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.

When I was a child, Hamburger Helper came on the scene. Neva J and her sisters raved about the miraculous properties of Hamburger Helper. I looked at the box and ate some of the product and found it Meh. It was ground beef with macaroni and spicy sauce. Yet it did provide several variations on dinner menus. Earl said that the best steak made was a Hamburger Steak. Neva J told him, ‘You silly kid, a Hamburger Steak is no more than a large Hamburger with gravy.’ Earl insisted that it was indeed steak and was much easier to cut and eat. Again, ground chuck was helped by gravy spice…and Branding. So much of our culinary pleasure comes from the secret sauce.

We come within a gnat’s whisker of injury or death and never know when the danger occurred. We gain favor with the boss or our coworkers and thank our cunning for the blessings. I went into convulsions as a lad, and the ambulance driver commented to his colleague that he did not think I would make it to Evansville, Indiana, due to my extreme illness. I am an Old Man and still here. My Guardian Angel rode with Neva J and me in the ambulance from Eldorado.

So many times in life, I have been given tasks that I knew I was not up to, but I tackled them anyway. I succeeded and knew that I had a Secret Helper.

In the French Quarter, you could almost see the Angels as Secret Helpers. The Veil between what we see with our eyes and what lies behind it is thin and can be seen dimly. The happy people danced and sang with what I am convinced were their Guardian Angels. While those who would deny the French Quarter folks their humanity looked on, they knew the truth of their special place in God’s Plan.

The Bermuda Triangle is legendary for people, planes, and boats lost in its deep waters, with no evidence of what happened. There are places on Terra Firma where you can enter another dimension. A dimension where the etheral communes with the earthly. It is there for all to see if you have eyes to see.

‘We are not in this walk of life alone,’ Grandma A said. ‘When we used to hunt for persimmons in the woods, there were Hidden Helpers who would show us where the persimmons were,’ Grandma A said. ‘I had five little children who were hungry, and I had no money to feed them,’ Grandma A continued. ‘People whispered and pointed their fingers at our ragged group,’ Grandma A said. ‘The Helpers assisted us, and we did not starve,’ Grandma A said.

‘How is your day? ‘ the Old Man asked. ‘Why, fine, thank you. I am glad the snow has melted, and I am thinking about beginning my spring cleaning,’ Mr. Mole said. ‘The warm days are a delight,’ Mr. Mole continued. ‘Mr. Badger is coming up the path, perhaps he will have some words of wisdom for us,’ Mr. Mole mused.

‘Greetings and salutations, OM and Moley,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘You’re both are Hale Fellows Well Met,’ Mr. Badger chuckled. ‘I see your Guardian Angels are accompanying you on your morning constitutional,’ Mr. Badger noted with a wink and nod. ‘You make a fine foursome,’ Badger said with a wide grin.

So it goes, I love to write about Christmas. I have no shame in my passion; it is me. There are others like me. Many are silent in their Christmas Dreams in February, but not the Old Man. I have always been this way…Santa Claus and reindeer. Waterford Santas that I collected for years. Laughing Santa is in my memory. Christmas is Hope to the Old Man and the promise of peace.

‘If it were Christmas all year, I would be happy,’ Chet said. ‘I remember getting a Daniel Boone Action Figure a few years ago,’ Chet laughed. ‘He was fashioned after the actor Fess Parker, and I was amazed at the likeness…I expected the little Daniel to begin speaking in Fess Parker’s voice,’ Chet laughed. ‘Dad had just died in the night, and I felt a bit lonely,’ Chet noted. ‘When I played with Daniel, I felt accepted and happy,’ Chet mused. ‘The Daniel Boone Action Figure brought the television show into my home, and the miracle of Christmas was felt by me,’ Chet whispered. ‘Daniel Boone was not Dad, but he was a comfort for a little boy,’ Chet said.

‘Laughing Santa is real,’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘His wide smile and infectious laugh are Christmas to me,’ Billy B continued. ‘Mom seems sad quite often, and Dad can get angry, but Laughing Santa does not change his happy demeanour nor moderate his cackle,’ Billy B noted. ‘We had our photo under the humongous Christmas Tree in Chicago with nothing but smiles on the faces of Dad and Mom and Laughing Santa,’ Billy B remembered.

‘Don’t come to visit from Thanksgiving to Christmas Day,’ Neva J said. ‘I need the time to plan the Christmas Dinner and to prepare for it,’ Neva J continued. ‘We will have Roast Beast and Christmas Coffee Cake, and there will be a Christmas Tree constructed from aluminum,’ Neva J discussed. ‘There may be a Big Swinger Polaroid Camera in your future, Billy B,’ Neva J said with a wink and a grin. ‘We will have to find the ashtray for Vema as she will smoke one cigarette after the other the entire time she is here for Christmas,’ Neva J said. ‘Rosie is coming, and Uncle Murph will be happy to get a dinner that is not a hamburger,’ Neva J mentioned. ‘Rosie has no family or friends, but us and she will be our special guest,’ Neva J said. ‘We will play Perry Como singng Chrismas Carols as well as Bing Crosby,’ Neva J laughed.

‘Grandma, where is your Christmas Tree?’ Aaron asked. ‘All I see is a little Aluminum Christmas Tree on top of your record player that is playing Nat King Cole Christmas Favourites,’ Aaron noted. ‘Our Christmas Tree is six feet tall and has a multitude of ornaments on it as well as a porcelain Nativity Scene under it,’ Aaron noted. ‘Are you going to put up a larger Christmas Tree?’ Aaron asked.

‘I am hoping for Nintendo Games to play on our Nintendo PlayStation that we just received from Santa,’ Jonathon said. ‘Mom and Dad played Bases Loaded all night,’ Jonathon noted with a wry smile. ‘The love Nintendo,’ Jonathon proclaimed! ‘I liked Nintendo and Teddy Ruxpin, who is a talking bear and whose mouth really moves as he speaks,’ Jonathon said with some pleasure. ‘Bruiser and Abigail seem to enjoy everything regarding Christmas and especially knocking the Christmas Ornaments off the Big Christmas Tree,’ Jonathon laughed.

So our high hopes and dreams are encased in our memories. We know there is a greater calling…a mission from God that we may be loseing the plot regarding. There is more…we feel it…We know it. Christmas is in our future because we need it…

The spring walk in the Woods caused the Old Man to think of Grace. Sixty degrees on February 10 is an achievement. The snow is almost gone, all 10 inches of it. Birds were singing a happy tune of warmer days to come. Hope rises in the trees and the Old Man’s heart. The ability to walk in the winter Woods is Grace.

I think of my current age and recall believing that those of my age years ago were profoundly old. I wondered how those of 68 felt and thought…Now I can assess measures of age firsthand. My Dad died at 60. The ground is still there after the heavy snow blanket. It is ready to move forward with Grace.

‘Life swirls about us, we know not where worries come from, nor where our peace is hiding,’ Neva J said. ‘The Bible tells that there will be wars and rumors of wars,’ Neva J continued. ‘Why do we do the things we do?’ Neva J wondered aloud. ‘When I would do good, evil is always with me,’ Neva J mused. ‘Are we a creation of free will or is our life mapped out from womb to the tomb?’ Neva J wondered. ‘A good place to start demonstrating free will is to go against the recognized order of power…help the helpless…clothe and feed the homeless,’ Neva J whispered. ‘Stand outside the strong walls of Jericho and trust where your heart leads,’ Neva J proclaimed.

‘We all make mistakes,’ Chet said. ‘Either Home is for all humans, or Home is a myth,’ Chet continued. ‘In school, my fellow students made fun of me and pointed their fingers at my heavy body and thick glasses,’ Chet explained. ‘Billy B ignored their taunts and defended me…he was my friend,’ Chet stated. ‘I do not hold grudges against my detractors in school and have made friends of many,’ Chet noted. ‘People come from many realities and challenges…some from broken homes, deprivation and mental illness,’ Chet explained. ‘Grace covers everyone,’ Chet said, smiling broadly.

‘You dance and sing as a person who understands God’s Grace,’ the Old Man said. ‘The beautiful words in your song reveal a life of suffering and a life of Grace,’ the Old Man continued. ‘You inspire me with your contact with the angels,’ the Old Man said passionately. ‘I see broken people cracked by the hard times of life and yet playing music and singing as if they are in Heaven,’ the Old Man noted. ‘What is your secret of happiness and your decision process of living each day,’ the Old Man asked. ‘Do you have a secret book or parchment that has revealed the truths of happiness peace and a sense of place,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Since I have been in the French Quarter my cares have melted like the snow in July,’ the Old Man attested. ‘It seems that Grace is for all of God’s Children and not just those who look like we do,’ the Old Man mused.

‘I grew up a sharcroppers daughter and we had little to eat and a wooden clapboard cabin on the owners estate,’ Black Singer said. ‘People told me to not forget my place of servitude and humility,’ Black Singer continued. ‘I moved to Detroit and found the racism ther hidden but as potent as any I has seen,’ Black Singer continued. ‘I worked in a Ford Factory and made decent money but I wanted to sing,’ Black Singer said. ‘So I came to New Orleans and took up residence in the French Quarter,’ Black Singer explanined. ‘I followed my heart and used the Grace that God had given me to love everyone,’ Black Singer explained. ‘The look on your face tells me that I did the right thing, ‘Black Singer laughed a Sould Laugh…

The driveway is clear after two weeks of snow cover. The Old Man loves the sight of the concrete. I have a Subaru that is supposed to go through the deep snow. It was a challenge. Jonathon’s car was snowed in for a few days until he and Jennifer dug it out. Snow is a good time for reflection. Not just of shadows but inner shadows as well. We are conscious beings. ‘I think, therefore I am.’ Our world is so much larger than our present concerns. I saw this reality in New Orleans in the French Quarter. People who had decided to lean on the angels instead of their own understanding. So much of our understanding of relationships is transactional. You scratch my back, and I will scratch yours. I love those who love me. What have you done for me lately? Friends who you seldom hear from call you when you can be of service to their needs.

Our conscious self has an ongoing dialogue in our heads. The worries of the present, the past, and the future play out in our discussion with ourselves. How can we better our lot in life, we ask? Who must we kiss up to to gain favor in the workplace? Will a gift suffice, or shall we compromise our principles to ensure we keep our jobs, which we desperately need? People are fine until they interfere with the bottom line.

So it goes as we seek understanding. How did a piece of flesh that we call the brain develop a sense of self or consciousness? Evolution is not a complete answer. We know who we are and what we as individuals are about, and it did not come from a bit of grey matter. Dead Brains have been rigorously tested and revealed no mysteries. The soul has not been tested, weighed, or sliced into thin sections to observe under a microscope.

MJ, Aaron Jonathon, and the Old Man walked the joyful streets of the French Quarter. People greeted us with smiles of acceptance and love. We sat at the Carousel Bar in The Hotel Monteleone and felt at home. The bartender told us that he sees a lot of people, and he could tell that we were good people. We felt the joy surmounting sorrow. There was victory over suffering. Hope beyond the chaos of our current government.

So it seems we are so immersed in process and procedure that we have forgotten what we are seeking. What of kindness? What of empathy? How do we claim the title of Christian when Jesus preached to love each other and to welcome the stranger, the homeless, and the hungry?

‘I have been invited to partake of a King’s Cake by my new friends in the French Quarter,’ Chet proclaimed with joy. ‘The King Cake is a traditional New Orleans delicacy associated with Mardi Gras, typically a ring-shaped pastry or brioche dough covered in purple, green, and gold icing or sugar. The cake is part of a celebration that begins on January 6th (Epiphany or King’s Day) and lasts until Mardi Gras Day. A small plastic baby is traditionally hidden inside the cake, and the person who finds it is said to have good luck and is responsible for providing the next cake.’