It is a great time to be young or young at heart. We enjoyed a lovely Birthday Dinner for MJ last evening. Laughter all around. Great food and wonderful fellowship. Our years fly by like a weaver’s shuttle. Berl told me that I would never have time to do everything that I wanted. I have considered just putting the Christmas Tree in the corner of a seldom-used room to have a jump on next Christmas.

We, poor of the land, are content with our sense of place. We may be the kinfolk on the other side of the hill, but we love our hill. We are surrounded by magic. Each day is a microcosm of Heaven. We pass by the diamonds of life to gather fool’s gold.

The Elite of the land know not what they are missing. They operate in a circle of plenty/poverty. Plenty of resources, poverty of empathy.

It is possible to be biased against the rich. We often imagine they have a paradigm for us. Are we the great unwashed, as the saying goes? Many of the powerful care and want to help. Imaginations ruin relationships.

Communication is the key to understanding. Often, what is in our heads does not reach our hearts. It is difficult to hate someone you know.

Listening is a lost art. Listening opens understanding.

‘I was looking out the humongous picture window and saw all manner of my fellow travelers,’ Neva J said. ‘There were all colors and creeds and no religion walking by the panorama on display,’ Neva J noted. ‘The poor beggar walked hand in hand with the richest man,’ Neva J smiled. ‘The Americans had a picnic on the ground with Russians and Chinese folks…and their food was diverse and delicious,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Tanks were rusting in the background,’ Neva J whispered. ‘The girl with no legs was carried by a group of women from the prosperous apartments in Manhattan,’ Neva J said. ‘The President opened the new ballroom to house the homeless, and their food was catered to them by the White House Staff,’ Neva J continued.

‘What miracle has been wrought to produce such a change in the hearts of men and women,’ Jane said. ‘How have the cold hardened hearts of many melted in the presence of love,’ Jand continued. ‘A change has happened…a change indeed,’ Jane exclaimed!

‘The symphony is ready to start,’ Chet said. ‘We call it Renewal In A New World.

It is a bit chilly but lovely. The Old Man seeks peace. So many people are hurting. A kind word, smile, and goodwill are essential. The study is a worthy discipline. How can we get along rather than fight? Harsh words create hurt. Positive words enhance light.

‘We fight against life rather than embrace it,’ Chet said. ‘When someone we perceive as our enemy suffers, we feel justified in our righteousness,’ Chet observed. ‘When we suffer, we want the empathy of others,’ Chet continued. ‘

‘Politics is a bit of a farce created from necessity,’ the Old Man said. ‘More lies than truth are spoken,’ the Old Man explained. ‘A calm mind yields a sense of place,’ the Old Man said. ‘As I walked the streets of the French Quarter, I saw people with peaceful pursuits,’ the Old Man danced. ‘The joy of living was in their faces, and their influence on the environment of all was profound,’ the Old Man exclaimed. ‘The Gift of God speaking to each of us is paramount in our journey,’ the Old Man noted. ‘Those who would have us believe that God speaks to them and it is their job to give us the message is a bending of his plan for joy and happiness,’ the Old Man promised.

‘I am so pleased you enjoyed my song,’ the Singer said. ‘I sang it for you,’ the Singer continued. ‘You look so sad, I wanted to impart some of the peace I have to you,’ the Singer noted with a beautiful smile.

‘This is a lovely place,’ Jane said. ‘I feel I have been here before,’ Jane continued. ‘I have dreamt about this place, Jane mused. ‘I was in the hospital and was not recovering from surgery…mom and dad were worried, and dad was crying,’ Jane recalled. ‘I was here with Chet and Billy B and Neva J,’ Jane smiled. ‘We were playing musical instruments…I, the cello, and Billy B, the saxophone,’ Jane laughed. ‘Chet was playing the piano,’ Jane noted. ‘Neva J sat listening with great interest and sipped a glass of Merlot,’ Jane laughed. ‘I tripped climbing the stairs ascending to the Concert Hall and was overjoyed to not be hurt or feel pain,’ Jane explained. ‘Outside the large windows, I could see storm clouds gathering in the direction we had walked to arrive for the performance,’ Jane said. ‘As I entered the great hall, I noticed two gargoyles on each side of the massive doors, and they nodded and spoke to me, greeting me by name, Jane said with wonder. ‘As I looked at the storm clouds, I heard a weak, small voice that sounded like Dad,’ Jane said. ‘He was saying something to me, but I could not hear the words clearly,’ Jane continued. ‘We concluded our musical performance, and Chet said we will sit with Neva J in a glass of Merlot before the next set,’ Jane grinned.

‘Neva J asked if I was enjoying the majestic Concert Hall,’ Jane remembered. ‘She looked like she did in her twenties and was full of life,’ Jane noted. ‘Neva J told me that soon I would have a decision to make,’ Jane explained. ‘Did I want to stay in this wonderful place or did I miss my parents and my classmates and want to return to them?’ Jane said with tears in her eyes. ‘Chet told me that it was time to return to my seat and resume the concert,’ Jane noted.

‘So shall we visit the land beyond the Veil?’ Billy B asked. ‘Neva J has pulled the curtain back and beckoned us to come in, ‘Billy B noted. ‘There is another chapter to our story that we have only imagined,’ Billy B said. ‘Are we participating in the main event or just the warm-up before the big race?’ Billy B continued. ‘The beautiful black singer on Royal Street told me that the best is yet to come,’ Billy B commented. ‘I got a glimpse of the hidden future when the band played in the Hotel Monteleone, and it was almost more than I could imagine,’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘Before me was a panoply of love and acceptance,’ Billy B whispered. ‘My little dogs were there, Bruiser and Abigail Brody and Wallace with Parker alongside,’ Billy B wiped tears from his eyes. ‘People enjoying the music had a faraway look in their eyes as if they were seeing what I was seeing,’ Billy B said softly. ‘What are we here for and where are we going?’ Billy B said.

It was quiet in the French Quarter. The hateful rhetoric had ceased. No one spoke of celebrities of either politics or religion. The formerly busy streets of the metropolises of man were eerily silent. Love watched as the skys lit up with fire. Caring tended to the grievous wounds. A lovely black singer sang of suffering and loss, hope and a better life. Her face was wounded by radiation as her spirit soared…

Today is pristine. 70 degrees with blue sky and fluffy clouds. The Old Man set forth for a Woods Walk. The clouds winked and grinned their approval. I am a reformed political junkie who is much happier when little is heard about the subject. Words of hate and malice make the Old Man weak. There is a cause in life, and it is not lying and seeing how many people you can beat out of their Constitutional Rights, and how to receive from the poor their last farthing to give to the king. Medieval days had a term for this philosophy…Vassal.

We love and care for our bodies. We feed and wash them and make sure we eat well. We shudder to consider that our bodies are dying while we live. I was overjoyed when MJ and I bought our new Subarus five years ago. It was a treat for the Old Man, who had purchased a few new cars. Yet now they show wear and age. Now one will soon have 70 thousand miles on it, while the other, MJ’s Subaru, has under 10 thousand. When we go somewhere, we go in the Old Man’s Subaru. The physical is ephemeral and all returns to entropy.

The finest clothing becomes tattered and torn. We homeowners, understand that our largest purchase must be maintained each year, yet entropy can be seen. Could it be that we are souls encased in a servicable vehicle called a body? I saw this realization in the French Quarter. The Old Man saw people who understood that they were more than their bodies.

We are Smoke encased in flesh. When we die, the Smoke rises upward, and the vehicle of conveyance lies upon the bed. A good vehicle that served us well. All vehicles rust out and cease to function as they get old.

The music was etheral in the French Quarter. People who had suffered the stones of a cold society rejoiced as if it had not happened. The music brought tears to the Old Man’s eyes. ‘There is more to life than is revealed on the surface,’ the Old Man said. ‘A spiritual connection that is not written in a church manual or set down by authoritarian government,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Souls know souls and spirits know spirits,’ the Old Man revealed. ‘Our Earthly time is but a snapshot of reality,’ the Old Man proclaimed. ‘We think we have scratched the surface of God’s love for us when in reality man has not seen the gifts that God has for his creation,’ the Old Man danced.

‘The Earth dwellers are unhappy when they could be joyful,’ Michael the Angel said. ‘We try to convince them to look beyond their circumstances to the rest of eternity, but often with little success,’ Michael GA said. ‘They understand the concept of the Spirit is the real reality in the French Quarter, Michael GA noted. ‘The music and song and dance touch our hearts, and we join in,’ Michael exclaimed. ‘I love the manner that the people of the French Quarter can transmit the etheral through their music and song,’ Michael GA said with a tear in his eye.

The Old Man’s imagination is working overtime. Having been in the French Quarter on King’s Day, we looked for the start of the celebration. Happiness and joy were present. The Old Man spoke with a waitress at the Carousel Bar, who he saw resting momentarily engaged in reflection. She said that she enjoyed the quiet moments, as when Mardi Gras came, it was crazy. It did not stay quiet long. ‘Mardi Gras is celebrated as a final lavish party of feasting before the solemn Christian period of Lent, rooted in ancient pagan spring festivals and adapted by Christianity as ‘Fat Tuesday. It is a time of excess, masks, parades, symbolizing life and abundance before the 40 days of fasting and penance leading to Easter.’

‘Mardi Gras blends European Carnival traditions.’ It has African and Caribbean influences. The French brought us Mardi Gras. Many Christians view Mardi Gras as a period of reflection. This is the last day of eating rich fatty foods before the fasting of Lent.

A good day to empty your larders of rich food. A day to allow joy to swell your heart until it is three sizes larger, like the Grinch when he saw the light. We need a little Mardi Gras in our lives. The French Quarter is a fix that needs repeating. There is an infectious joy and permeating peace. The Old Man saw people joyful and celebrating life and its abundance. No thought of Wall Street nor autocratic government. Pork Pie hats and Limoge Porcelain. Art for Art’s Sake. Music for the sheer exuberant joy of music. Just being in the moment rather than planning for days that may not come.

‘Since I purchased my Pork Pie Hat, I feel like a true member of the French Quarter,’ Billy B proclaimed! ‘The Vieux Carre has become my favorite drink,’ Billy B said with gusto. ‘It is a cocktail made of rye whiskey, cognac, sweet vermouth, Benedictine, and Bitters,’ Billy B continued. ‘ It was invented by head bartender Walter Bergeron in 1937,’ Billy B smiled as he sipped the magic brew. ‘Vieux Carre means Old Square in reference to the French Quarter,’ Billy B explained with rosy cheeks. ‘ The current Head Bartender told me that the amounts for the Signature Cocktail are 1/2 oz Cognac, 3/4 oz Rye Whiskey, 1/2 oz Sweet Vermouth, 1 tsp Benedictine, a dash of Angostura and Peychaud’s Bitters stirred with ice,’ Billy B laughed for joy.

It is 61 degrees in February. Recently, we had 10 inches of snow. The weather is never boring. We have made it through Valentine’s Day successfully. Mardi Gras is tomorrow, and then Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent. The French Quarter illustrated to me that it is okay to be happy. We carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. We must be all things to all people. An impossible task.

Life is meant to be lived. It is possible to live in despair and become accustomed to the feeling. Our identity is highlighted by our words and actions. ‘As a man thinks, so is he.’ Could it be that it is possible to stop identifying with sorrow and start identifying with joy? That would be a worthy mission. Sackcloth and ashes will not make us holy. Reflection and change will.

Laughter is infectious. Even fake laughter has been shown to improve health. The Old Man laughed many times in the French Quarter. The spirit of laughter was everywhere. Suffering does not have to be followed by sorrow. After tears can come joy.

There is a myth that when you encounter hard times, you should reflect on the suffering for the rest of your days on Earth. The Old Man noticed with great interest that the joyful people of the French Quarter were happy, yet their faces revealed suffering. There was joy in their music and song. Their celebration connected with the angels. There was a touch of the Divine.

The precious people of the French Quarter revealed what it was to dance with the Angels. They were not concerned with the popular political programs of the day, but the joy of being alive on Earth. So it goes we must strive to avail ourselves of the joy of living. Doomsday Preppers fear and plan for the end of the world, when in fact the world will end for each of us in a few years. Why not enjoy the ride? We hold on tight. We scream for joy coupled with fear. What is around the next corner has not been revealed. But we see what is before us and can cheer for the gift of life, love, peace, and harmony.

So Valentine’s Day is over. The Old Man has stayed close to hearth and home today. It appears we have found a new favorite restaurant, Rare Chop and Steak House, in Mt. Vernon. We had been there 13 years ago it was time for a return visit. The Winter Olympics are fascinating, especially the Curling. MJ is explaining the rules to me. Sunday night was when Lassie and The Wonderful World of Disney aired when I was a kid. Also, Mutual Of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. Ever present with these end-of-weekend television programs was the sure knowledge that school began in the morning, and the freedom to do what I wanted was going away for another five days. Earl would look out the kitchen windows on Monday morning to see if the promise of rain was present. He was a lineman, and they did not work in the rain. He reported for work and waited for an hour, when the foreman called a rain day, and he came home a happy man. Earl was like me; he did not want to return to school either.

Life requires some discipline. We show up in the rain. We were telling Jennifer about visiting the catacombs in Sicily, where the dead were inches away from us, wearing their Sunday best. A gentleman who fancied himself a Casanova was wearing his best and standing with glass eyes affixed in his eye sockets to see the pretty women who visited. There was a little girl who was so well preserved that she appeared to be sleeping. Our tour guide for Sicily told us that when trials are held, the defendants are transported to and from the courthouse on roads under the ground to prevent the Mafia from interfering.

Sunday night signals that it is time to begin again. Even we retired folk feel the stirring call and hear the race pistol. Life has rhythms, and the rhythm of Sunday night, being the beginning of the week, is ironclad. We, people of the Earth, know we have been placed here for a reason, and we do not want to miss our limited opportunity to make a difference. Since my retirement over 15 years ago, I feel I have to get out of my house each day and accomplish something. Usually, that is a mixture of grocery shopping, walking, and photography. A Blog each day is my passion. My blogging represents a desire since childhood to write each day.

‘Success requires dedication,’ Chet said. ‘If you want to become proficient in a discipline, you must practice immersion,’ Chet noted. ‘Doubts in your ability to address a problem dissipate as you study and work to succeed,’ Chet smiled. ‘Success is incremental,’ Chet noted. ‘The more you do something, the better you become,’ Chet laughed. ‘People tell me they enjoy my photos and I reply that I am an amateur,’ Chet continued. ‘However, I have taken several hundred thousand photos over the past years,’ Chet winked.

Sunday has inherent in it rest and recuperation, a time to reflect and renew. A time to reflect on the miracle of the French Quarter in New Orleans and marvel at the people you met. Our world is full of so much love and acceptance that we never feel. When you expose yourself to someone different than you, you expand who you are. Sunday night is a good time to think Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy of Saturday Night Live fame. There is a time to rest and a time to cease from resting.

The following is a flash fiction story. Otis felt the love in the air all around him. Or perhaps it was his very own cologne he’d borrowed from his …

Otis and Sweet Sally

So the Old Man is wearing his Angel Cologne that MJ got him for Valentine’s Day. This is not his first Valentine’s Day. It has a strangely satisfying scent. The Day has gained in meaning and significance as the years have passed. MJ and the Old Man will celebrate their 48th anniversary next month. The Day has meaning aided by history. It is amazing how fast 48 years go by. Long days and short years. You know who your friends are and who loves you in the hard times, not the easy ones. Lasting memories are made from the challenges you faced together.

Love is not the syrup that you place on your pancakes. Often, love is saying that you are sorry. Love is being so into another person that you think of them before you think of yourself. It is laughter and tears. It is worry and calm. It is anxiety and peace. Love is a rollercoaster ride.

MJ and I started with little and kept it safe for some time. Two Stars came into our lives called Aaron and Jonathon. They had the dedication of parents who wanted them very much. We were determined to provide them with better childhoods than we had. An ear infection revealed as we watched Home Alone in the theatre. The joy of Christmas and the partner of real life were the modus operandi of our lives.

Relationships are for Tess Trueheart and Dudley Do-Right. Dedication to each other and keeping each other from being tied to the Railroad Track as the locomotive approaches.

Agony results from attempting to fashion a marriage from the vision of Madison Avenue. Forest Gump told us that life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.

It is a spring-like day. The world is turning, preparing for Valentine’s Day. There is chocolate to buy and cards to send. Loved ones wait to read that they are Cool or The Best… at least when I was a kid. Little hearts say, ‘Will You Be Mine?’ We all want to be special to someone. Relationships matter. In grade school, we passed out flat Valentine’s Day cards to our classmates. A box was cheap, and you endeavoured to pick a card that fit the character of the person you were giving it to. Once, I gave a Valentine’s Day card to a girl named Sherry and spelled her name Cherry. Mortification! Sherry was gracious when a person pointed out the misspelling. The pitfalls of young love…

So many cords fasten us to the joys and sorrows of this life. We seek to return Home. This is the primary quest of our lives. We want our Valentine’s gifts to be just right and elicit a warm response from the receiver. Struggling and striving to find Home we go down many paths. There are smells and sights, sounds and feelings that remind us of Home. Fine Art reminds the Old Man of Home. Always has. Writing engages the Old Man’s mind and stirs his memories of happy times throughout his life. We complain about distractions and eschew suffering, but we do not want to leave this beautiful place.

What happens when we die? Do we cavilerly proclaim, ‘On to the next adventure,’ or do we seek to return to what we have known so fondly, with all the ups and downs of the rollercoaster ride life was? Do we change magically and mysteriously as if in a revelation? Is there a Waystation on the railroad of the afterlife that we consider the change? Perhaps the retail salesperson is still stocking the shelves and putting out sales signage in a retail establishment. The Lady’s Man may be seeking his next conquest. The minister is preparing his next sermon. The negligent mom and dad seeking their children to make ammends.

Have we come from a place of seeking Home at our birth, and are continuing our journey? According to the distraction of our death and our surprise at it’s occurence, are we seeking to return to Home and what is dear to us? Many folks report the presence of spirits or ghosts in their home who seem unhappy and dissatisfied with their plight. I have sought a smell of Christmas that intrigued me when I was a boy in Eldorado. I get a hint of it every few years, but never the full effect I noticed in the rental home, Neva J and I lived in the 60s.

Our ears perk up when the sounds of Home hit their aural memory banks. The smells of a fireplace, wood fire, and our favorite dog’s unique odor when she lays her head on our chest. The way our Mom laughed. Dad is smoking his pipe. We were safe…we were loved…we knew who we were and the direction to Home.