There is a hint of fall in the air this evening. The long, hot summer is tired from the heat. It is time for all good summers to rest and reflect. Summer began with gusto and purpose. There were kids to entertain and Memorial Day to cook out and relax. Swimming and the pool or pond became the rhythm of the day. It was a jazz beat. Moscow Muels and no Putin involved. There was Disney World and matiness. Hamburgers from Moo and Cackle and Oscar Mayer Weiners. Thoughts of fulfillment on Treasure Island or adventure on the Island of Dr. Moreau. Edgar Allen Poe was there with his melancholy stare. Nevermore, the Raven said. It is almost time for the State Fair. There will be Monroe’s Taffy and funnel cake. The Headless Man and a sense of mystery and forboding around every corner. The trip of the year to the Fair. The adventure of the summer. The Carny said you should come on Sunday, as Labor Day is the end of the Fair, and we like to close early.

The Governor is usually the leader of the Fair Parade, but this year it is our local hero, Glenn, who was almost Governor. Glenn is a poet. He helps kids. He has a sense of place.

The nice lady at the Cigar Store told me that the donation jar was for her son. He wanted to see the Ocean. He is sick. The Old Man had tears in his eyes.

Neva J sang, ‘She will be coming around the mountain when she comes.’ I was looking for her and the mountain. Now I see her in the distance. My goodness, she is riding six white horses.

The Turkey Family was relocating yesterday at the Woods. What an impressive processional. They were headed for a different spot to call home. They were living near the entrance of the Park next to a busy road. Often, cars stopped to see why the turkey crossed the road.

Grandma is walking the dog this evening. Her walk is patient and with purpose. Grandson must be doing his homework. The Bullfrog Quartet is tuning their instruments. It is near the curtain opening.

Someone said we see through a glass darkly. With Windex, the glass gets clearer. Listen for the squeak of cleanliness. The kids are shutting their books…there is still time to catch fireflies in memory of summer gone.

It is hotter, and I am older. A poor combination. I saw my first 100 degrees today on the Subaru’s thermostat. This has been a summer to remember. One of my hiking trails had been cleared this morning, so I took advantage of it. On the narrow trail, the Old Man was truly Woods Walking. When I returned from the thicket, the man was clearing the path. I waved and he smiled. He was hot, and so was I. It is said that people in Hell want ice water.

My side table is on its way. We old folks like a little table next to our easy chair to put stuff on. It is a big part of our happiness. I have always loved little tables. In symmetry is beauty. I stopped by my favorite Antiques Store today and purchased three small items. A little Superman statue. A Troll for Jaime. A tiny green water pitcher made from Weller Pottery. The lady checking me out said I had a diverse assortment.

Journeys throughout the fall and winter. A visit with my brother and his wife, who is like my sister, and their family. Alton to see what we can see, and a train adventure to New Orleans. Plus, some medical appointments in St. Louis, which have been woven into the fabric of MJ and my life since we retired. Pastor Kerry is retiring at the end of the year. We will miss him. He has a sweet spirit and a welcoming attitude. His sense of humor is priceless.

There are Coming Attractions. This is the first day of the rest of our lives. A comfortable manner to negotiate life is to welcome change. I am not the person I was 20 years ago or 40 years ago. Life brings the downy softness of a featherbed and the hardness of a stone pillow. It is the Stone Pillow that makes our necks hurt. When we are given the Stone Pillow for Christmas, we seek to exchange it the day after. It is too firm. The store person tells us that we can not return the Stone Pillow without a reason other than Spite. We say that it does not fit our head and neck. The store clerk gets the manager, and he kindly informs us that we can not return the Stone Pillow purely for Spite and that we already said that Spite was our reason. The manager goes on to say that many of their customers like the Stone Pillow and have given them as gifts for Christmas. ‘We know,’ we reply. Seinfeld told us so.

Our Stone Pillow takes many forms. Bitterness is a Stone Pillow. Jealousy is another Stone Pillow. Worry is the king-size Stone Pillow. It seems the Department Store Manager was right. Upon investigation, I have discovered that many people prefer the Stone Pillow. With the Stone Pillow, the wrongs they have suffered are as close as their head. When they awake in the morning with a headache, they feel justified in their suffering. After all, with all they have suffered, they should sleep poorly.

‘Stone Pillows are the ticket to a happy life,’ the Leader said. ‘We have been screwed and hurt by foreign countries and the undesirables in our country,’ the Leader continued. ‘The immigrants are taking our good fruit-picking jobs,’ the Leader continued. ‘If your neck hurts from a Stone Pillow, it is not the true Americans’ fault but people from Shit Hole Countries,’ the Leader admonished.

I found that the love of Christ is demonstrated through our fellow humans. The Bible is a magical, mystical book full of promises of peace. The Bible was written by men for all people as a roadmap to peace. For 57 years, I have come to realize that God’s work is truly our own.

Once we decide that we do not want war anymore, we can effect change. Presidents and Kings are only human. We are surrounded by humans. Our problems have been caused by us, and we can change the trajectory of killing and hunger, want and deprivation. We need not look for a Heavenly Calvary but Peacemakers on Earth.

We are frozen in place, waiting for someone else to do the job. We watch suffering all around us and wonder where the Shock Troops are. Elected leaders are sent to their offices by us.

‘So I think that genocide is a war crime no matter who does it,’ Chet said. ‘When you starve a people, including women and children, to death in the name of retaliation for wrongs they have done you…you have lost the battle,’ Chet observed. ‘God sees all humanity as his children…to believe anything less than this is a prescription for disaster,’ Chet said with tears in his eyes.

How do we kill our way to Peace? How do we murder, maim, and brutalize people to cause them to want to see things our way? How is it that a nation murdered children last night to talk about Peace today?

We work to live and pay our rent. We must go to the grocery store and pay our taxes. Our medicine is getting increasingly expensive with no end in sight. Congress passes legislation that is punitive to poor people. Yet many say that this must be God’s will.

The President said this morning that we have the greatest weapons in the world…but what if there is no one left to admire them?

When is there enough killing? When will the photos of babies with bloated bellies repel us enough to do something about their condition?

We live in a rich nation and yet plead poverty when it comes to helping the poor. We have plenty of money for another missile or tank, but the hungry are on their own.

Soon we will have expelled thousands of hard-working immigrants. We old folks will have to get our farming clothes on and prepare to pick apples…

The Old Man noticed on his Walk Through the Woods that the leaves were changing. September is getting closer. When I got into the Subaru to drive home, the thermometer said 110. Arizona weather. We are searching for the oasis in the desert. We have not had to break any cactus open yet.

The University begins classes on Monday. The Halloween store is open in the mall. Change is afoot. Mylo feels it and barks at it in the wee hours of the morning. MJ is watching the Cubs and the Phillies. She is a baseball aficionado. Home is a solace in troubled times. Health is vital and fleeting. We think of it like the Sun coming up in the morning. Sometimes it does not come up. We visit with each other, not realizing we are seeing God in the eyes of the person we visit. Our eyes tell the story of our walk back to Jerusalem. The world can be seen in a person’s eyes.

‘Move along, miss, you are an eyesore and a detraction to the beauty of the city,’ the officer said. ‘We are under orders to clean up the streets and provide a scenic atmosphere to all the tourists,’ the Officer continued. ‘I realize you have nowhere to go, that you are homeless, but the government says that your problem of shelter is not their problem,’ the Officer said with tears in his eyes.

Holidays are coming. The ‘Ber’ months will be here in two weeks. My time of year! My favorite third of the year. We seek the Peacemakers. Those who will speak peace to troubled minds. People who work for unity and solidarity rather than division over petty cultural differences. Christmas is coming, and it is not too early to say it. The Prince of Peace was born in a nondescript barn surrounded by animals. The leaders of the day knew nothing of his arrival. The rich of the day continued to count their money and rejoice that they were not poor. Some Wisemen and Shepherds knew. The oxen and lambs knew. The Star of Bethlehem knew. So it goes. The Peacemakers are on their way and indeed are here now. Look for the Peacmakers. Listen to what they say. The winds of change are blowing, and the leaves are changing.

I love rocks. I snap endless photos of rocks and boulders, and cliffs at the Woods. The tale they tell is endless. This morning, I saw inscribed on a rock CCC, which stands for the Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC was responsible for most of the buildings at Giant City State Park, just a few miles from my home. My father-in-law and his twin brother both worked for the CCC at Giant City and are in a photo in the Dining Room entrance of the Lodge. Of course, the story is thousands of years old, which is told by the sandstone. Water has shaped the stone, molded it over many years.

So it goes with our lives. Problems that seem immovable and permanent are transformed by the steady drip of time. The only certainty is that things change. Whatever mountain you encounter is changing before your eyes. God is systematic and orderly. His time is not our time. Change is on the way.

We are flesh, blood, and bone. We are temporary. Leaders who frighten us will not always be leaders. Illness that buffets us will not always do so. Relationships that hurt or perplex are feeling the drip, drip, drip of the revealing water.

Waiting is something that does not come naturally. Waiting is, however, necessary. Most things in life require waiting. We watch from our bubble at the other bubbles. Inside, we see our neighbors and colleagues living their sheltered lives. How will we ever understand each other if we remain in our bubbles? Some of the bubbles want the entire world to be Christian. The Jewish and Muslim Bubbles have a different idea. The Bubbles who want the world to follow Christ expect them to follow in the manner that they do. The Christian Nationalists have a particular idea of this type of Christianity.

Violence and fiery rhetoric have become commonplace when describing the political party we are not a member of. Many Bubbles have become inflamed with their own peculiar doctrine. They believe that they are on a mission from God to destroy all those who do not see the world as they do.

We wait for the promise of the human family. Not poking each other’s eyes out until we are all blind. Peacemakers are coming. Many are here, and more are on the way.

‘It does not have to be this way,’ the Preacher said. ‘God did not intend the constant fighting,’ the Preacher continued. ‘The Peacemaker is hunted now but not always,’ the Preacher promised. ‘God loves all people,’ the Preacher noted with a smile. ‘We are hidden in the Woods now, but not for long,’ the Preacher said. ‘The brokenhearted will be made whole and nothing will hurt or destroy,’ the Preacher promised.

Southern Illinois University students are moving in. It is an exciting time. They look increasingly younger. The vision of an old man. During my over 32-year career, this was the Olympics of University Life. Nothing was more important than our precious students’ first impression. We who were part of the University Community knew that we were a part of its glory and grace. We wanted to welcome our newest members to the family.

So, we look ahead to see what lies around the next corner. We remember who we were at the beginning of 2025. We want to build on that foundation. Time is changing before our eyes. Those who watch us know that we are evolving. We think we are staying the same, but we are not. The mirror tells the physical story that our inner self is hidden from us. The ‘Ber’ months are full of plans. Jennifer has been a bright light in 2025. Smart, sweet, and kind, she is a pleasure to be around. We continue our quest for meaning. It is a daily journey. Soon will be Labor Day. The end of summer is for practical purposes. Another cookout is in the planning. Perhaps pork chops will be on the menu. I love being retired. It is the best job I have ever had. The close of 2025 will be 15 years.

The media would have us focus outwardly. Nothing is wrong with that until it causes neglect of our souls. For lack of time or purpose, our hearts go untested. There is more than a good job. Money does not buy happiness. The poor among us seek to survive. Hungry children wonder why there is no food for them. Who is in and who is out politically is of little matter when you are hungry.

‘Buba lives on a can of pork-and-beans,’ Earl said of Neva J’s brother Gene. ‘He works cutting limbs out of trees and painting houses, but has little to show for it and not enough to eat,’ Earl continued. ‘He sleeps on a cot in a shack,’ Early noted. ‘I have asked Buba to take dinner with us as often as he likes,’ Earl said. ‘He says that he is satisfied with meager fare and does not want to intrude,’ Earl said. ‘Buba is a proud man who works every day and has nothing to hang his head about,’ Earl said quietly.

‘Murph’ breakfast, lunch, and dinner consist of a hamburger from Mr. Munchy’s restaurant next to his flop house where he lives, Neva J said. ‘Murph is disabled from World War II,’ Neva J continued. ‘Murph asks nothing from family or friends,’ Neva J explained. ‘He comes from the Greatest Generation and expects to provide for himself,’ Neva J said softly. ‘I have never seen Murph without a smile and a positive attitude,’ Neva J assured.

‘Laura Lynn is about ‘Hit’ Velma said with a wide smile. She and her husband Junior lived in a little more than a shack. All of Laura Lynn’s baby teeth were blackened with decay. She was a lovely little girl.

Perhaps this fall we will find answers to life’s persistent questions. There will be Halloween parties and group discussions of Ichabod Crane. Houses will be festooned in orange and black lights. We will bob for apples and enjoy hayrides and hot apple cider. The leaves will turn, and we will take photos. Warm thoughts of the holidays will fill our heads. This will be the prelude to the two big holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas. We will thank God for our freedom and not concern ourselves with those who made us free. November, December, and January Holiday trips are planned. It is enough to make your head twirl.

My dear friend is home from the hospital. I am so happy.

Great things are around the corner. We are all members of a mission that we have yet to fulfill. I have the same zeal and determination to perform the mission of life as I did when I was twenty. We are coming to the corner quickly. What is our reality today will change as we choose to accept our mission and not let the reel-to-reel tape recording burn up, as in the television show Mission Impossible. Our time is here; this is our moment. We choose to accept the mission.

After watching the excellent horror movie Weapons, I think of mind control. I wonder at the psychology of cults. How do you convince a rational person to accept irrationality? When did lying to another human being become a daily occurrence on a mass scale? How do we stop believing what our lying eyes tell us and accept an alternate reality? When did our brains shut off?

Contrary to popular belief, cults appeal to both educated and uneducated individuals alike. We listen for words that support our bias and conspiracy theories. When we hear supporting rhetoric, we want to hear more. The mystery of how one leader’s fever dream can become many’s reality is difficult to understand. It is a bit of a Spell or Hex. Some magic was involved to lead so many to follow and fight for something that is based on a lie and against their own interest.

What causes prejudice, bias, and demonization of people who are not white by the majority white race? There is no logical answer. Prejudice is taught from generation to generation. Bias is born in ignorance and hate. Some of the nicest people to me during my University career were black. Many of my friends are black. I am honored to be their friend.

I think we must have the Spirit of the Lemming. It is said that lemmings will follow each other off a cliff, committing suicide. This bizarre behaviour has been exhibited in several cults. The Heaven’s Gate Cult committed mass suicide in a mansion in Rancho Santa Fe, California.

‘Class was disrupted today when Tommy C and Buckley got into a fight,’ Chet said. ‘They both were sent to the principal’s office,’ Chet continued. ‘Buckley fights dirty,’ Chet observed. ‘He had brass knuckles in his pocket,’ Chet informed. ‘Buckley opened a bloody gash over Tommy C’s eye, and he could not see to fight,’ Chet intoned. ‘Tommy C said that the next time he would break into his father’s gun cabinet and bring a pistol,’ Chet shuddered. ‘I think the violence is only beginning,’ Chet observed. ‘What if kids who have access to guns begin thinking it is alright to settle their differences with bullets,’ Chet asked softly. ‘There are guns in almost every rural home and Americans love their right to bear arms afforded to them by the Constitution…who are the weapons…the guns or have we weaponized our children,’ Chet said with tears in his eyes.

Inevitably, it had to arrive. Time to go back to school. Days full of swimming at Pounds Hollow and Moo and Cackle hamburgers had to end for the sake of academics. There was paper to purchase and pencils, and a box of Crayola Crayons for Art. Paste was essential, although I never understood why, and kids who ate it made me ill. The desk was neat. The compartment for holding all of your scholarly treasures was under the desktop, and it lifted on hinges. It provided a good place to hide from the teacher for short periods. The morning milk was the coldest I had ever drunk. You pulled a lever with a steel ball on the end as big as your fist. There was morning recess, noon recess, and afternoon recess. At times, the teacher threw in another recess for good measure.

A pretty little blonde girl sat across from me on my first day. Soon, I noticed a puddle under her chair, and the teacher asked her if she needed to go to the restroom. She did. Chet wore his hat to his desk. The teacher told him each morning to not wear his hat in the house and to hang it to the cloak room.

Neva J told me to give school a try and to see how I liked it. When I returned home from the first day, I said I had tried it and would not be returning. She said, ‘Oh, Kid, you will be going to school for a long time.’ I discovered she was right. Cursive was a big deal in school. Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, you will recall. We practiced our cursive a lot. Also, multiplication tables. All the way through 12 had to be known by heart. Memorization was stressed. I memorized The Night Before Christmas and quoted it often at family gatherings. Work at the blackboard was vital. We did some every day. I admired the teacher’s cursive on the blackboard.

It was hot as Hades on the playground when school resumed in August. The metal monkey bars could not be touched without burning. In those halcyon days, it was believed that cold air was good for kids and adults alike. So the monkey bars went from hot to icy.

The principal spoke to us from the intercom. Inspiring moments for young minds or Fuzzy Memories. It was through the intercom that the principal announced to us that President Kennedy had been assassinated. School stopped early, and I walked home. Neva J was crying. She loved JFK. I wondered if he was a member of our family. I watched the funeral on TV. I saw Lee Harvey Oswald being killed by Jack Ruby on live television. I was six years old and knew that there was more to the story than we were being told.

The War in Vietnam was on TV nightly. The death count was nightly. No one seemed to be for it. The poor boys sent to fight had no choice because of the Draft. President Johnson told us we were just around the corner from winning. Defense Secretary McNamra said the same. General Westmorland assured us that with a few thousand more troops we would have victory. Fifty-thousand sodiers died in Vietnam.

It is another summer day in the neighborhood. The grass mowers and weed eaters are out. We have gone from very wet to extremely dry in a few weeks. Such is life in our neck of the woods. Time is not standing still. It is racing forward. School has begun, and University will start next week. People are living their regular lives despite their political leaders.

It seems that our elected representatives believe us a bit slow. They tell us what they want us to believe and expect us to eat it with a spoon and ask for seconds. Usually, political rhetoric that does not mesh with on-the-ground reality is a bit strange. This is the recipe for Town Hall Meetings where the Politician seems to be in a different world than their constituents.

We do not live in a bubble. Stale air. We live and work in a diverse community. There are no easy answers to complex questions. The President said he wants the homeless in Washington, D.C., removed from the streets. In other words, hide our country’s shame.

Barbecue time is still here. Grilling steaks, chops, and sausages is fun and delicious. Pounds Hollow is still open for swimming. The Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs are in the cooler along with some Merlot. Neva J insisted. Many of the first days of school are morning sessions, leaving the afternoon open for the Hollow. Chet is going to wear his Lost In Space Robot Costume as a tool of adventure for the August beachcombers. Chet is certain it will be good for a laugh. The Civil Rights Movement, led by Dr. Martin Luther King, is going to march on Washington, D.C. ‘Segregation is wrong,’ Chet said as he pulled on his Lost In Space Robot Suit. ‘All men are created equal is the standard we must live by,’ Chet intoned.

‘Look at the teachers swimming in the lake,’ Jane said. ‘I thought this afternoon was Teacher’s Workshop,’ Jane continued. ‘They seem to be having a wonderful time,’ Jane observed. ‘Maybe the Workshop concluded early or was cancelled…or is this swim afternoon the Workshop?’ Jane ruminated. ‘Perhaps they are studying human interaction in bathing suits,’ Jane laughed. ‘Principal S’s face is very red and he is sipping something out of a brown paper bag,’ Jane observed. ‘Each time he takes a sip, he grins from ear to ear,’ Jane chuckled. ‘He looks to have the Christmas Spirit in August,’ Jane pointed out.

‘There is Buddy’s mom with Mr. U lying on a beach blanket,’ Billy B observed. ‘They appear to know each other well,’ Billy B winked. ‘Buddy’s mom is whispering something in Mr. U’s ear, and he is looking alarmed,’ Billy B continued. ‘Buddy’s mom is quickly gathering her stuff and putting it into a beach bag, and is leaving while Mr. U watches her,’ Billy B grinned.

‘That does not compute,’ Chet said from inside his Lost In Space Robot Costume.