There are few places more dear than home after a long battle. We seek the excitement of the outer reaches and lands that have not been explored. We have been to Oz and back and agree with Dorothy that there is no place like home. In early days, I considered that home was a place to lay my head. Now it is a place to understand the thoughts in my head.

‘I am happy to be back from the hospital,’ Billy B said with a wide smile. ‘The ambulance driver told his partner that this kid is not going to make it,’ Billy B recounted. ‘Neva J told him not to say that, and Billy B was going to make it,’ Billy B assured. ‘I saw home in a new light when I returned,’ Billy B said quietly. ‘Chicken Soup tasted good with a glass of 7Up,’ Billy B laughed. ‘The nurses stuck me with so many needles that I felt like a pin cushion,’ Billy B laughed. ‘There were so many shots to give me that they stuck them in my hips,’ Billy B winked. ‘At first I was embarrassed, but there were so many over several days that I got used to it and the nurses did as well,’ Billy B noted. ‘A kind lady visited me one night and told me that I was going to be alright…I think it was my Guardian Angel,’ Billy B said with feeling.

We have a Story…we are a Story. The narrative of our life is known in Heaven. God reads it and smiles. There is work and bills to pay, and there is Life. Life is sweeter than honey from the rock. Summer is winding down, even though it has over a month to completion. There is an urgency in our steps. Something is coming. The Winds are blowing in something new. As we walk up the mountain, we can not see the summit. When we arrive, perhaps we will all be surprised. We begin our Story each morning with a clean sheet of paper. We write it as we go. Politic is a thin veneer. It covers what is real. Leaders have little to do with our Story. We own our Story. We are the authors and the final editors. What our grandchildren read is what we wrote. We must speak of home. Let us speak of a sense of place.

Those with troubled souls rage against the night. It is dark in their heart, and they assume it is dark in ours. There is a better life than acquiring wealth and power. There is the Story of the Journey. Why are we here, and where are we going? It is time for our part in the Theatrical Performance. The packed house awaits. The spotlight is on us. It is time to add a page to our Story.

We men are proficient in rhetoric. Women deal with reality. Men mimic the tropes of courage and power while women live them daily. Courage is seldom broadcast. Power comes from the quiet. Purpose comes from those amid the battle. ‘The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong…’

Sunday has arrived. Life moves forward incrementally and rapidly. It is an interesting paradox. I marvel at the great photos Jennifer takes. She has a photographer’s eye for detail. I take photos daily. I want to know if I was there at the moment of the day. When we reflect on the past, it seems like a dream. Did I really carry a 22-inch all-metal buffer up two flights of steps? Did I catch 500-pound carpet rolls at the Furniture store and then lift my end with the store owner lifting the other? Did I crawl on my knees all day assisting my friend Brent to lay carpet?

The Geese are talking shop on Sunday. I love to hear the honks. MJ is making chili in honor of fall coming. I bought a red pepper. The cashier said Only one? I thought of telling her that if she were coming to dinner, I would have purchased two. There is a cult called the Rationalist. ‘Its members seek to use rationality to avoid cognitive biases. Common interests include probability, effective altruism, transhumanism, and mitigating existential risk from artificial intelligence.’ So it goes in our human family’s search for meaning and truth.

The Old Man walked in the Woods today. He often does. He thought of matters great and small. He thought of his friend who is searching for meaning. He thought of his friend who is sick. The Old Man wondered how he could help. The Geese are talking about the future.

‘Well, it is still warm and the sun is high in the sky…with the changing weather patterns, it is becoming difficult to decide when to fly north,’ Greta Goose said.’It seems the humans have mucked it up for the rest of us,’ Greta Goose observed. ‘Some of the swallows have already taken flight for Capistrano,’ Greta noted. ‘I like the
Brooks Pond is peaceful and has no predators,’ Greta Goose said with a wide grin. ‘Great Blue Heron is nice and keeps to himself while his kid Little White Heron is mischievous but fun,’ Greta laughed. ‘The other day I threw Little White Heron a fish and he caught it in his beak,’ Greta said. ‘Beryl Beaver is busy building is dam,’ Greta observed with a sly grin. ‘He greets me fondly each morning as he is carrying his lunch box to the Pond,’ Greta said. ‘BB is busy throughout the day and has little time for small talk,’ Greta Goose laughed.

‘I must finish the dam,’ Beryl Beaver said as he swam across Brooks Pond with a mouth full of twigs. ‘Something big is coming, and I have to finish my work,’ BB said with a sigh. ‘There is an ill wind blowing and I must do my part,’ Beryl Beaver said. ‘A storm is coming,’ BB observed with a serious look.

We seek the answer on the long walk home. Soon, the apples will be in season. Apple pie and apple cider, and cool nights. Bobbing for apples in October. Young love and old people smiling. The Grand Performance is playing out before our eyes. The fireplaces will be warm and welcome rest and reflection. The geese will have flown south. The Beaver will have built his dam. We will place another quilt on the bed to warm us against the Ill Wind.

There are days when you just don’t feel so good. Yesterday was one of those days. In the middle of the night, I discovered I had a bug that had crawled through my digestive tract, seeking devastation. Today I am almost back. So it goes in the height of our revelry when all is right with the world. A trail in the Woods called my name. I thoroughly enjoyed it in my diminished capacity. A snake was in my path with its head raised, looking at me. He was so still that I passed by without his moving. He was silent, and so was I. I loved going to the Orpheum Theatre as a lad and especially the Coming Attractions. These were movies that I planned to see in the future. Such is life. A transition is coming. Summer will segue into fall. Our clothing will change. We will change. No longer short-sleeved shirts and shorts unless you are in the United Kingdom, where men wear shorts in the winter. School has begun in many of our rural towns and hamlets. Our year is winding down. Time is a mystery. It is a rushing stream with white caps. There are rocks in the water and undertow to avoid. We see on the horizon. Our destination is before us, but there is the middle of the journey.

We carry a memory with us. Some live while some came with the package. How do we understand that we are equal? We are not better than our peers; we are not worse. We are on this journey together. Time and chance happen to us all. The sky is azure blue, with fluffy white clouds. At times, it is hard to find your place. We all see the world through separate eyes. The world I see is not the world you see. Life has colored our perspective through the kaleidoscope. Some see the Cubs as a great ball team while others see the Loveable Losers. Increasingly, our economy is controlled by the 5%. We want to get ahead, but bumping our heads on the ceiling hurts.

We watch the Influencers and try to pattern after them. Often, there is no correlation. We are two separate people traveling the same path. It is time for the final vacations. If school has not started, it will in a few days. Time to go to the mountains or the lake. Time to plan Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas Holidays. We are still together. This is a mysterious miracle. The old who were not old and the young who were recently babies. MJ, Ron, and I sat at the old table at Christmas dinner 15 years ago. Now we are old. The kids are grown and have their own. There is more to this ‘Time Thing’ than we understand. What a ride of magic and adventure. None of this was in the Manual. There was no advice on how you feel as you transition to the Coming Attractions.

Earl often said the days are getting longer just after Christmas. He would peer out his kitchen window and observe the lengthening of the sunlight each evening. I could not discern a difference from one day to the next, but Earl could. So I do notice the days getting shorter. I love short days and long nights. The campfires of Halloween and the Yuletide Parties of the Holidays, with hot chocolate and hot apple cider. Ichabod Crane did not run from the Headless Horseman and get his Pumpkin Head thrown at him on an August night.

Comfort and security calls as the evening lengthens. The day is done, and tomorrow has yet to arrive. The good ones and the not-so-good are in the books for history to judge. The bullfrogs are tuning up for their performance. The little boy walks his dog. School is starting. Jill is over to watch the Cubs with MJ. Thoughts drift to the cookout on Labor Day. Southern Illinois University is tearing down its Greek Row. My first job was to clean Thalman Hall, which is part of Greek Row. In those Halcyon Days of 1978, there were still several Fraternities and Sororities on The Row. In the evenings, the sounds of parties and mirth wafted through the air. I brought the St. Louis Globe Democrat to my foreman, Jim each evening. I would hear the front door open and soon see that the paper was gone and a University Van driving off. I was hired in October, with the chilly evenings, the smell of burning leaves, and plans for the future.

The rest of the year looks busy, MJ said. That is the way of the shorter days. Once September arrives, we know we have to stop fudging around and get done what a good woman and a good man should be doing. We thought we had a year, and here it is almost two-thirds over without warning. We have laid too much upon the table as our legislators do. We said another day as we danced and played our fiddles. What harm can come? We still have four months. The Bullfrog Quartet Leader passes around throat lozenges for the upcoming performance. The little dog peed quick. He and the little boy have returned to the cool confines of the house.

New challenges await, and we have not put the old challenges to bed. Home is where we are safe. Home lives in our bones. Problems come and then they go, but home endures. There will be many little things, but none captures our heart like home.

I have seen many raccoons at a distance, but today I saw one up close. He was enjoying his morning without a care in the world. Mr. Raccoon came close and said, ‘Nice weather we are having, if it wasn’t so hot.’What are you up to, kind sir,’ Mr. Racoon asked. ‘I have noticed you sitting on the picnic table or walking through our Woods snapping photos of all you see,’ Mr. Raccoon said. ‘I, sir, am a photographer myself and have been so most of my life,’ Mr. Raccoon said. ‘I have many children and thus many photo albums,’ Mr. Raccoon mentioned. ‘Tomorrow we are having a picnic by the lake and would like you to join us,’ Mr. Raccoon offered. ‘There will be the Deer and Wild Turkeys with many babies in tow,’ Mr. Raccoon said with a toothy grin. ‘The Snake family will be there with their five-alarm chili,’ Mr. Raccoon laughed. ‘It is the kind that would put Poppy in the hospital if he ate some,’ Mr. Raccoon giggled.

‘So you are a Seinfeld fan, I see,’ the Old Man said with a wink. ‘I never miss a rerun myself,’ the Old Man said with a dance. ‘Many times Seinfeld has been a comfort to me in difficult times,’ said Old Man. ‘I saw an Optometrist Office in the thicket,’ the Old Man noted. Who runs it,’ the Old Man asked.

‘That would be me, my good man, are you in need of new spectacles?’ Mr. Mold asked as he squinted. ‘My family has been in the optometry business for five generations and has fitted many humans with new glasses,’ Mr. Mole noted with aplomb. ‘We have an excellent guarantee if you can not see, come see me,’ Mr. Mole laughed so hard his sides hurt. ‘We fitted Mr. Magoo for a new set of Peepers every year…he is a famous cartoon star, you know, I am sure,’ Mr. Mole advised. ‘You will find that we animals get along with each other and wonder why you humans can not seem to dwell together…is it BO?’ Mr. Mole asked with a sly grin. ‘We have found that we accomplish much when we work together and forget our petty grievances,’ Mr. Mole said.

‘You will enjoy the picnic tomorrow, the Gnome said with a smile. ‘I am preparing my Hungarian Goulash,’ Gnome offered. ‘I brought the recipe with me from the Old Country,’ Gnome said. ‘My family and I love this Country, it has been so good to us,’ Gnome noted. ‘We were persecuted in our land and did not have the freedoms that the United States affords…we hope this is not going to change…we will be sad if it does,’ Gnome said with a tear in his eyes.

‘I neglected to mention that all of the members of Congress will be at the Picnic tomorrow, thanks to the Elf Magic,’ Mr. Racoon said with a grin. ‘We will eat in a magical spot in the Woods where the politicans will be loving and forgiving and will listen to each other as brothers and sisters,’ Mr. Raccoon said. ‘The Elves have been planning the Picnic all year, and it should be fun,’ Mr. Raccoon said as he danced on one foot and then the other.

‘It will be like nothing you have ever seen,’ Harry Elf said with a whistle…

Summer is not over. We had a tease last weekend; now reality bites. The Woods were an absence of people. The Old Man continued to snap photos. Thoughts swirl on a summer day. A butterfly lit on the Old Man’s hand and stayed. They conversed of things great and small. The meaning of life and their place in it. The mystery of life. The majesty of a sense of place and purpose. Mr. Butterfly was enjoying his day. He knew what to do and where to go. He studied the Old Man. What a big creature, he thought. He is big yet friendly, Mr. Butterfly considered. We can live in peace.

So it goes as we travel the rocky road, poor health, and the need for a Healer. One day we are robust and the next we need a physician. We walk through one door and are met with brilliant light, and the next day, a door leads us to darkness and a feeling of abandonment. Our human journey is full of these doors. The television show Let’s Make a Deal with Monty Hall was a game show about doors. Behind one door was a wonderful prize, while behind another door might be a donkey. It is a challenging way to plan a life. Yet here we are. The Healer makes the difference.

Jim Croce sang to us that there were planes to catch and bills to pay. We are caught unawares until the still, small voice of the Great Physician speaks a word of comfort in our ear. The Bible tells us that hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life. What a hope in the shadow of the valley of despair.

Neva J often told me that she would not accept Alzheimer’s Disease. She fought back. Yet the reality of her dementia or Alzheimer’s Disease was evident for all to see. Life is not for the faint of heart. We struggle against the night. The greatest accomplishments are performed by those who have challenges. Helen Keller did not let being blind, deaf, and unable to speak stop her. The Healer pierces the darkness.

We have today. Not tomorrow. Today is the day that the
Great Physician visits us. One touch of his hand and we are made whole. So we people of faith know someone created us. There is more than what we see with our eyes and hear with our ears. There is something beyond the Veil.

We play an important role in the production of Life On Earth.’ None of our theatrical roles is minor. Mr. Butterfly was playing his role this morning, and the Old Man appreciated the performance. My dear friend John was dying of cirrhosis of the liver. A little plant a well-wisher sent him spoke to his heart. John said that he observed that the little plant fought to live and sought the sun’s rays to replenish itself in its diminished condition. He suddenly understood that he must not give in to the medical diagnosis of terminal illness and fight to live. The Healer visited him and John lived several more years.

Watch in the evening shadows and the early morning first rays of dawn as the Great Physican visits your hospital room…

‘I have never ridden a train before,’ Jane said with glee. ‘This is exciting,’ Jane continued. ‘I can’t wait to get to New Orleans,’ Jane said, dancing up and down. ‘We are going to hear some great jazz,’ Jane mused. ‘Bourbon Street will be fun,’ Jane winked. ‘I am told that New Orleans is like no other city,’ Jane offered for consideration.

‘Is this the train to New Orleans? I am booked for Alaska?’ the Travelling Man remarked. ‘We visited Alaska twice, but both times on cruises, we wanted to see it from a land tour,’ Travelling Man continued. ‘On the first visit Fernie got sick and we had to leave the cruise, so we took another to make up for it,’ Travelling Man remarked. ‘How is it that I am going to Alaska and you are going to New Orleans?’ Travelling Man asked Jane.

The Preacher of the Woods began to speak. ‘Welcome Seekers,’ the Preacher said. ‘We are looking for home,’ the Preacher continued. ‘Some of you came from the cities and others from the plains, while some came from the Sahara,’ the Preacher said. ‘Soon we will leave for our destinations and the surprise that awaits us,’ the Preacher said. ‘What a trip it has been with the stones and boulders in our path, we grew weary, but we did not stop in our quest,’ the Preacher said. ‘Contrary to popular belief, we will be getting off at different stops where our lives have taken us, so hold on tight and enjoy the ride,’ the Preacher laughed and danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Mama said there would be days like this,’ Chet said. ‘We are going to Edinburgh, Scotland, while others on the Train say they are bound for New Orleans and Alaska,’ Chet remarked. ‘Could it be that we have crossed over and do not realise it?’ Chet asked. ‘This Train should not be able to reach all of the destinations the riders are expecting,’ Chet postulated. ‘Yesterday I was thinking of fall and Labour Day and then Halloween,’ Chet remarked. ‘Now I am on a Train to Edinburgh and do not understand the mechanics of it,’ Chet said. ‘I noticed in the Florist that no one seemed to hear me or see me, although I could hear and see the customers and the Florist very well,’ Chet said. ‘I ended up leaving my money for some flowers I purchased on the counter and exiting with a funny feeling,’ Chet observed. ‘I do not remember anything after I heard the Leader say…Take Shelter…

A quiet falls. Settled and safe. The birds sing their evening tunes. Night workers prepare to report. It is reset time. Travel on the Big Rock can be dizzying. Flying through space while twirling like a top is not for the fainthearted. We are constantly getting on the ride and getting off. The bullfrogs are practicing their symphony.

Summer is here in all of its glory. There is more of it left, we think, as we pull the string out of the enclosed box. The day is drawing near when the string will run out. Swimming days at Pounds Hollow and movies at the Orpheum Theatre, and…what…school starts in a week. We were just setting off fireworks and listening to the pop of firecrackers and…what…school supplies. The promise was long, and the event was short.

The clock is ticking. It seemed we were masters; we were simple servants. We were visitors in our lives. We watched the reels turn, the film making its distinct flicking sound. The people on the movie screen were having a good time. Laughter filled the soundtrack of their lives. They had little, but appreciated it greatly. They did not take themselves too seriously. ‘Wars and rumors of wars, but the end is not yet.’ The preacher said I have the answer, I am the answer. Scene change without warning.

The Old Man walked through the Woods. He thought of joys and sorrows. Men acting their prescribed role of leader and strutted and fretted across the Stage. They had preened and pirouetted. Their inner insecurities are revealed through their rhetoric. The demolished barns were to be replaced with bigger barns. They had the answers to life’s persistent questions. The Sirens sang their song, and the people listened. ‘I will give you all that you see if you will fall down and worship me.’

The Bullfrog Quartet is tuning their bass. The little boy walks his dog. The clock is ticking. All is well if it is well with your soul.

Talking is easy; communication is hard. The Circus Ringleader announced a new act in the center ring. A Statesman will speak. The audience looked perplexed. One called out, ‘What is a Statesman?’ The Statesman spoke for a few minutes. He spoke of compromise and harmony of purpose. The Statesman spoke of One Nation Under God. The Statesman spoke of freedom from sea to shining sea. The people became restless. One hit the Statesman with a rotten tomato. ‘Send in the clowns, there have to be clowns,’ a woman called out.

Evening is falling quickly now. The brilliant vestiges of blue sky are becoming dim. The little boy and his dog are safely in Grandma’s house. Milk and cookies are delicious on a summer evening. Especially if the milk is served in big porcelain cups.

Today is another soothing day. It could be a Pleasant Valley Monday. Well, after all, it is the day after Sunday. While we may be embarking on a week of adventure and fun, others may be in the ‘slough of Despond.’ The comforting thought is that God is with us in both the good times and the not-so-good times.

For 57 years, I have read about Christ healing the sick during His time on earth. I witnessed healing twice. There was a quiet surety of God’s presence. As the woman said, ‘If I can but touch the hem of his garment.’

Now, when I say I witnessed healings twice, I am speaking of a profound change in someone who was desperately ill returning to health. I actually believe Jesus heals us daily in his quiet walk with us. The television preacher who puts the spotlight on the many healings of their tent revival service, with the focus being on them and their supposed God given gift, is a sham. It is a study in narcissism and making money from people’s suffering.

When you touch the hem of Christ’s garment, you know it, and he knows it. Often, God uses physicians to assist him in his healing ministry on earth. We are healed and jump off the examination table to go forth and conquer. We know something is different as our Guardian Angel smiles in the background. In the corner of our eye, we see the tassels at the bottom of a long flowing garment walking out of the doctor’s office door…