Clouds roll in. Light fades. Sometimes peaceful…sometimes oppressive. Much is dependent on what we are experiencing. The regularity of life is lost on many. There are no daily orchestra pieces. Near the London Eye, my friends tell me there is a musician playing bagpipes. Not a regular occurrence at my house. We want the surprise ending before we are through the story.

The joy of the journey is in the steps. Each step is a moment in our lives. Often, the obscure are memorable. The Old Man remembered a little stuffed Christmas toy called Laughing Santa. Laughing Santa was neither expensive nor flashy. He had a crank protruding from his back that, when turned, caused a sound approximating a laugh and a growl to emanate from his belly. His plastic face was an eternal, jubilant laugh with bright blue eyes. Among all the Christmas gifts… the Christmas Tree… a new tricycle…Laughing Santa took his place in memory.

The surprise of age is how quick it happens. Was it overnight? Change that requires adjustment and acclamation. A sense of humor helps.

Each day matters. Paul of the New Testament said that he was content in all the situations he found himself in. Not a bad philosophy of life. Peace comes from a sense of place. It is easy to be a bit anxious regarding your Happy Trail. The years reveal that drama accomplishes little. Daily addressing of what is before you is a satisfying accomplishment.

Happy Trails require openness, honesty, and integrity. Chaos and confusion as the operational principle of a political leader is the product of a troubled mind. Living under authoritarian leadership is the opposite of Happy Trails. Pigeonholing people is the work of elitists. Treating God’s creation as your objects is blasphemy. Using fear as a tactic of control is a favorite of dictators.

‘I hoped for more,’ Jane said. ‘More food…more drink…more holidays,’ Jane laughed. ‘I saw others who seemed to have it all…I wanted a little piece of the pie…I wanted to move on up like the Jeffersons,’ Jane smiled. ‘We Babyboomers were told to strive for a house in the suburbs with a two-car garage and a color television set,’ Jane winked. ‘We were the generation that would change the world,’ Jane danced on one foot and then the other. ‘Climb the ladder of success…skip a rung or two if you can,’ Jane continued. ‘Education was vital, and the more the better,’ Jane observed.

‘Mr. Badger told me the race to acquire more things would soon be over,’ Old Man said. ‘A world of Joy rather than a world of jobs was coming…God’s creatures having time to think deeply…live fully…love without favor of persons,’ Old Man laughed. ‘The static of authoritarians would be adjusted where the clear sound of love would be heard…a bit like waking from a nightmare…a bit disconcerting for a moment,’ Old Man noted with a smile. ‘It is the little things, kiddo,’ Old Man observed. ‘The sound of Mr. Woodpecker doing his daily chores,’ Old Man winked. ‘No more ravings of ill leaders who need care…who do not care…about us,’ Old Man whispered.