   Another Civil War song, Just Before the Battle, Mother,
indicated that those about to engage in battle knew that "on tomorrow, some may sleep beneath the sod'.  But if you go to the mall to buy school supplies, or go to your holy place to worship, or to a musical concert, or to school to learn, or to . . ., you don't expect such to be your  last ever activity.``

     An anguished Psalmist implored, "How long, O Lord, how long ?" (Psalm 13)  How long will 'somebody's darling' become a statistic ?
   
        Satchel  

     

"FLOWERS MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER "

     

Deer ....  stay away !

       The monsoon season here has passed.  Now, it's just hot and dry.  If the flowers are to survive, they need water . . . daily.  While giving them their morning 'drink' today, I listened to a podcast by Sean Dietrich (aka "Sean of the South") from July 4, 2018.  In that program, he frequently spoke the words that are the title of this post.

     Our yard has been a riot of colors since last February 
when the little purple crocus emerged.  There has been a progression (not necessarily in this order) of jonquils (buttercups), azaleas, iris, dogwoods, roses, day lilies,  camelias,  hydrangia, gardenias, canna lilies, calla lilies, hibiscus, mandavila, petunia, hosta, coleus, ferns and one volunteer sunflower (courtesy of a bird who enjoyed the suet feeder)

Spot the butterfly 

Looking down from the balcony

  

My wife has a 'green thumb'. I think she could make flowers grow in cement. I ? Well, I cheer her on.

  We have collected day lilies of numerous colors on our vacations.  We love them . . . so do the deer.  It is a contest from late May to now as to how many buds become full flowers.   A friend who is a professional landscaper called them
'deer candy'.  For many years, my wife was renowned for her many varieties of roses.  Ultimately, the deer won that struggle.

Today whenever I catch a whiff of a fragrant Sweet Betsy bush, I am transported through  the years to the sidewalk at my adolescent home where mom had planted that treasure.
Like my wife, she excelled in making miracles in the soil.
In our home she had a small plaque that expressed well her
philosophy of horticulture: One is nearer to God's heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth.

The Promise of Spring

    Apropos Sean Dietrich's comment, flowers complement most every occasion and situation: births, weddings, funerals, graduations, on the church altar or communion table almost every Sunday, at dance recitals,  birthdays, anniversaries, Mother's Day, apologies, parties of many descriptions, and you likely can add to that list.  Beauty may indeed be in the eye of the beholder, and, if so, the tenacity of this volunteer by our trash can gets my vote.

      

Flowers make everything better !

Satchel

                                    

DO YOU SPEAK 'TEKKY' ?

   Over the years, I have had something of an amateur-like fascination with languages.  Used my high school  French as entree into a college minor in French. And  I even taught French I and II at the high school level for a couple of years. In graduate school, I learned enough Spanish to pass an open-dictionary test to satisfy the language requirement.  I had already more than met my linguistic match with Koine Greek while in seminary at Duke , having made a kind of 'bargain' with the Holy  One: get me out with a 'gentleman's C' and Iwill never tempt You like this again.

    Now, some 56 years later, I am slowly learning German via an internet app. Already, I knew a few essential phrases such as 'Ich habe hunger' = I'm hungry.  While I will never have the felicity with the language that my son-in-law has, 'progress' is occurring  enough that I am enjoying the challenge.

     But it is a language not specific to any geographic region that I am finding most daunting... it's the vocabulary of electronic technology.

     It all began in a rather mundane manner.  We had decided to move into another level of 'tekkydom'.  The price for the item was 'right' ; but when the technician came to install, we learned that our current internet modem did not have enough gig speed to transmit the signal.  A call to  the provider revealed that they were unable to ( what else ?) provide sufficient speed to meet our need.  So, I used my search engine to find another provider  to 
upgrade the service, including the retention of our land line number.

    The technician who came today was patient, thorough and in all ways, knowledgeable.  When he left, the internet, the modem, television, and phone lines were all operational.  We did learn, however, that one tv channel for which  we had received assurance would be available is not ! In the meantime, the low charge that was on batteries expired and they have just now been brought back to full capacity.  

   Soon after his departure, the telephone service played 'hide and seek'.  We could call out but for incoming calls, there were rings but no  connectivity.

     Keeping our fingers crossed that  the signal for the internet service  continues to work.  When  we press the power button on the tv remote, a blue light comes on at the cable box ... but noting else happens.  Yet another call to tech support and the promise that they had an open order for someone to come back.  It is now after 8 pm. and no one has come.

    Many times over the past few years, I have expressed my lack of knowledge in the field of computers by writing 'ain't tekknolodgie wunnerful !'.

   With today's aggravations, I seem to be remembering language whose use in my youth would have incurred parental reprimand.
From a former intern I learned a very useful computer method  for expressing the condition:  "Beetle Bailey cuss-words", such as 
^%$&((#@$#&))@@!!##.
    
    Satchel

Teecherz

Have you ever been a teacher?

    Had a great teacher?

      Had a bad teacher ?

   And, if you are of 'a certain age', had a 'paddling' by a school teacher ?  (Full disclosure, since I am 'of the age', and my parents [who promised one at home if there were one at school] are now deceased and unable to fulfill their promise: I had two such encounters in grammar school. ) But  those are other matters, best left untold.  Although, Charles Hobby, you were implicated in one of those when we were in Mrs. McManus's first grade.
    And, there was a musical ditty: "Reading and writing and 'rithmatic, taught to the tune of a hickory stick . . ."

   Well, this has been National Teachers' Week.  And there are college/university graduations all around.  So, remembering teachers (excellent and otherwise) from my school years as well as those years when my wife and   I were each teachers has been an exercise in nostalgia and gratitude.

    On occasion, I have been called a packrat who retains all kinds of detritus from by-gone times.  I prefer thinking of myself as an archivist.  At any rate, somewhere in the archives are all my report cards from grades   1-12.  Seeing the names of those long ago teachers (mostly women) provides appreciation for those who conveyed more than just their subject matters.  I know . . . naming names can be problematic: why are some included and others omitted.  And, in truth, a few of them are now more appreciated than they were when I was in their classrooms.

   A brief 'roll call' of my public school teachers:  
     .Mrs. Smithwick whose pedagogical method for learning math in 3d grade was rote repetition thereby often eliminating my need for a calculator in simple math.
     .Mrs. Campbell who taught us in 8th grade the then-revolutionary truth that women had their own names and were not 'Mrs. John Doe',etc.
    .A gigantic name-unknown 'practice teacher' (as they were then called) from Duke who read to us in his quasi-British accent Kipling's Gunga Din.  The take-away for my 9th grade self was that  males could like poetry.  A 'big deal' in the early 1950's.
   .Mrs. Yates, my 11th and 12th grades English teacher deepened my appreciation for literature.  We read Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and MacBeth among other 'classics'.  Does that happen in high  school now?  I don't know. She also drilled us in the fundamentals of English grammar.  Did you diagram sentences?
   .Coach Blankenship .  He taught French I and II, Physics, Chemistry, PE, and coached all the athletic teams. He was not my favorite teacher at the time but I have come to value the academic excellence he expected.
   
   When I taught high school History and French in the mid-1960's,
my annual salary was approximately $4200.  In today's dollars, public school teachers do not fare better.   And, there is the public misperception that teachers work only nine or ten months a year with a subsequent 'vacation' of two or three months.  For those who opt for monthly increments of their annual salaries, that division lessens the already problematic budget. The others often must find supplemental summer work (if not already doing so during the school year).  In our state one consequence of the salary inadequacy has been a teacher flight to other states.  And the state legislature has done away with pay grade promotion for teachers with graduate degrees.

     And, the profession is not an 8-5 occupation !  One of my college professors rightly observed that "a teacher's work is never done, never done."  You know, things like lesson plans, grading  tests, the pressure of end-of-grade exams, endless forms and paperwork that consume many hours away from the school house.

     A co-ed a couple of years younger than I went to California upon graduation and taught high school English before 'making it in the Big Time' as a singer.  At one of her early concerts, a former student held up a huge banner proclaiming that " NAME  learned me English !"

    Were you helped, encouraged, guided by a teacher? Has your life had a different trajectory because of a teacher's influence?  If so, please pass it on . . . whether or not you are a  'professional educator'.
     
    Satchel

   

Spring is springing . . . well, maybe

    "In the Spring, I have  counted 136 different kinds of weather within 24 hours."
      Mark Twain

      Once upon a long time ago, all the students in our one building school (grades one through twelve) were assembled weekly in the auditorium for a 'program' of varying descriptions.  Sometimes it might be a local clergy person giving us a 'now, do the right thing' sermonette; once a year there was a drama group called the Sauline Players which toured North Carolina schools for many years. But in the 'why in the world do I remember that ?' group there is a memory of Fourth Grade teacher, Miss Edith Maynard, annually having us sing-a-long with "  'tis Springtime, 'tis Springtime, Cold Winter has passed; The birds are returning, their songs fill the air. . ."

    Well, the elusive and capricious season officially arrived a few days ago.  But, don't tell the elements that.  We have enjoyed a few days of above 70* temperatures and now there is a frost warning !  ... a kind of bad April Fool's joke. And, we will not even talk about the monsoon season.  But ... the colors are beginning to decorate the landscape all around.  And, indeed the 'birds are returning': we have seen species at our deck feeder that have long been in warmer climates.

       Did you ever memorize a 'speech' for public recitation? 
Probably not, unless you are of 'a certain age' but this was once a common Spring staple of the school year.  I remember the opening line (but no more ) of my third grade spell-binder: "My mamma says I have Spring Fever !"  When I reached high school, my teammates and I looked forward to being allowed to leave classes early and go to the gymnasium and dress in our uniforms for baseball games.

   The lasting joy of Spring, however, is the reminder of new beginnings.  I know, some folks favor Winter as 'their season'. But  Spring signals HOPE.  For good reason, the Christian faith  has placed Easter  in this time of the year in the Northern hemisphere.

   As a small celebration of the transition,  today we ordered more daffodils and day lilies to add to our landscape.

    It's a good time to 'add color' to life !

               Satchel

What time is it ? . . .you mean now?

     

 "What time is it ?
          "You mean now ?"
                 One of Yogi Berra's many word-plays, like "When you come to a fork in the road, take it" and "Baseball is 90% mental and the other half physical".

    But his response about time is the one that comes to mind just now.  Daylight Saving Time begins this Sunday...
the 'Spring ahead' part of the formula when 'time will fly'. Will be a bit darker when many  folks wake up but the 'day is longer' on the other end.  You know, like cutting off an end of a blanket and sewing it to the other end to make it all longer.

    As an idea, DST has a long history.  Apparently, Benjamin Franklin advocated the practice.  Still, it is not universally observed, even in the United States. With the exception of the Navajo Nation, Arizona remains on 'Standard' time.

    The transition can be difficult, especially in the first few days.  Our dog has problems understanding why necessities like breakfast, bedtime, and 'bathroom' have been rescheduled.  Many of us humans experience similar dissonance until our rhythms have adjusted.  NBC has on its app several  recommendations for easier acclimation.

   Then there are the 'minor' inconveniences.  A current church joke asks, "Do you know what comes after the final hymn in the worship service?"  Answer: People who forgot to reset their clocks. In the 1980's as I was concluding a morning service, looking out the window, I saw N.M. parking her car. She was a tad embarrassed. And, when teaching, I noticed that the students in the 8 a.m. class were somewhat less interested in the collapse of the Roman Empire. (Full disclosure: So was I)

     I have found that after a few days the dissonance subsides and I enjoy DST and  would advocate for its being  year round.

     'Spring Ahead !'

          Satchel

    
  

   

"What 'cha gonna do now, Cracker Jack?"

   "I don't think it's possible to have a wedding without it being stressful."    
       Debra Messing
    
"Falling in love was the easy part; planning a wedding -yikes !"
       Niece Nash

 Have you ever gone to a wedding (or a funeral) only to discover when it's too late to exit gracefully that you are at the wrong place at the wrong time?

   I enjoy Sean Dietrich's daily blog, Sean of the South.  A few days ago he wrote of attending a friend's wedding but soon realized that he was a week early.  That story opened a trove of wedding stories from times when I have been the officiant, as well as an embarrassing experience at my own.

    "This is not your first rodeo, is it ?" the Wedding Director observed after I had addressed my grand-daughter's  wedding party. Among other details, I instructed them to walk slowly as if they were on the way to pay taxes and had insufficient funds. Unlike others that I had experienced, she was easy to work with. There have been others  . . . like the woman whom I explicitly told about protocols in our sanctuary only to have her violate several.  She came nowhere near me at the reception.

    My first-ever ceremony came fifty years after the couple had  made their first  commitment.  Nancy and Wilbur decided to renew their vows (well, actually, I think she decided and he realized he had no option).  With their adult children, grand-children and congregational members watching, I said to him, "You may kiss your bride." With the proverbial deer in the headlights look, he managed "Huh !?" to which she said something like, "I will do it !" and put a big smooch on his amazed face.

    Do you remember the television program that often ran clips of brides and grooms passing out?
Well, imagine my surprise at an outdoor service when I noticed Keith turning grey, then fall backwards. He recovered before hitting the ground in great laughter. Even so, several of his kinsmen  who were EMT's insisted that he be checked out. While that was occurring, I noticed that his uncle, a professional photographer, was videoing while waving us away from the scene.

   Then there was the time when I almost fell. Stan and Julie are professional musicians and he enjoys telling how I, standing one step above the wedding party, began rocking to and fro and he prevented my toppling onto them by pushing against my chest to stabilize me.

   "Tying the knot" derives from a long ago practice of the minister's wrapping his/her stole around the couple's joined hands at the culmination of the vows.

   One bride became so overcome that she began sobbing during the ceremony.  I gave her my handkerchief and later learned that after cleaning it, she gave it a place of honor in her wedding book. A former student from my college history class asked that I perform her remarriage.  She and Pete entered together.  When he reached into his pocket for the ring, he panicked. . . couldn't find it.  I whispered, "take mine" only to realize it would not come off. So I said, "Fake it". After the recessional, he found the elusive  ring in the pocket after all.

   After processing down the aisle with his daughter, one father took two steps back, looked the groom up and down, and gave a stern look which I thought conveyed something like, "You had better be kind to her." Perhaps he should have stared longer as they divorced a few years later.

    Then there are the rings.  "Do you know what to do in the event you drop it during the service ?" I ask nervous grooms.  Expecting a complicated response, they are surprised to hear, "You pick it up."
In the name of full disclosure,  I, who had officiated at many weddings, attempted to place the ring on my wife's right hand. As she strongly resisted, it dawned on me that her left hand was  the correct one.  

    What do you tell guests when there is a long delay in beginning the proceedings?  Sometimes, nothing. Many years ago, I was a groomsman in the home wedding of a college friend.  Just before we were to begin seating guests in the parlor, the doors closed with only the minister and the couple inside. After what seemed HOURS, the  doors opened and guests were ushered to their seats.  Only later did we learn that they were earnestly considering whether to be married.

     Sometimes, just say 'this is why we are waiting'. One Saturday afternoon, as the men were donning their tuxedoes, the groom's father discovered that part of his ensemble had been left at home, some 30-45  miles away. Ten minutes or so after his hasty departure, I informed the guests of the situation and they waited patiently for his return.

    At my nephew's wedding, I was sitting with family on the second row from the front. Joseph was standing at the front with his dad who was officiating, waiting for the bridal entry.  His hard of hearing maternal grand-father had long ago given him the nickname of 'Cracker Jack'.  So, just before Amanda entered the church, Grand-dad's loud inquiry was heard all over the church   "What 'cha gonna do now, Cracker Jack? "

    And, those are just some of the ones that I can tell . . . 
    
   Satchel

Here we go again !

     Early in December we had (for this region) a MAJOR storm which affected life's ebb and flow in many ways.  Gratefully, there was no 'White Christmas'.  And, now the Weather Channel and local meteorologists are saying 'Here comes another Winter Event'.  This time, though, the prospect is more for ice than for snow.  If that proves the case, now what . . .  ?  Slick roads, downed trees and power lines, delays, missed appointments, who knows what else.

   It occurs to me that I have never heard a song entitled "In the Good Old Wintertime" ! This is not the first time that I have lamented about the rigors of Winter on these posts but, good grief, each new blast feels like both an initial shock and an accumulation of frigidity.

    Some might counsel 'compare your weather to that in other parts of the world.'  Yep, New England where my brother lives is a refrigerator from November to April or May.  Today's news carries stories about major blizzards in Europe.  Comparisons, however,  have somewhat limited shelf life.  I remember a cartoon from Bill Mauldin's World War II book, Up Front.   Willie and Joe, the quintessential infantrymen, are in a foxhole and bullets are flying overhead.  One turns to the other and says, "The h*** this isn't the most important foxhole in the world.  I'm in it !"  Winter weather 'events' usually are not comparable to combat experiences and I do not intend to be callous towards storms endured in other places.  
  
    Just hold on !!  Spring's coming.  At least, it always has.

     Satchel

   

Family tales told again, and again , and . . .

       "I've heard that story a million times !" followed the re-telling of a long ago event when the extended family gathered for the holidays.

       Among other tales, there was the recounting of very young Chandra's question to Mal and his "Lord, God, that young'un asked me . . . "  Joseph enjoys recounting his overhearing dad's muttering under his breath as mom shouted out yet more instructions from a distance. Caryn remembers mom's delight in telling how she carried her from the hospital after her birth and how important that had been for grand-mother. My mother alleged that her first-born eventually inquired about the new child in the house: "When are you going to take that kid back to the hospital?" Mom's sole surviving sibling, ten years younger than she, has regaled the family with anecdotes of her sister's early years. Everyone seems to  have their favorite.

   Recently, I reread a comment from Joan Chittister's
The Gift of Years, that I like:  "Family tales have always been the parables one generation handed down to the next to tell us who we are and where we came from."  Paradoxically, along with the grief, such tales are often repeated at the time of family deaths.  "Do you remember the time when . . . " or " Grand-daddy told me . . . ".  

  Inter-generational stories can be warm, humorous, and 'heart-gladdening.'  Others  can be reminders of deep hurts. Many years ago I conducted a funeral for a man who likely still had the first dollar he ever made.  While visiting with his family after the service, his older daughter remarked, "Daddy was tight."  I offered, "Don't say he was 'tight', say 'thrifty'." She drew herself  to full stature, clenched her jaw and almost spat, "Tight !!"

    A brother suggested that I write a kind of family history to pass on to our children, grand-children, and subsequent generations.  Well, maybe. 

   What are your many-times-told tales ?

   
       Satchel

     

'TIME FLIES' & OTHER TRUISMS

      Or, as the Romans might have said it: Tempus Fugit !
And, here's a similar truism  : "Time and Tide wait for None"  Not very long ago I resonated with the quip, "Inside every old person is young person wondering what the heck happened"  Here at the almost end of another year as I move towards an 81st birthday, the Simon and Garfunkel words carry especial poignancy: "Slow down, you're moving too fast !!"

    Several recent experiences have focused my awareness of this phenomenon:  First, in late November while reviewing dates on inactive client charts I was struck by the awareness that those I  thought were just recently terminated had been closed for 8 or 10 years or longer.

    Then, my daughter posted  pictures of our two grand-children next to their Christmas tree ---one was when they were wee kidders ten years ago.  This year when she and her husband realized that the teenagers were taller than the tree itself, they had to build a platform for the tree.  But then, their mom was that  size 'the day before yesterday' !

    This Christmas we returned to the same coastal area where we have frequently vacationed, most recently the previous two holiday seasons.  Passing familiar locales conjured memories of events we thought occurred recently but upon closer review, we realized happened way back then.

     Well, then, is there a 'lesson' or a 'moral' or a 'truism' for me within all the above?  Closest that I have been able to ascertain thus far is Carpe Diem --- "seize the day" --- (which contrary to one wag does not mean 'the catch of the day' nor the full Latin quote which some 'translate' as  'eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you may die'.)  I tend more towards something like 'be grateful for each day I have; for enriching memories and for Hope for the future.  And, I know, it all can sound  idealistic or naive.  But I believe it comes close to what the Psalmist had in mind when he prayed, "Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom". (Psalm 90:12).

     Satchel

    

"Here Comes Santa Claus . . . "

      
             "Why write about something as whimsical as Santa Claus when there is so much  tragedy around us ?"  Fair question.  I have been mulling that for much of the evening.  After all, there are children  who 'believe' and will still awaken to NOTHING on the    25th.  And, that is just the beginning.  But you have seen the headlines and pictures and heard the  'talking heads' and, I hope, have extended yourself to mitigate some of the pain and suffering.

      Even into the harshness can there be a brief respite to remember a time of innocence and childhood wonderment ?  Do you have a memory of your first ever sighting of the Man in Red?  I do.   It happened in the early 1940's in Mr. J.G. Williams's store in the cotton mill village of Bynum, NC.  Only years later  did I discover that Santa was busy that day and sent Mr. Walt Hatley to substitute for him. I can retrieve several Christmas memories from 1938 until we moved to another town in 1943.

Christmas 1941 or 1942

           However, were it not for this photograph, any recollection of this particular Christmas would be lost.  I do remember earlier Christmas gifts ... a pair of boots and a tool box from an uncle and aunt; a 'China Clipper' metal toy airplane from Santa,  I guess.  But this one ?  Only the slightest trace of recall.  I think that it was the following year that a metal toy car, complete with pedals and steering wheel, appeared under the tree.  I promptly drove it into one of the brick columns underpinning our mill village house and had to have medical attention for scalp cut.

      The 'cowboy' in this photo carried his pistol on his left hip, even though he was a 'righty'. (Though my brothers and I had subsequent toy cap pistols, neither of us has become violent men.)

    Dad sang a ditty that I suppose was his original: "Santa Claus is coming here, he's coming here tonight;  He'll bring us nuts and candies sweet; Oh, what a beautiful sight" and I could feel the anticipation escalate.  Never did he or mom threaten the proverbial lumps of coal or  bundle of switches reserved for kidders who had been 'naughty' rather than 'nice'.  However, in my adolescence he often teased "if you get anything for Christmas this year, you will know it's from Santa Claus !". Through a Santa mixup, Tommy received this lump of coal in his 2005 stocking.

          During 2018, on the domestic and international stages there have been many who richly deserve not just a 'lump' but an entire truckload of reprimands for undermining the prospect for "Peace on Earth, Good-will to ALL." For us,  may Santa be not a representation of greed and 'give me more'; instead, a reminder of the kinder and generous parts of our being.

      Satchel