He saved my life !

   

        "You tested positive for prostate cancer"  

   It was early 2005. I was 67 years old. The bearer of that stark message was  Dr. Daljit Caberwal, a Urologist to whom I had been referred following an elevated  PSA reading.  When my wife asked about the perception that older men died with prostate cancer rather than because of it, I loved his response: "Not someone as Young as he is."  Then he reviewed my options and I chose radical surgery which he would schedule ASAP.

    What a way to spoil a week-end getaway to the beach that my wife and I had planned ! We had already placed our packed suitcases in the car, stopping by his office while on our way.  I remember very little about that week-end.

   Surgery was successful. In the ensuing years,  I have seen him for check-ups and, gratefully, there has been no recurrence.  At all times, I have experienced him and his office staff as the epitome of professionalism and human kindness.  

With Dr. Caberwal on March 19, 2021

      In the ensuing years, I have learned more about this disease that can be so lethal for men. Recent publications in the UK and Australia indicate that more men now die of prostate cancer than women with breast cancer.  Suggested reasons include men's aversion to screenings. Prostate cancer is also among the most heritable types. And it is unclear why Black men are at higher risk than others.  Often I relate that I have become "a self appointed emissary to men over  40 to  be screened."  In recent years, two of my friends from high school and seminary times have died from this disease.

   Dr. Caberwal has practiced medicine for over 50 years and his nearby clinic is closing at the end of March after 45 years of serving patients in this area.  Known for his personal care, he has never conveyed a sense of dismissal of his patients. In an era  when 'the computer', also known as electronic medical records, and time-limited appointments have become commonplace, Dr. Caberwal and his staff's  personal care and non-hurried attention are reminders that medical care includes more than physical matters.

   As a devout Sikh, he is active in his Gurudwara. When I went this week for my final visit, I gratefully told him, "You saved my life." He modestly replied, "God saved your life. I was merely the instrument. Have to keep the ego in check."

    Along with countless patients , I shall miss his expertise but moreso his kindness and wish him a happy retirement.

     Satchel

What's Your Password

          "Please enter your password".

   I have seen that directive several times recently.  It began Friday when I made several unsuccessful attempts to connect with a colleague via his platform.  I worked on that challenge much of the night while sleeping. Seems that updating one browser and installing another solved the situation.  Was feeling rather pleased with my tekkie skills until . . . 

  And,  even now  I do not know how it happened, but my various electronic devices became 'unsynched',  A password that allowed access on one was met with refusal  from another instrument.  Finally, after many hours of experimenting, they again 'talked' to each other.  How did I accomplish that miracle ?  I do not know and am doubtful that  I could replicate the process from memory.

   Security of personal information appears in lots of ways.  Not that long ago, I still remembered the combination for my parents' post office box from my high school years. I did Army Basic Training in 1962 and have had no active service since then, but I still remember my serial number. Still,  'Breaches' of data occur often . . . personal, governmental, institutional.

  A county in our state recently experienced such an incursion by hackers who then  demanded a ransom against disclosure.  When government officials refused to pay, the hackers began to publish sensitive personal and official information on-line.

   So, the necessity for 'passwords' persists. There are lots of them and since we are instructed to make them complicated and not easily intuited, my creativity becomes challenged as does keeping a written record of these encryptions.  Yesterday,  I even attempted  '1, 2, 3, 4, a, b, C' .  You can readily guess the computer's response  !!  (and, without my knowing 'why?', the computer decided to change the font size!)

   Maybe respite will come in the next world. Unless Saint Peter asks "Please enter your password !"

    Satchel

 

    

"THINK IT'LL RAIN ?"

 

      

A  tourist driving through drought stricken Vermont asked a farmer,  "Think it'll rain ?"  The laconic old man  mused that,  "Always has!"   Anyone asked that question around here would likely retort "Think it'll stop ?"  Songs high on the local charts include "Rain, rain, go away" and  "Raindrops keep falling on my head . . ."

   Yesterday a local  meteorologist reminded listeners that 2020 had been the wettest  year on record and that  2021 was maintaining the trend.  Mark Twain receives credit for the observation that "Everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it". 

   

   "If you don't like the weather now, wait  five minutes and it will change", a familiar cliche, has lost its humorous ring.  Just a few miles to our north, residents this week-end are contending with ice, snow, power outages, slippery streets and roads. 'February-itis' it is sometimes named  . . . the combination of wet, cold, steel-grey days that turn hearts and minds towards Spring.

   Forgotten at the moment are the torrid days of July and August when vegetation and heat-exhausted farmers  yearn for an end to the drought.  

   Some find the monsoon season to be a kind of metaphor for the seeming deluge of stormy events in the world at large . . . Covid, political wrangling, climate changing, on the list goes . . . that weigh heavily on the soul and psyche.  

   Remember the 1981song, I Love a Rainy Night ?

Probably not a request for it to be played just now.

Without minimizing the toll that recent events have exacted, how to keep the gloom at bay?   Where and how does one find the precious perspective of HOPE ?  Somewhere in the recesses of my memory of French lessons is the word for "Raincoat" ; it is 

Impermeable.  Making our spirits and  well-being impermeable to the  rain, literal and metaphorical, will require constant attention to Resources that provide nurture. .  . music, prayers, art, movies, making things, finding ways to connect with friends and family when visits are limited. 

    Maybe Annie knew an important secret when she sang Tomorrow.  We are often reminded that it is darkest just before sunrise.

       Satchel

   

WAKE UP, SATCHEL !

 

     Recently I was talking with a long-time friend who has read these blog posts for many years.

"You haven't written anything recently", he noted, then  went on to say that " 'Satchel' needs to 'wake up". Well, he  is correct. There has not been a lack of stories for reflection of late.  Politics, politicians and Covid have been daily companions.

  There have been many pundits writing endlessly about these important developments and I have  chosen not to clutter these posts with my sentiments about those topics ...although I have strong feelings and opinions.

   A maxim learned somewhere along the way asserts that "You cannot replace by reason and logic opinions that were not placed there by reason and logic originally."

I have frequently found that to be correct (sometimes painfully so).

   Hence, the  cause of Satchel's lethargy .  There are SERIOUS challenges facing us . . .  as individuals and as a civilization.  In light of those . . .what to write about ? (or to be grammatically correct ...about what to write?) 

  At the risk of simplicity . . . how about this: Be Kind !  I think it was Henry Adams who told his nephew that there were three things of primary importance:

"Be kind; be kind, be kind". 

  Glen Campbell sang it in "Try a Little Kindness" :"And if you try a little kindness

 Then you'll overlook the blindness

 Of the narrow-minded  people

  On the narrow-minded streets . ."

Heaven knows, we all could use more .

  Ian and Stroud 

           Satchel

  

" 'twas the night before Christmas . . .' "

 

    With an apology to Dr. Moore's poem with the same line, this is about something other than Santa's visit.  Recently in conversation with a couple of Moravian ministers, they told of several modifications they were making in their traditional Christmas Eve Lovefeast due to Covid.

    When living in Winston-Salem, NC, I frequently attended these services which were always packed even with multiple services at many of the numerous Moravian churches there.

 In my first year in a United Methodist parish of three rural churches, I proposed a change in the previous format.  Three times were proposed ... 5 pm, 7:30 pm and 11:30 ... and members voted by paper ballots. Frankly, I was surprised when the latest hour garnered the most votes. (Only later did Kenneth sheepishly note that his family might have "stuffed" the ballot box.)

  So, on December 24, 1991, the church was festively adorned, complete with candles and greenry in the stained-glass windows. Consequently, the sanctuary was rather dim as people gathered.  Among the numerous musicians in those congregations, Willard was a talented guitarist who was enlisted to play "Silent Night" at the conclusion of the service. We noted that at its first use in a Christmas Eve service, a guitar accompanied.  When Willard entered the subduedly lit sanctuary, he said, "Turn on the lights. I want to see who voted for this 11:30 time."

  Truth to be told, there had been skeptics about attendance. But the church was packed each of the nine Christmases I was there.  Though in a rural area, we often had visitors from several miles away. Perhaps you have heard the adage that if you want adults present at an event have their children as participants. Even years later, I remember how  the youth with their exceptional skills with brass instruments brought beautiful sounds. And, also adults agreed to scripture readings placed throughout. 

  On some occasions, we included  our variation of the Moravian Love Feast. Many adults did the arduous logistic  preparations and serving of the buns and coffee (with no spillage).

   One year Norman Rockwell must have visited because as I opened the vestibule doors at the conclusion of worship, we discovered that snow had been falling for a time and an idyllic  postcard panorama surrounded us.

   The event became my favorite of the entire liturgical year. But I missed the last one of my tenure there. Sometime around December 22, I began having  abdominal pains. So on the 23d, I went to the doctor's office. Rather quickly he sent me to the nearby hospital for imaging test.  When the tech could (would) not disclose the results but left for the ER physician who returned with Dr. Kothapali, a prominent local surgeon, I knew this wasn't going to be good. "Guess what you are getting for Christmas?" the first doctor asked. "What?", I replied and Dr. Kothapali introjected, "Surgery".  "When?" "Tonight."  "But I have a Christmas Eve service tomorrow night."  He asked, "Do you have an associate?" "No, I am a one person staff."  And in case I was underestimating the situation, he  succinctly summarized: "You won't be there." And, I was not. A nearby pastor substituted and I spent the next several days in the hospital following surgery for an inflamed gall bladder.

  So, on December 24, instead of being at our service, I was "nestled all snug in my [hospital]bed", and watching televised services from Duke Chapel and the Midnight Mass from the Vatican.

   And the only "creatures stirring" were not the mice but the nursing staff.

      Satchel

  

   

THE COUNTDOWN IS ON , , ,

 

       Today, November 14, I heard the first "Christmas song" at the restaurant where I  picked up our "to go" order. This week our outside temps have been in the 70* range . . . no 'dreaming of a white Christmas' here.  The Church's Liturgical Calendar indicates that the Advent Season does not begin for another  fifteen days.

   But, for now, it's November .. . all 30 days. This has been a November unlike any in my remembrance !  Election day (week) has drained the emotional 'gas tank' for many.  And now there are reports of runaway Covid numbers.  Despite numerous warnings by public health persons to avoid indoor Thanksgiving gatherings, there are several indications many will ignore the advice. And there are predictions for yet another spike of cases two weeks after Thanksgiving.

  In my search for 'November quotes' this one from Annie Leck (?) catches the mood of many : "This November there seems to be nothing to say." Or this by Charman J. Forde : "This is going to be a November to remember."  (For that matter, this has been a   2020 to remember.  Somehow, that the font   size has change without my agency seems fitting for this year.)

  Then there is the  phenomenon of Christmas shopping with all its attendant hassles and how that may look this year. Even with the restrictions and horrible infection statistics, this observation by Cynthia Ryhart seems apropos: "In November, the trees are   standing all sticks and bones without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still." (Italics mine).  The countdown has begun; a time to be still may be especially needed this year.

    Satchel

: 

" . . . and I approve this message."

 

If I had the proverbial nickel for every time I have heard that phrase over the past six (?) months or so, I could make a sizable contribution to my favorite charity. And there is the  equally ubiquitous phrase, "This ad has been paid for by ______.".

Since 1948, I have observed elections with some degree of awareness (there were others; I simply was not engaged).  I do not remember an election campaign so filled with rancor as this year's - - -  and not just the Presidential race.  Judging by the allegations repeated ad nauseam , "my opponent is the scum of the earth and  needs to be banished to the outer reaches of the cosmos because  (s)he is not competent to be the ---FILL IN THE OFFICE-------------------------- !"  Actually, one of the nastiest political commercials I have witnessed was in a Senatorial campaign in our state in the early 1990's.

And the rhetoric of the candidates has amplified the disagreements within the electorate.  Sign pillaging and destruction unfortunately has a long history but I do not recall its being "legitimatized" before in this manner: an announcer at an area radio station in giving crime reports noted the vandalism from a local person's yard of signs for a particular candidate and then ad libbed, "who would want them ?"

Having earlier decided to write about this topic, I  was interested to learn today of the efforts of a 13 year old girl in Tennessee. Hannah-Kate McFadden became disenchanted with the toxicity of the campaign and drafted "The Candidate Pledge".  For more about her efforts, see  www.thecandidatepledge.com . Naive ? Maybe. Read the Pledge  before dismissing it. And a few politicians have signed, promising to adhere.  When I read her Pledge, I said, " . . . I approve of this message !"

     Satchel

   

"Purposeful Indolence" or "Being Lazy for Good Reason:"

   Have you ever had your words come back to you?  Something said to someone else and now they are using it in conversation with you !  So it happened this week when I was meeting with a client who is trying to maintain a semblance of balance in his life during a pandemic.  Professionally, he was already experiencing heightened anxiety and the 'new reality' of Covid is exacerbating  his  situation.

   A component of his coping strategy he said was to improve his capacity for  'purposeful indolence', and he chuckled, reminding me that several sessions back, I had used those words with him.  At the time, I was not suggesting sloth or laziness or what a colleague once labeled  sorriness. Rather I proposed that the Purposeful intent resembled something like "take a break for the purpose of  restoring energy, focus, clarity.

  By contrast, a long ago friend remembered his father's injunction: "I don't care what you do, son; but do something."  Rather like the cliche to the effect that " an idle mind is the devil's workshop.  Some might go so far as to claim that the old  Puritan work ethic of staying always busy is counter-productive for human well being.

   Suggestions I have heard for  being purposefully indolent include taking a walk, listening to soothing music, napping, just sitting still, reading one's Holy Book, meditation, physical workouts, 

yoga, going fishing,
loving a pet, making music , watching the sunrise . . . 

   (Certainly, there are among us those for whom such a notion can sound like 'privilege' . . . e.g. front-line health care workers, grocery store personnel, maintenance and housekeeping workers, as well as so many behind the scenes people  who 'keep things running'.)

   Recently a friend sent a picture of a resting dog and the caption "Sometimes the best therapist has fur and four legs."Along with our almost 18 year old Shit-zu, we have been enjoying feral Mamma Cat and her sole kitten who frequently dine on our deck.

  What have you found helpful in your experience of Purposeful Indolence ?

       Satchel     

  

  

HERE COMES THE BRIDE . . .

 

  

 "This isn't your first rodeo, is it ?"  my grand-daughter's Wedding Director asked during  rehearsal for the attendants.  Well, no, actually during my years as a parish minister I had conducted several weddings.

   The first  occurred prior to having legal authority to perform  such ceremonies. But in this  case, it didn't matter because the couple was not marrying but renewing their 60 year old vows.  When I said to Wilbur, "You may kiss your bride", he  replied, "Huh ?". Whereupon Nancy leaned over and put a 'big one' on him.

   Years later, Wally and Marie, widowed in their 70's, had planned a small church service before a snowstorm challenged my courage to drive.  So, they came to my residence and with a winter wonderland  outside the windows of our A-frame and my family as the witnesses they said their  vows, kissed and took off to start their new lives.

  Some of those ceremonies were 'sentimental'; others had elements of unrehearsed humor, embarrassment and incongruity.

  Once there was a 'time out' as the bride recomposed herself after the floodgates of tears overwhelmed her. I produced a clean handkerchief which she later proudly displayed in her wedding album. 

   His video-ing uncle thought it hilarious when Keith passed out and fell backward to the ground.  And when Robert could not locate the ring in his coat pocket, I offered him mine to use.  When it refused to come off, I whispered, "fake it".  After the recessional, he calmly found it in the pocket.

   Embarrassed ?  Well, just as we were dressing for the service, the Best Man realized he had not brought his tuxedo.  Nothing to do but make the 30 mile (one way) drive back home.  In the meantime, I told the congregation what was happening and everyone stayed calm.  Reminiscent of a friend's home wedding years ago when he, the bride and minister closed the parlor doors for an interminable conversation which we later learned was to decide whether or not to proceed with the wedding.  They did. But in the meantime, I remember the bride's mother panicking.

    In the early-1990's, Father Canice Connor and I jointly officiated a wedding in his church when his Bishop would not permit his hearing the vows but okay'ed the homily.  The embarrassment occurred the previous night at the Rehearsal Dinner. As I waited for the elevator, I discovered that the seat of my trousers had ripped sometime earlier. 

  Years later as I tottered with clear prospect of falling from the top step, Groom Stan gently reached out and stabilized me, preventing a tumble.

  As I was dressing to leave for a Virginia wedding, the bride called to tell me that he was calling it off. I hope that sometime later she realized what a good thing that was for her.

   Incongruity ... when two things do not easily inhabit the same setting .  In my former rural parish, chicken production was a mainstay of the economy.  Great care had to be taken to maintain constant temperatures in the large houses, particularly in the blazing hot summers.  Phillip had several houses with hundreds of chickens in each.  At the Reception following his son's wedding, Phillip in his tuxedo was noticeably absent.  Later we learned he had driven home to inspect the temperatures in his chicken houses.  Likely the first and only time a tux has been inside those structures.  

   One personally embarrassing story can not be omitted . . . there were too many witnesses.  When  I remarried in 2001 and the officiant instructed me (as I had so instructed numerous grooms) to  place the ring of her left hand,  I made several attempts to put it on her right hand until she clearly put her left hand forward.  

  So much for "first rodeo's" !

        Satchel                                                         

   

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