Cool weather brings calm thoughts. A breakfast at Cracker Barrel brightens the day. Good to see Ron and Ira Kaye. School. begins in August. The summer is racing by. The birds are in full-throated glory. We are happy to be in the game. ‘Serenity now,’ Frank Costanza said. It has been said that everybody is working for the weekend. Every day should be the weekend when it comes to happiness and a sense of place.

It is time to gather the school supplies. The paste, crayons, paper, and pencils. New shoes, slacks, and a shirt or two. A fresh haircut. What were we learning in the spring? Will third grade be harder than second? Will there still be milk breaks?

Eldorado is different than Sauk Village. Friends all along my street, Billy B thought of Sauk Village. Marionette Shows and badminton. Westerns and more westerns. John Wayne was a hero to little boys. He sauntered rather than walked. Pounds Hollow would be drawing to a close soon. Swimming trips were wonderful. Floating on the deep water alone without a care or concern. Is it really time for school to begin again?

Monster movies on Friday night. Catching fireflies in a bottle. No thought of books or teachers’ dirty looks. Sleep late or later. Watermelon and cantaloupe. Salt shaker in the garden. Watch Johnny Carson, Joey Bishop, or the late movie. Is it really time for school to begin?

A cool breeze is blowing. Different, unique, special. Something is off. We know it’s waiting for the solution. We are moving in the wrong direction. We do not know when it began. It was a slow drift on the open ocean. First, it was still water like a mirror. Nothing to worry about; sails hung loose. Churchgoers were looking for the promise. A messenger was coming: John the Baptist. He would say great and mysterious things. Would he eat wild honey? Someone to point the way. Someone who would know what to do. Someone ready.

The Carolina Chickadee sang to the Black-bellied Whistler. Some said a storm is coming. Beware! Others asked Are you the one we have waited for? It has been 40 days in this wilderness, and no answer from God. Perhaps he has forgotten us. Perhaps he has other fish to fry. This man has answers. He seems unafraid. He speaks in riddles like parables. He says one thing and another happens. Kings fear him. He is reminiscent of King David. He is reawakened to Christ. Billy Graham’s son speaks well of him, as does Jerry Falwell Jr.

Disease is up; health is down. Drink your milk from the teat, the wise man with the important name said. Vaccinations bad the brain Worm said with a grin. Do not worry about tomorrow; just live from day to day and trust and obey.

The Old Man felt the New Wind. It smelled like babies’ breath and honeysuckle. There was a promise in it. The promise that family brings. The promise that empathy provides. No Red or Blue but the colors of the human family that God created. ‘Red, Yellow, Black and White all are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little Children of the World.’

A New Wind blowing softly, a promise for the children. The old ways are the best. Be kind to each other. Help each other. Give of your hearts, hands, and minds. We who are waiting for His coming…be patient and find the Prophet at your neighbor’s hospital bed or on the street of the forgotten.

The Cedar Waxwing watches along with the Yellow-throated Vireo as the New Wind tosses the leaves and calms the nerves of worried people. The New Wind makes the children laugh and the old dance. It was promised from the foundation of the World. No hidden agenda, no monetization of religion. It was not in the golden statue; it was in the air for all to breathe.

We live in the Two-World Matrix. There is the World of the calm, serene sense of place, and there is the world of heated rhetoric, lies, distortions, and the joy of war. The Worlds coincide like parallel universes. The birds sing around the Writing Porch while the war with Iran heats up. People are dying while politicans grow fat in guarded security to say whatever evil that travels through their brains. Vacation season is in full bloom while bombs fall from the sky.

‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave/when first we practice to deceive.’

Heaven and hell, light and dark, storms and sunshine walking side by side. It is possible to step between Worlds.

The people of the night are preparing. They enjoy the night, the dark clouds, and the stormy skies. There is comfort in the quiet. There is rest in the thunder. Rain makes them sleepy. The night has less. Less noise, less clutter, less distraction. Easy to focus. No questions with no answers. Small ball, small beer, small life. The humongous is downsized. The introvert’s haven. No one to impress, no one watching. Deadlines are softened. Happiness is highlighted. Perfect peace.

Practice makes perfect, but who wants to be perfect? Isn’t good good enough? How about credit for trying? The World was built by trying people. Not experts, nor professionals, influencers, nor the wealthy. People who were a bit afraid but gave it their best; there was no one else to call on. A New World with bitter cold winters and sickness all around, no food nor friends. Tobacco that made a body feel better if you could stand the smoke. Native Americans with their own culture understood the New World; it was not new to them.

‘What is your draft number? Do you have a high number?’ Billy asked Danny. ‘We must answer the President’s call to fight for the world in Vietnam…why are we fighting?’ Danny asked. ‘It seems the least the President could do is give us a reason for dying young for his ego,’ Billy said softly. ‘I am off to Basic Training,’ Danny said as he waved goodbye.

‘We have won the war in Iran,’ President Trump said. ‘We control the Strait of Hormuz,’ PT continued. ‘We are fighting so the Iranians will not get a nuclear bomb,’ PT proclaimed. ‘Let me show you the latest photos of my New Ballroom,’ PT said with a dance in his step.

The Mallard quacked as he swam across Brooks Pond. The Mourning Dove sang. The Downy Woodpecker kept the syncopation. Tomorrow is a New World if we can keep it.

‘July is almost gone; back to school in August,’ Jane said. ‘Where did the summer go?’ Jane moaned. ‘We have not taken our big adventure, and it is Dog Days,’ Jane laughed. ‘I think Cave In Rock Cave would be an excellent summer conquest,’ Jane announced. ‘I hear there is a secret passage that no one has returned from,’ Jane winked. ‘We shall take the passage and discover the mystery,’ Jane danced. ‘Some say the passage in the cave is a time tunnel,’ Jane noted. ‘Perhaps we will be transported to the time of Homer’s Odyssey,’ Jane proclaimed!

‘When you turn your flashlight out, it is pitch dark,’ Chet remarked. ‘I attached twine at the entrance so we can follow it out of the cave,’ Chet continued. ‘Buddy did some spelunking here in 1978 and was never heard from again, Chet observed. ‘He wore a Miner’s helmet with a light on top,’ Chet said. ‘The Helmet was found with the lamp still burning,’ Chet said softly. ‘This is the Tunnel of Mystery that Buddy took,’ Chet commented as they entered. ‘Look to your right; there is a path veering off the main walkway that has ancient Greek artifacts and another path to the left, which looks like it leads to the 1920s,’ Chet said excitedly. ‘Straight ahead is Hillcrest School,’ Chet noted just before they fell.

‘Here we are; it is August, and we are back at school,’ Jane said with a forlorn look. Why didn’t we take the path to ancient Greece or the 1920s?’ Jane asked.

‘Look out the window for a surprise,’ Chet laughed.

Ancient Greece was laid out in all of its splendor in the window facing right, and the 1920s were displayed outside the left window. A ball of twine was on each of their desks.

The crickets are singing. A mower hums in the distance. Over 20 different birds sing their evening songs. Evening Songs are special. Songs of joy and peace at the end of the day. Songs of hope for tomorrow. Songs coming from minds and hearts, throats and chests we think little of in our quest for perfection. The Bullfrog Quartet appreciates the melodious songs of the diverse bird family. The singers are from across the country and the world, singing around Brooks Pond. They think not of the artificial borders of humans.
Theirs is the joy of living. They want to tell all who will listen about the ecstasy!

We are singers singing the songs of our lives. From Blow The Man Down to Brother Can You Spare a Dime. We want to be heard in the vast void. For a moment we were here. We lived and loved. We laughed and cried. We lived and died. As the old song says, we were looking for a city where we would never die. We looked for a city where we would never have to say goodbye.

The Bullfrogs are preparing for their performance. Their hearts are full of joy for the Earth as they see it from their vantage point. The sun is setting, and the animal kingdom is fine with that. Soon it will be time to put the kids to bed. Perhaps some hot chocolate and a leftover scone from morning. Mrs. Beaver has a new book, ‘Humans and How to Understand Them.’ Mr. Beaver is drawing up additional plans for the Dam of 2026. The trees have peculiar shadows. Red and gold among the green.

The days are getting shorter. With our best efforts, we cannot pull the reins in time to stop it. We speak of a month as a day, a year as a month. We jump from the cradle onto the tricycle to the car to the adult tricycle. We are in the middle of the Secret.

What seems a mystery on page 2 of our story is clear by page 22. How did we climb to the top of the hill only to slide down the other side? We spend our lives in quiet search of the Secret. In those halcyon days of our beginning, we understood the Secret. Our eyes were wide with wonder. Our hearts were full of the joy of knowing. The journey was ours; we were ready. There was a mission to complete; we chose to accept it. The mission was integral to the Heavens and the Earth. We were essential. It was going to be a quick mission. The Secret required dedication, diligence, and determination. We were up for the task. The briefing was inspiring. Understanding what lay at stake was sobering. Laugh the lusty laugh of the newborn! What a ride we had joined!

The Old Man saw the Secret in a glimpse at dusk. He remembered and smiled. He had been a quiet watcher of the Secret for years. Fifty years ago, he knew the mission would be short. At times, his role in the mission to find the Secret was clear. Other times the skies were cloudy and grey. For short times, he forgot the mission. Then a dream would inspire him. He dressed in his explorer clothes and set out once again.

There are chapters of seeking the Secret. At times the Coach has you on the Bench resting for the next performance. Reflection is good for seeking. Then words are said that stir the heart of the Old Man. Memories return like a flood. There is a reason we are here. We have a purpose. Our time on the Stage is now. The Costume Shop has our unique theatre regalia and a second set in case we lose the first. A good Costumer is always ready. The Playwright brings us our lines. We laugh the lusty laugh of the newborn as we enter stage left.

Hot is the word of the day. The kind of heat that you perspire in sitting. The rainwater from a week ago has dried up in the Woods Creek. Brooks Pond is looking good. It was up a lot last week. As I listened to a podcast about Monsters, I was intrigued by democracy and being subject to the will of the majority. I love our democratic form of government, but we are at the mercy of people who are ill-informed or ill-intentioned. Thus, we are at the mercy of a President whom the majority of the country does not support.

We introverts are loners. We like to go our own way, dance to the tune of our own drummers. Loners stand out on committees. We are not afraid to have a divergent opinion. Groupthink is not our forte. We are comfortable being on the outside looking in.

Loners are valuable to society, churches, and governments. People who are not interested in going along to get along, and yet not those who cry fire in a crowded theatre. Christ was a loner. He did not fit in with the religious leaders of his day, nor with the political leaders. Jesus spoke of a radical faith. A faith based on inclusion and poor people, sinners, and winebibbers. Jesus spent time with lepers. He ate at the humble tables of fishermen. He sought the counsel of the voiceless and nameless, those who had no voice.

Our Chancellor was fired many years ago, and I stood up and said the firing was without cause. She was a breath of fresh air on our Campus. She loved the blue-collar staff and emphasised their importance to the University. My job and my staff were threatened by the administration. I did not back down. Principle meant more than a job to me. Speaking out against the popular crowd came naturally. I had been invited into the inner sanctum a time or two but chose not to enter. I had to look at myself in the mirror.

I liked Bozo the Clown as a child in Chicago. He seemed eternally happy, upbeat, and fun. George Costanza, a Baby Boomer, extolled the virtue of Bozo to a clown at a birthday party who felt inferior to Bozo on a Seinfeld episode. George ran from a kitchen fire and knocked over women and children while the clown at the party put the fire out with his big shoe. When my family moved to Southern Illinois, I was sad there was no Bozo on television.

Kramer of Seinfeld was afraid of clowns. I can relate. After Bozo, no clown measured up. What was going on behind the Grease Paint? What evil lurked just beyond the lapel flower that squirted you with water? What did the clowns talk about when they were off duty?

Politicians wear the big red noses of Clown College, the makeup, the wide painted-on smile in our time. Their happy yet malevolent countenance fools a lot of folks. They want to increase affordability, bring down prices, and keep us out of foreign wars. They are for the Little People. ‘Give us a chance, and you will not be sorry; you will get tired of winning,’ Politicians say.

Clowns are tricky. Just about the time they have worked hard and stayed on the straight and narrow, a Clown Car comes along, and they run to jump in.

We are old; we are new. Each day a chapter. A new chapter begins in the morning. What a thrill, what a kick! Whatever yesterday brought, tomorrow is another day, Scarlett told us in Gone With the Wind. Not one life but thousands. Each day we write a New Story. Unconnected from what came before. We jump on the Heavenly Trampoline. We jump through the clouds. We are lighter than air. We need weighted shoes.

We write our New Story each morning. Today we will enjoy a safari. Marlin Perkins of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom will lead the group. We will see lions and tigers and bears, oh my! No fear, no doubts or regrets. The Story of Our Life Today will be Adventure!

‘Age is a word as is old,’ Chet said. ‘Our minds are as young as we were when we were classmates in Eldorado,’ Chet noted. ‘Whatever we choose to do, we can do,’ Chet danced and laughed. ‘Each day is a new life; the limits are our imaginations,’ Chet winked. ‘Today we will follow Ponce De Leon as he seeks the Fountain of Youth.

‘Yesterday I was the serious kid in the class photo worrying about my Mom and her health,’ Billy B said. ‘A female classmate told me that she believed I would be carrying a briefcase one day and be the leader of a large organization,’ Billy B continued. ‘I laughed like Sara of the Old Testament, but I did not forget her words and decided that this might indeed happen if I wanted it to,’ Billy B mused.

‘Have you noticed Chet often begins floating above the ground, and if outside, he floats away?’ Jane said. ‘Thelma bought him some weighted shoes that keep him near the Earth but not on it,’ Jane explained. ‘Whenever he thinks of the next day of his life, he begins to float with excitement at the possibilities,’ Jane laughed.

Monsters fascinated me as a lad. Whether Frankenstein, Dracula, or Aliens. My cousin Billy subscribed to Monster Magazines. They were full of movie monsters, old and new, in the early 60s. Billy had a Creature From the Black Lagoon realistic Head and Hands. I wore them in an 8-millimeter film we shot. The monsters highlighted many of society’s ills. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The movie was about giant pods becoming human replicas of people in the town they had invaded, taking their form and killing the person. The replacements showed no emotion. Another movie with similar overtones is Pluribus, where aliens have captured all but seven humans, thereby giving them hive-like knowledge. The people they can not take over is the conundrum and the focus of the television series.

The Salem Witch Trials resulted in the execution of several innocent people on the word of excitable young women. We quickly demonize what we do not understand. Angst causes us to seek a release from our stress of living with real monsters.

‘Well, Frankenstein was at the Orpheum Theatre last Sunday,’ Chet said. ‘Frank noted that Halloween is coming up soon,’ Chet continued. ‘He is preparing to dress as Mitch McConnell,’ Chet explained. ‘Frankenstein laughed when he mused on the surprise people will have on their faces when they see him in his Mitch McConnell costume,’ Chet continued. ‘The Senator has had speculation as to whether he is brain dead or dead,’ Chet explained. ‘It seems AI photos are circulating of him on the internet,’ Chet offered.

‘I saw the President the other day; I swear he had fangs like Dracula,’ Jane said with a shiver. ‘He was discussing his Bitcoin earnings and validating that the billion dollars he had earned since he has been President was normal and perfectly within the law. ‘He said his participation in Bitcoin had boosted the industry,’ Jane remarked.

‘Joe is not himself these days; he mumbles about America First and believes if you are homeless it is your fault,’ Neva J said. ‘Joe was a giving person and participated in food pantry drives and funding for homeless shelters,’ Neva J continued. ‘He invited immigrants and believed the United States was a Melting Pot,’ Neva J said.