Well, we visited the World War II Museum in New Orleans in 2013 and again last week. What a moving, immersive experience. I felt as though I had traveled back in time to the days of World War II. MJ’s Dad, Berl, and her uncle, Merle, were soldiers in WWII. Brock and my father in the Pacific Theatre. When I was born, the War had been over for 12 years. In those halcyon days, everyone knew a World War II vet. They were the greatest generation. Dad brought back hand-carved wooden boxes from the islands. Neva J ruminated as to whether Dad had a Pacific Island girlfriend. They married soon after his return from the War.

Anne Frank captured my imagination. Her photos resemble Neva J when she was a girl. The WWII Museum caused me to feel I was there with the Frank family, of which only the father, Otto, survived. He published the Diary Of A Young Girl in 1947. Otto moved the family to his Amsterdam office, where he had a hidden annex behind a bookcase that the family hid from 1942 to 1944. Neva J spoke of Anne Fank often as I grew up. Her affinity for her was extraordinary.

New Orleans is a city of etheral presence. The presence of another unseen world is palpable. The residents of the French Quarter realize this fact and celebrate it. There is more that we do not see than what we see. New Orleanians would not live anywhere else. I video recorded a band at our hotel that moved me to tears. I wondered why I was so moved until I considered that my experience was special and singular in my life. Angels walk among us in human form. We feel it from time to time. We know it in our hearts. Something is happening that unites Heaven and Earth, and we are in the middle of the Union.

Anne Frank hoped for the opportunity to grow and live the joining of Heaven and Earth. She dreamed of life outside her family’s hideaway behind the bookshelf. She wrote in her diary of the more that awaited her in the coming years. As I stood in the Anne Frank presentation at the World War II Museum, I knew she was there watching and smiling.

In the midst of our revelries, when our spirits were at their zenith, we gathered at Le Petite Theatre to see Blithe Spirit. Le Petite Theatre has been operating since 1916 and is one of ‘the nation’s longest running community theatres.’ The Theatre is known as one of the most haunted theatres in the world. A good venue for Blithe Spirit. Noel Coward wrote Blithe Spirit to bring laughter to people burdened with the sadness of World War II.

We four took our ticketed seats in the first row of the balcony next to the iron fence designed to protect the patrons from falling over the edge. Having my recurring knee pain, I asked if I could sit where I might stretch out the offending leg. The performance was wonderful with an ending that suprised even the Old Man. Being in the presence of artistic people always enlivens my mind. The optimism of living above the current woe of totalitarianism is refreshing.

New Orleans is a city of Ghosts. The presence of Spirits can be felt wherever you walk in the French Quarter. The residents are determined to live their lives dedicated to art. It is an unswerving dedication to searching for a higher meaning than riches and power. The uplifting spirit of those you meet brings a smile to your face. No longer are you shackled by the yoke of expectation. Nothing to prove, just be. The jazz music quickens your steps and lightens the load of worry and care. Thoughts of world domination or being the most powerful are not found in the French Quarter. Thoughts of Good People and fellowship, a bit of dance and song. People live as they feel and are led by benevolent spirits. Each day is hope. Each night is a celebration of the hope that propels the earthly saints.

When a person dies, they are led to their resting place by a musical parade. The connection between the dead and living is seamless. No more hurrying through a short life, but the expectation of the next chapter.

The city of New Orleans is like another universe in comparison to the small city where I reside. My parents and brother and I recently took a train …

The Unique Universe of New Orleans

We are back from The Big Easy. It was fun. Staying in the French Quarter was an immersive experience. The weather was warm. Music on every street corner. Dancing, singing, and expressions of joy. Artists were there. The homeless were there. People are lying on the sidewalk. This was not always the case, but when you encounter a desperate person who has given up on hope, the images stay with you. The National Guard walked through the Hotel Lobby each day we were there. There was tension surrounding the unknown. The days leading to Mardi Gras have begun. They began on Twelfth Night. King’s Cakes are being baked. A woman sang with a heavenly voice.

We finally got a seat on the Carousel. The Carousel Bar is famous for being the only rotating bar in the city, located at the Hotel Monteleon. The Monteleon is one of only three National Literary Hotels in the nation. Truman Capote said he was born there and has a suite named after him. William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, and Eudora Welty spent time at the Monteleon. People waited in line for a seat of rotating bliss. We captured four by accident. The bartenders worked as fine artists. The jazz music played, and everyone laughed with joy at the party. The bartender asked us to shake hands and told us that he saw a lot of people, and he knew we were good people. It was a first for me to be called ‘Good People.’

Watching people is my hobby. People are endlessly intriguing. On Bourbon Street, a little man danced oblivious to anyone watching. Passerbys heard the music, but he heard the heavenly rendition. We went to a Cigar Bar, which is a favorite pastime. Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy were discussed amidst the circling smoke. The Big Easy is like nowhere I have been. There is great joy and profound suffering living cheek to jowl. A profound reaching for God, Heaven, and the Angels. The music is pure, creating joy and tears simultaneously.

New Orleans is not a city of sinners; it is an Oasis of earth angels reaching to touch hands with angels just above their heads. When the hands join, the heavens open, and enlightenment happens.

A train trip is in our future. We are going to The Big Easy. We have been there before in the heat of late spring. We board in the wee hours of the morning. Our last visit was a drive from Destin, Florida, to New Orleans. We stayed in an Airbnb and met Mr. Hurricane. He changed our day’s plans. We toured the cemeteries, but not after Mr. Hurricane. Mr. Hurricane is mind-expanding. Burials are in mauseloeums due to flooding. You walk among the dead.

Bats roam the skies at night. An interesting occurrence if you are not accustomed to bats other than Dracula. We heard the dueling pianos and witnessed the antics of several fraternity members as they danced and sang, and drank from a passed-around flask. They were in such high spirits that they did not notice the young woman who wanted to strike up a conversation with them. The busily danced on.

We are in the French Quarter at the Hotel Monteleone. The Hotel has been around since 1886. It has a Carousel Bar. With Mr. Hurricane, we did not need a Carousel.

So we begin 2026 with a little holiday after the holidays. A preference of mine for the fifteen-plus years of my retirement. Yes, I did say fifteen plus since I retired fifteen years ago at the end of 2010. Where have the years gone? Each year passes faster than the last. As MJ said the other day, it will be Christmas again before long. I retired early in hopes of beating the system a little. I had a lovely conversation with my barber this morning. She asked me what I was going to do after my haircut, and I replied, preparing to take a train trip to New Orleans. She was full of stories regarding New Orleans. She told her husband that when she died, she wanted a Parade just like the custom in New Orleans. Her command to her husband was, ‘Make it happen!’

The honors and celebrations of the deceased are to be desired in New Orleans, as well as Mexico’s Day of the Dead. Rather than fear, we should embrace the normal progression of our lives. We are here for a season, then we go to another place. When we arrive, we will wonder what we were worried about.

Mr. Hurricane might facilitate the transition…

A warm day for January 5th. It is supposed to be warm all week. The rhythms of life slowly return from their holiday break. Snow and ice are probably coming, but you can not tell it by today. MJ and I love the Billy Bob Thornton television series, Landman. In yesterday’s episode, the actor playing his Dad, Sam Elliott, fell into the swimming pool and was marooned until Billy Bob Thornton could help him out. Tommy Norris, the character name for Thornton, pays a stripper to give his Dad physical therapy because he states that his Dad can not say no to a beautiful woman. The stripper/physical therapist chose aqua therapy for Dad. She is seen holding him like a baby in the pool with a look of pure bliss on his face. As I have heard it said, getting old is not for sissies.

So we go forth into 2026, old and young. I saw another movie that intrigued me with Jim Gaffigan called Linoleum. His character, who is a television Mr. Science on a late-night cable TV station, insists that we each see the universe in our own way and that no two sightings are alike… a fingerprint of the universe, if you will. This resonated with me, as I have often wondered if we all perceive things in the same way. How could there be such a divergence of opinion if we are all receiving the same visual input? Are we in our own matrix, negotiating the Perils of Pauline on our own? What do the inhabitants of other planets see when they look at Earth?

Have you ever discovered what people perceive you to be, compared to who you truly are? What they have seen is different than what you intended. Indeed, we human locomotives travel on our own tracks. When analyzed by those watching us, we seem to be traveling in the opposite direction of where we are indeed going. Some see us as angels while others smell fire and brimstone. It is impossible to understand what another person is thinking.

We live in a mystery that we have written stories about to give us comfort and explain our reality to ourselves. A sense of place is vital to the journey. Who are we for this journey, and how can we help? Lovely people, wonderful people die young, and old crumudgeons live to be 100. The Grand Play is ongoing. I am reading Hamnet. William Shakespeare said all the world is a stage and we are players on it. We must learn our lines well. We have a mission and purpose and a reason for our existence. Others are counting on our performance. Shall we say we all see things differently, so what is the use? Or shall we agree from our sense of place that the message of Christ to love one another as I have loved you is fundamental?

We understand hunger when we see it. We see loneliness in the eyes of the marginalized. Pain is universal, and we all have felt its terror. The clarion call is clear. Include the marginalized and feed the hungry. Fight the oppression of human beings. Do not allow members of our human family to suffer. The universe is different for all of us, but the needs of our family are the same. We must pass the test that we were dropped into without our consent. We are in the auditorium with the teacher and monitors to ensure we are not seeking the answer to the test questions on our neighbor’s paper. We live in an orb of fog. We did not choose our arrival time nor the time of our departure. We must seek Peace.

‘They seem very unhappy,’ Little Girl said. ‘They like to use their army weapons and blow each other up,’ Little Girl continued. ‘When one gets a nice automobile their neighbor wants the same car or better,’ LG laughed. ‘When I first began watching them, they loved to attend church on Sunday, but now they prefer to golf or play bingo,’ Little Girl observed. ‘It appears the more I give them, the more they want, and they are never satisfied,’ LG noted. ‘The white people do not accept the black people nor any with skin color other than white,’ Little Girl said. ‘The cry for mercy, but do not extend mercy to others in need,’ LG explained. ‘Lately, there have been many fires in the sky and the president of one country boasting about oil riches and his power to make any country do what he wants,’ Little Girl said with tears in her eyes.

‘Come to dinner, my dear, we will decide what to do with your school project after supper,’ Mother said. ‘The humans are a dissatisfied lot,’ Mother continued. ‘Dad bought the Earth at the Universal Box Store on Jupiter and thought you could do something with the creatures in the shadows.’ Mother said. ‘Your father thought the humans would enjoy his projections of the universe on the bedroom ceiling,’ Mother noted.

It was Game Day today. Uno and Golf, along with savory meats and cheese. A good way to spend the first Sunday of 2026. A crisp, cold day with brilliant sunshine on the way to church this morning. Our engines are warming as we take our place on the racetrack of life. The Old Man walks more slowly and with a more deliberate step in 2026. Age does make a difference. Steps slower, time to think clearly about the future. We watch the skies and hope not to see bombs dropping in the night. Generations do not know what that feels like, while others know it as a way of life. Someday it will be our turn.

It is Epiphany Sunday. The day marking the arrival of the three kings to see the Baby Jesus. Christ’s birth is a manifestation of the divine in our midst. So we wait for the peace on earth that the President wished over the Christmas holiday. I learned this morning that our garbage disposals eat better than 30% of the people on Earth.

We watch each other. Talk is cheap, Neva J told me. Watch what people do. Who helps you in the quiet of the shadows with no spotlight or fanfare? Who offers their hand of friendship when you are so down you have to look up to see the bottom?

When did we decide that money was the ruler to measure success? How is God’s Grace equated with wealth? What about the desperately poor Christian? So today we travel with the Three Kings to see the Baby. It is an old story, and new. We say we want the wolf to lie down with the lamb and will gladly offer our spears to be fashioned into pruning hooks, yet we celebrate the casual, thoughtless killing of women and children…innocents.

‘I see nothing but calm waters and endless horizon,’ Richman said. ‘This year we will buy a condo in Aruba and spend next winter there…it will be our winter White House,’ Richman continued. ‘By then Venezuela will be pumping on all cylinders Texas Tea,’ Richman chuckled.

‘Monday, I will see if McDonald’s is hiring,’ Poor Girl said. ‘Although I have a work visa, I am afraid to look for employment due to the crackdown on foreigners,’ Poor Girl continued. ‘I have to do something as my kids are hungry and many turn their heads when we pass,’ PG noted. ‘I was studying Cardiology when the men came to take me away for being the wrong skin color, although I had permission to study in the United States,’ PG said. ‘I was to begin my residency Monday, but cannot due to not finishing my last Semester in December,’ Poor Girl said with her head held high. ‘ICE sent me to El Salvador to be held in a cage until the ACLU sent a lawyer to speak on my behalf.’Poor Girl continued. ‘It was not long ago that we from India felt at home in the U.S. to study and flourish and often to become citizens working in this wonderful country,’ PG said. ‘Now there is no frame of reference or logical procedure to rely on for safety in what was the home of the downtrodden,’ Poor Girl wept.

‘My niece is suffering in the country she went to study in, the King said. ‘She is brilliant and almost a Doctor of Cardiology until the government intervened and stopped her studies and sent her to El Salvador to sit in a cage,’ the King said. ‘A lawyer got her returned to the U.S., although I do not understand why she wanted to return to that dangerous country,’ the King said. ‘After we see the Christ Child, I shall visit my niece and see to her care,’ the King said.

My new year was brought in with much fun and joy! The other day, on the eve of the year 2026, Jennifer and I took a trip to Paducah, Kentucky to see …

From Paducah, With Joy

Here we are together again. MJ has been baking cookies. It feels like Christmas all over again. January passes quickly. But then again, don’t they all. We sally forth into the void of 2026. We had an ice storm a year ago. Limbs filled the yard. The Old Man does not like ice…hard to walk on…breaks ribs. Once, many years ago, I turned around on campus when it was obvious that I could not walk to class. It is important to know your limitations. It is going to warm up again. Sixties are in the forecast next week. Beware of Trojan Horses.

The rhythms of life carry us forward. Our sense of place grounds us. Change awaits us. We live our lives in micro while we watch the macro machinations of our government. Each of us must meet the challenge in our own way. What do we encounter that we have the power to do something about? That is our mission. Feed the babies, walk the dog, work a 9-to-5 job, and help our neighbor. The lonely watch us with wide, sad eyes. Forgotten and marginalized with no voice or advocate. We can be their voice. We can welcome them to our table for a New Year’s Lunch. Let us include them in our games, sports, movie time, and church. Church is a lovely social situation. Many who are shut in or without friends would love to be asked. Friendly folks dispel loneliness and depression. ‘Welcome the stranger for we were all strangers once.’

‘The spirit of Christmas is still with us,’ Jane said. ‘I feel it just like I did in December,’ Jane continued. ‘I saw Lester at Mr. Munchies eating a hamburger for his breakfast and invited him to play board games with us on Sunday,’ Jane smiled. ‘I told him there would be refreshments and he would be our special guest,’ Jane danced on one foot and then the other. ‘This shall be the Year Of The Forgotten,’ Jane proclaimed.

‘Rosie and Abigail are coming to Game Day on Sunday as well,’ Neva J said. ‘Rosie told me that it felt like Christmas in January to her,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Rosie wants to meet Lester and is rosy cheeked at the possibility,’ Neva J winked.

The Woods was inviting and renewing. The Old Man’s thoughts were of events past and the exciting future. Mystery revealed awaits us. We are becoming acquainted with ourselves. Knowing who you are and being comfortable in your sense of place is vital to success in 2026. We are new. Our dedication is fresh for the New Year. No more doing things as we have in the past. We have a 2026 way of thinking. We are people of the now. The past is past; we look to today. Our opinions given to us by others are not a passport for the New Year. We must think outside the Box. The Old Man is a bit of a Crumudgeon. He believes in speaking up. He does not accept being marginalized. He does not countenance being ignored or pigeonholed.

Speaking up and being heard can set you apart from the crowd. If you choose to be accepted by the group, you may want to reconsider expressing your thoughts. If you want to be true to yourself, speak your truth. Honesty is the best policy until it is not. This is how many are left in the shadows. The poor of the land sit quietly as the rich and powerful and elite and club members decide their fate. They have been trained to not speak unless spoken to. They understand their betters have the answers, and their opinions do not count. Until they raise their unheard voices. Then the dynamic changes. Then the answers to problems materialize. Then the voice of the rest of us is heard. Surprise ensues. Who spoke, asks the leader? Do they have the right to speak, or shall we look at the parliamentary rules of conduct to squash their simple protestations?

So we live in a quandary of keeping the powerful happy and secure or speaking our truth. 2026 will require all to speak and none to remain silent. The problems are too great. The solutions are not evidenced by the powerful. We must stand up as servant/leaders and say what we have been thinking and believing. The issues are bigger than all of us, and all of us must participate in the solutions. The elite will say Do not speak yield the floor to the wise and learned. They have been trained and educated, and by virtue of their high birth are genetically qualified to solve the knotty issues facing us.

The Old Man thought of his life. He had spoken to the rich and powerful. He did not hold back. The Old Man had spoken truth to power.