When our parents were young

                               My dad (1911-1992) when about two or three years old



         "If I am in therapy do I have to bash and talk trash about my parents ?",  the new client asked.

     Such is the stereotype that some harbor about what happens in counseling sessions.  I hear the question often although the words may differ.  And I respond that while some parents treated their children with willful cruelty or negligence, I believe that most parents had endeavored to do otherwise. Sometimes, however, the child's needs (not always the same as wants) had not been met and scars remained unhealed.

  Preferring to speak little about fault or blame, I focus instead on responsibility and accountability. And by those criteria, not all parents pass the grade, perhaps because, well, they  had parents who did not.  Some traits and behaviors are part of one's DNA as surely as physical distinctions. Identifying and healing those can break the cycle of hurts and abuse.  Such for me is the strength and appeal of Family Systems Therapy.  Individuals are not locked into a rigid repetition of the past.

   Knowing what life was like for our parents when they were young reduces the wish to blame and enlarges our capacity for greater self-understanding and responsibility for our own desitiny. Sometimes I invite clients to imagine their parents and grand-parents as children and  youth ---  not a  particularly easy concept.  Vast gaps of information exist, at least that is my experience.  All this came to mind again within the past  few weeks when cousin Sharon began  posting (from her mother's collection)  pictures of my youthful parents which I had never before seen.  These along with several that I already had sometimes raise as many questions as answers about their own youth.

             Sharon sent this undated photo of my parents
             Likely before their first child was born in 1938

Such as the above photo of mom and dad . . . we have no idea of when, where, or why it was taken. But, gosh, they were young. 


And, there are various kinspersons pictured from earlier days:

    Maternal grand-parents early in their marriage. I remember a lot about them. Wish I knew more

Aunt  Rachel (standing) and Cousin Clarice  

Both now great-grandmothers

                               Uncle Morris on his mother's lap and his brother Cecil
                                       Morris died in 1963 and Cecil in 1962
                                 Morris was the father of my cousin, Kenneth

                  Maternal great-grand-parents.  Mom spoke of him occasionally.
All I know is that he survived Civil War battles and walked home to NC  from Va

                        Paternal grand-father.  He arrived in the US around 1890.
                                           Picture taken before dad's birth in 1911


And, I believe all these relatives were good people and this has not been a veiled 'bashing'.  I have a better understanding of myself and a greater appreciation for their influence for good in my life.  If yours are still living, talk to  parents and grand-parents about their early years. You will likely learn a lot !  (Maybe even about yourself !)

      Satchel

RE--TIRED

   No, I  have not acquired enough birthdays to retire from my profession-- at 82, nowhere close!  That is a consideration for another day.  Actually, this has to do with re-tiring as one of life's little annoyances.

   It started out like this . . .  needing an alternative view other than our walls and yard --even for a brief interlude--last Sunday afternoon, my  wife and I spent an hour roaming back country roads around our town., having no particular destination.  'Meandering, it's called. (So named for the winding Meander River in modern Turkey, for the Trivia buffs.)

   When we decided we had travelled one particular stretch of road as far as we  wanted, I began searching for a turn-around spot. Finally, the long, gravel farm driveway provided ample space, and off we went in a new direction.  My wife had commented on the rather large size of the gravel but the conversation turned to other matters and soon we were back in our  driveway. 

   Two days later as I walked up the driveway, I noticed that the rear tire on the driver's side was flat.  At the time, I did not make the connection.  I lack both the tools and the muscle to change the tire, so Triple-A came to the rescue. (Not a commercial, paid or otherwise, but that has been a beneficial investment !)  The driver replaced the casualty with the small 'donut' spare, a temporary expedient but hardly safe for long or high speed travel.

  When I saw the deflated tire, the 'dots connected'.
A   LARGE piece of rock penetrated the tread, beyond repair. 
Then I remembered the gravel driveway from our  Sunday ride.

    And that was when I knew it was time to visit "Dr. Hal" who knows tires better than anyone in town.  He and his now-deceased father have operated a local service for many years.

Barely visible on the left, Hal plies his trade
               

He recommended a replacement and in  'no time flat'
(even I know that is an awful pun),  he had it mounted.
(Lest you may think otherwise, this is not an advertisement, paid or otherwise for his business.)

Good as new 

              Does this all-too-common automobile experience have a 'moral' to the story?   Not to over inflate its importance, maybe it's something like this: "Be careful where in life you turnaround, You may get rocks in your head or tires." 
   That last was so bad that it is time to retire this post.

     Satchel 

From Couch to Computer Camera

 
                              WELL,, IT STARTED IN VIENNA NOT SO MANY YEARS AGO . . .
                     
                                   Sigmund Freud sculpture by Andrew Thorne
                                                     (@ThorneSculpture)



     "GO HOME" our Director told me on March 18th this year. Gratefully, I was not being terminated.  The Corona Virus had begun  its devastating, still ongoing, disruption of life.  Aware that my age placed me in a vulnerable group,  she was expressing care and empathy that I minimize susceptibility  for infection.

    I have since seen the interior of my office only on a couple of  occasions when supervising one of our Residents who uses it rather than his smaller office. We are using video via a platform that the hospital has made available. Truthfully, there is a bit of 'homesickness' for the familiar surrounding; but not enough  to return just yet. Now I also  conduct therapy sessions in the same format, albeit on a different platform. . . Doxy.me (say it fast; it's a pun of sorts).  I have renamed my home office "Winston-Salem", the location of our Center .  Now, when I go downstairs for sessions, I tell my wife "I'm going to Winston-Salem".  Does not require the hour or so commute to the other office.

                                 Freud's Famous Couch
                          In Freud Museum, London, England

    The Chad  Mitchell Trio, a group popular in the 1960's, sang The Ballad of Sigmund Freud: "Well it started in Vienna not so many years ago when not enough folks were getting sick that a starving young physician tried to better his position by discovering what made his patients tick . . . "  Dr.  Freud famously conducted  psychoanalysis with the patient reclined on his couch.  Few therapists use that piece of furniture now.  For that matter, none of my colleagues even sit behind their desk while in session, dispelling another stereotype. And while still influential, Freud's theories hardly encompass the various modalities of contemporary therapy/counseling.

    Now, because of the Covid Pandemic, after 30+  years of doing face to face outpatient therapy, I, like many therapists, have transitioned to video 'tele therapy'. Initially, the 'learning curve, presented challenges because my tekkie skills are limited.  And even now EACH week seems to bring new 'learning opportunities'.  There were some normal anxieties associated with implementing the change. A few clients decided not to proceed; however, those who continued as well as new ones have expressed their satisfaction. Acknowledging the  'differentness'  helped to normalize the process.  Sessions initially focused primarily on establishing life routines for structure and identifying resources upon which to draw for promoting emotional stability.  

    So, to express the obvious . . . who knows 'how long' this will be standard practice.  Could not have foreseen it 'once upon a time'.
While I do not record sessions, I think it would be fascinating to see videos of sessions of the pioneers.  And, how would they have substituted their couches for computers . . .

                      Satchel

ROSES ARE RED , VIOLETS ARE . . .

                                                VIEW FROM KITCHEN TABLE

       A long-time friend sent a poetic inquiry as to why there had been no recent blog post.  Not finding John to be the Poet Laureate of the Internet, I answered him with a ditty of my own:
       Posies are red
       Lavender is purple
       Satchel's brain
       Is like Maple Surple !
His reply (with which I concur) : "That is really bad"

     However bad the 'poem', I have recently been thinking a lot about colorful flowers. Years ago, I enjoyed zinnias and sunflowers.  When she was a pre-teen, I urged my daughter to sell cut zinnias on our street.  She misunderstood my intention of affording her the opportunity to generate spending money for herself. Instead, she thought she was being asked to supplement the family budget and demurred .

    Now my wife has the 'green thumb' and we have had an array of color since Spring.  I am a 'water-er' and 'appreciate-er'. The rainbow of colors has been particularly welcome during the 'dark days' of  the Pandemic.  Recently I have  been taking  a lot of  pictures around our yard in order to import the splendor when Winter arrives with its dull grayness and  white snow.  

      There are (or have been earlier) roses, hydrangeas, dahlias, hostas, azaleas, jonquils, ferns, iris, petunias, and several other beauties. My favorites, however, are the lilies.  Over the past few years, we have been gradually adding to the assortment.  This year's display has been the most prolific in some time, in large part due to a spray that has generally kept the deer  away.

                    This Asian beauty is my favorite.  Unfortunately, it lasts briefly.

These pictures and others will provide us happy memories and a respite later this year when these will be our outside views:

  

  "ROSES ARE RED
    SNOW IS WHITE
    ENJOY YOUR FLOWERS
    WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT"

                   Is that verse any better, John ?

                                   Satchel


     

' WHO WAS THAT MASKED MAN ? . . .

"Who was that masked man?"  became a familiar question to those of us who thrilled to the adventures of the Lone Ranger.  "Why did he wear it?" received occasional explanation.  Something to do with not being recognized by a bunch of 'bad guys' who had

almost 'done him in'.

Well, there is a 'bad guy' out and about now and wearing a mask is constantly touted as among the best ways of avoiding the menace.

And, yet, warnings by medical persons and elected officials seem often to provoke an attitude of "I'll do whatever I wanna do 'cause nothin' is gonna infringe on my freedom".  Mask wearing in the current pandemic ranks as one of the most divisive questions in an already fractured society.

What makes opposition to this common sense inhibitor of virus spread become  such a divider?

The logic and science of masks has been cited as among major factors in reducing infection .

Somewhere in my training as a therapist I came across this truth: "You cannot replace by reason and logic something that was not put there by reason and logic in the first place." 

  Various emotional hot-button topics offered for not wearing include;  i) variations on 'real men' don't need that sissy protection; ii) masks aren't comfortable; iii) they limit my individual 'freedom' to do whatever I want; iv) facial coverings have become a way for many to indicate their political posture; v) a feeling of special-ness, of being somehow invincible and exempt from this killer.

Are there likewise emotional supports for wearing ?

Just asking the question in that way indicates that I believe so.  One comes from the religious mandate to love (be concerned for, if you prefer) one's neighbor as oneself.  The other is a nearly forgotten socio-political notion of the 'community', defined by one on-line dictionary as "a feeling of fellowship with others , as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests and goals." We are

in this thing together or as one old-timer insisted, "Your freedom to swing your fist ends where my nose begins."

"WEAR  IT !"

Or as one contemporary politician often rhetorically asks, "What do you have to lose?"  In this matter, a better question seems to be "What is there to lose if you do not wear a mask?"  The answer could very well be "YOUR LIFE"  and also MINE !

Satchel

BACKYARD SWING

many

  Another long, dry spell for creative juices.  Not that the 'Muse' was exactly silent . . . there have been many, many things that have (and do) beg for expression.  I believe that sometimes silence shows an eloquent command of the language.

Maybe  it has been Ecclesiastes operating: you know, a time to speak and a time to refrain from speaking.

  Many pundits have spent hours at their keyboards diagnosing and prescribing their assessments of these turbulent times.  Facebook (or what a client  once called Farcebook) and other social media provide wide open space for opinions ranging from insightful and erudite all the way to . . .well, recently I saw someone respond to another's post like this: "This is ignorant !"  In general, I have chosen to refrain from the fray, at least for now.  Still,  I have had no desire to write witty banalities and other irrelevancies.   But I have just wanted to write something , if for no other reason that to stir a few braincells.  Hence, the swing above and what it is about.

   That small photo is now on my office desk, having recently been fetched from my hospital office by a colleague.  Because of Corona, I have been working from home since mid-March.

Taken by my daughter for a college photography class, the photo is of a corner of my late  parents' back yard.

    In the 1950's, my athletic younger brother erected the frame as a chinning bar for his fitness regimen for high school football.  Sometime after his graduation, our father installed the swing. How much he and mom actually used it, I do not know. What does seem important now these years later . . . it was a place of respite . . . to slow down, to relax, to reflect and to plan amid the "got-to's" and the vicissitudes of life. And, at least as I project meaning onto the scene, a place for restoring mental and emotional tranquility and equilibrium in an often destabilized world.

    Perhaps that is the 'lesson' for me. Dad often said, 'there is a time and place for all things.' I thought  he originated the saying until I read Ecclesiastes.  A time to speak and a time to 'sit in the swing'.

                     Satchel

MY REAL UNCLE SAM

          Uncle Sam died Friday night.  My real Uncle.  He was 91 and dad's last surviving sibling  Though we were never together as often as either of us wished, I always knew him to be a kind, good man.

     
                                  Sam around 1933

  I have vague memories of an extended visit with us in North Carolina soon after his high school graduation. In the years prior to that, Grandpa Wachs would drive the family for visits in his Hudson Terraplane auto which  either Sam or younger brother Jack renamed the 'Terrible-Pain'.

    After serving as an enlistee, Sam graduated Officers' Training School and was commissioned as Second Lieutenant.  When Jack was in army Basic Training, he received a visit from Sam to the amazement of his cadre when they saw the brothers together.  

                        Prior to Officer's Commission

   In 1962, when stationed in Atlanta, I received my Sergeant's permission to catch a 'hop' with a couple of officers who were returning to their Alabama post.
Because they were flying a single engine aircraft, I had to have a parachute from our supply room. They dropped me off in Montgomery where I called Aunt June who picked me up. When Sam came in from work that afternoon, he was slightly bewildered to see a military parachute lying on his living room floor.

   In the 1990's, Sam was registering at a hotel in Westen N.C. where he was attending a wedding.  The hotel manager, noting his name, asked if he were related to me.  Turns out that the manager had been a long-ago fraternity brother, Mark Raby.

  A few years ago, my wife and I were having Sunday brunch in Blowing Rock, N.C., when the folks at the (very) nearby table mentioned Montgomery and engaged us in conversation. I said that I had been born there and still had an Uncle Sam who lived there. He asked Sam's name and when I spoke it, he said, "I know Sam Wachs !"   Turned out that indeed they were members of the same Presbyterian Church.

    Attending our Family Rites of Passage was of great importance to Unk.  He and June were among family members who came up for both my parents' funerals. And we were especially delighted that he and June came to our wedding in 2001.  When living in Alabama, my daughter visited them several times and felt very close to her grand-father's younger brother

              Dad's siblings:  Uncle Sam on far right side with Jack,            Lydia, Betty and RuthEllen
    More recently, Sam experienced a major stroke from which he had made extremely impressive rehabilitation and he and his wife had relocated to a nearby assisted living facility.  On my recent birthday, he FaceTimed me with a gracious invitation to come to visit them and stay in their house which was at the time  unoccupied.   Very soon thereafter, the Corona Virus restrictions came into being and there was no visit.  Within the past few days, his cardiac condition worsened and he died on Friday.

    The late author, Pat Conroy, wrote "among the worst things about growing old is the loss of those irreplaceable friends who added richness and depth to your life."  Uncle Sam was that person to many whose life he touched.

    Requiescat in Pace, Unk
               
            Satchel

AGGRESSIVE IGNORANCE

BE  ADVISED !!
    This is not a 'muttering'; it is a full-throated RANT  !!


    "Contrary to popular belief, it is not a sin to be ignorant,"
Dr. Stuart Henry of Duke Divinity School faculty told us. "God did not distribute an equal apportionment of brains.
What is inexcusable," he added, "is the aggressive display of one's lack of mental endowment."  

    Those long-ago words came to mind this morning.  My wife and I have been conscientiously practicing "Social Distancing", venturing out only for her post-operative visit last week.  Friends and family who have offered to bring necessary grocery items have deposited them at a distance, retrieving our payment after we had gone back inside.  I have been fortunate to continue my therapy practice via a secure, HIPPA approved platform.  And we have located churches who stream their worship services thereby helping to mitigate the loneliness. We recognize the heroic work being done by the 'front line' people.

    The 'front lines' are not where many of us can contribute.  All the credible information we have received says that our main tool to curb the spread of this plague is 'flattening the curve" and even that will require time to demonstrate efficacy.  'Keep your distance', 'self-isolate', 'avoid even casual contact with friends', 'don't be a carrier and infect someone else just because you may be asymptomatic' ... these seem to be 'common-sense' actions.

    In the face of the drastic toll this virus is exacting on a world-wide level and now that the US 'leads' the world in number of cases, nay-sayers avow that all this is an 'over reaction' and a politicization of the situation.

   Earlier today, an acquaintance who drops by occasionally rang our doorbell.  My wife with Lysol spray in hand stopped him at the door and demanded six-feet-plus distance which he grudgingly accepted.  Then he proceeded to recite several  pieces of 'disinformation' and to 'tease' by coughing several times, although it seemed that a couple of those were not faked.  While we thought that we were well into our 14 day zone of safety, now the count has restarted.

    In a few minutes, I am going to post "NO VISITORS' signs at our doors, indicating that we are observing social distance.  I hope that no one will be offended; but if they are, c'est dommage (that's too bad) as the French would say.

   Be safe and  be well !

       Satchel

PALLETS , COMIC BOOKS AND QUARANTINES

         'The Reverend' Charlie Gray pronounced it "Polo", like the equestrian sport.  Charlie was a self-appointed evangelist in our area in the late 1940's and 50' and prone to overbearing self-importance, at least to my adolescent reckoning.  But those are perhaps stories for another time.

    He was referring to poliomyelitis usually modified to polio or,  more rarely, infantile paralysis, though adults were also afflicted.  Probably the most notable adult to be stricken and partially paralyzed was the later-to-be President of the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt.  FDR was thereafter unable to walk with out assistance and wore leg braces.

    The villainous virus had been a recurrent terror for several centuries.  According to one source, the United States first case occurred in 1894 and the last in 1979.  Between those dates, summertime outbreaks terrorized many parents of young children. Most infected persons survived ; yet many experienced either temporary  or permanent paralysis and death was not uncommon. A common visual at the time were children in  'Iron Lungs' , respiratory machines.

    My own childhood and adolescence occurred during horrendous epidemics of this illness of unknown origins and causes.  According to Wikipedia, with 58,000 + cases and 3,145 reported deaths and 21,000 + paralytics, the outbreak of 1952 was the single worst year in  U.S. history.

    In North Carolina, 1944 strained the medical world's ability to provide extensive effective response for the 861 reported cases.  Then came the disruptions of 1948:  2516 reported cases.  Not knowing how to combat an illness of unknown causes, parents and other 'experts' relied upon         common sense prevention . . . rest, unnecessary exertion and good nutrition.

    While my friends and I experienced no formal quarantine,  social contact was reduced and  afternoon leisure was mandated.  My wife recalled that she and her family had to lie down in the afternoon to rest.  For my younger brother and me, there  were long afternoons on a pallet that mom put down for us on the screened in back porch.  And there were stacks of comic books and lots of soda and iced tea.  'Baby brother' , having just been born at the end of May, was kept inside the house.

    A Raleigh radio station,WNAO, (later WKIX) did its part to keep us entertained with programs of music, contests, etc.  A favorite was a kind of 'name that tune' wherein the host would choose a random number from our submitted postcards and call us to identify the just-played selection.   One day the host said  'we're calling 4501' (yep, just four digits) in my hometown. If we answered correctly, the prize was a $2 starter for a $25 government savings bond.  Consolation prize was $1 in cash. Well, i didn't know the song and asked my mom who was sitting nearby.
"The Yankees are Coming", she guessed (incorrectly). Instead it was the Scottish tune, "The Campbells are Coming". So I took my prize to the local post office and began my investment in a savings bond.

   In1955,  my high school Junior year, Principal C. H. McGregor called the student body into the auditorium to announce that Dr. Jonas Salk's research had  produced an effective inoculation against polio. Too late for at least two students at our school. Both thereafter walked only with a cane or crutches   Again, based on online 'research', I read that the last case in the US occurred in 1979, though  it remains in other parts of the world.

     Currently, health authorities predict that we are on the cusp of a public health crisis of epic proportions. Among the many challenges facing humankind is how to be attentive to our own well-being without being callous to others.  There will be times to 'lie on our pallets and read comics' and other times to find ways to be kind and humane to others.

  If I had those classic 10 cent comic books now, I could likely subsidize a lot of Coronavirus research and treatment.

    Satchel

    

                                    

MISSING IN ACTION or PRISONERS OF WAR or KILLED IN ACTION

SOME  DEFINITIONS  FROM  ON-LINE  DICTIONARIES:

;

MISSING  IN  ACTION :    DESIGNATION FOR MEMBER OF AN ORGANIZATION WITH WHOM CONTACT IS LOST  AND  WHOSE  WHEREABOUTS  ARE NOT KNOWN  BUT WHOSE DEATH IS NOT CONFIRMED   or   NOT  PRESENT  WHEN  ONE  IS  EXPECTED TO BE.

PRISONER  OF  WAR  :  A  NON-COMBATANT . . . WHO IS HELD CAPTIVE BY  A BELLIGERENT POWER DURING OR   AFTER AN ARMED  CONFLICT.

KILLED  IN  ACTION;  A CASUALTY CLASSIFICATION  GENERALLY USED GY  MILITARIES  TO DESCRIBE  THE DEATHS  OF  THEIR  OWN  COMBATANTS  AT  THE  HANDS  OF  HOSTILE  FORCES.


     These  terms  originated within conditions of military warfare but there are other kinds of "warfare", many of which currently are in the midst of pitched battles. Conflicts rage within cultural, religious, ethnic, political, educational, medical, and environmental arenas (to name just a few of those more potentially lethal for human as well as societal survival ).

 And these ''wars" have other types of MIA's, POW's, and KIA's.  A nominee for the greatest casualty is "VIRTUE', defined as "behavior showing high moral standards".  Virtue has historically had several manifestations but  currently many are casualties of pecksniffery:  very hypocritical people whose traits include (among others) rudeness, crudeness, injustice, 'mean-ness', and corruption.

   The vault where society has preserved its words signifying magnanimous behaviors and traits  has  been breached and the words and behaviors taken captive.  Just today, someone posted a 'Calvin and Hobbes' cartoon where young Calvin says to his  dad: "The meaning of words isn't a fixed thing and can mean anything.... By giving words new meanings, ordinary English can become an exclusionary code! . . . To that end, I'll be inventing new definitions for common words, so we'll be unable to communicate."

   So, if you see any of the following virtuous words that currently are mia's, pow's or even kia's, please bring your dictionary of correct definitions to the  rescue:
    courage,
        dignity,   
           honesty,
             honor,
                incorruptibility
                   integrity,
                     justice,
                      kindness,
                        politeness,
                          respect,
                             TRUTH

Our survival is on the 'front line'.
   Satchel
                           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    How are you 'making a difference' these days ?

           Satchel
    
     

ONLY 366 TO GO . . .

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

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

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

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

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

"We will have chicken and dumplings . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           Satchel