Pastor Meg spoke of Abraham taking a step at a time to follow God’s promise to him. Neither a road map nor GPS. No plan disclosed, nor how to find one. Faith. Difficult to do for the planners among us.

Such is life. We travel unexpected roads. We find unimagined destinations. As the philosopher Forrest Gump told us, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.’

The evening shadows gather. A June Day goes by so quickly. One week in, and there are only 30 days. Two beavers hustled across the yard. They are in search of a good nap.

The President stormed off an interview on Meet the Press. When confronted with simple questions involving facts or the lack of them, he develops anxiety…angry anxiety. He may have a bad stomach and need Tums. I have never felt satisfied with being angry. I always feel I have lost.

A step at a time leads to calm thoughts. Nothing to prove, no keeping us with the Joneses. Not caring what people think lifts a heavy burden.

Great accomplishments begin with a first step. When I became a manager at Southern Illinois University, I felt ill-equipped. Yet, with each step, it became a little easier. The comfort or courage did not come overnight. Often, it took me a year to feel somewhat prepared for what a job required. The rewards for taking one step at a time are wonderful.

Our safety requires truth tellers. People who are not afraid to speak truth to power. Kristen Welker was not afraid this morning on Meet the Press. Scott Pelly fired by CBS for asking direct questions about management’s dismissal of a brilliant journalist who was not afraid to speak truth to power. We desperately need more who will speak truth to power.

The Bullfrogs are tuning up for their performance. They are in good voice this evening. The Lead Bass singer in the quartet told the Old Man that if everyone would practice taking a step out of their comfort zone, many of our problems would be over.

I was informed yesterday through this blog website that I’ve now been writing blogs for 13 years. So cheers to 13 years! Looking back to 2013 until …

Walking Works of Art

Saturday is fitting like a pair of comfortable shoes. The Old Man has finished his Woods Walk. Summer is all around. The lull of life is appreciated. New ventures call our name. The Old Man could hear the strange call of two Wood animals talking with each other this morning. The guttural sounds they made were alien. They were having quite a conversation. I had heard the sound before in another life.

I wonder what the animals think when we humans converse. We are speaking of simple things, while they may hear words of danger. Perhaps the Woods Family hears a call to arms when we are discussing where to build the campfire. Misunderstandings happen. Have you spoken to someone, and they only heard select words? What they heard makes for an interesting conclusion.

Peace comes to the seeker. We each hold the key to peace. No one has the market on peace. It is a free gift. Politicans tell us that we will have peace through strength. The words of Christ are compassion and empathy; the poor are mentioned time and again. Jesus was focused on the poor, those who have no voice, the unseen among us. He did not minister with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s biceps and carrying an AK 47. He was not John Wayne with a Colt revolver strapped on his side. Jesus did not say, ” Follow me, and I will make you rich.

The Aliens kept speaking with each other in the Woods. Mr. Mole told the Old Man that they were talking about him. Mr. Mole said he spoke a little Alien. The Aliens were planning a conquest of Earth, capturing humans to take back to the Andromeda Galaxy for study. Mr. Mole said they were discussing whether we would allow them to feel us as they had no eyes.

The tiny visitors became friends with the old man and Mr Mole. They felt peace in each other’s presence

June will soon be a week old. Neva J often reminded me how fast summer is. In my halcyon days, this would be a Friday evening, and it would be a good time to enjoy a movie at the Orpheum Theatre. It might be a vampire movie or a Frankenstein feature. Escape from the muggy weather. Thoughts of the power of a cross in repelling Dracula. Or a musing on who the real monster was in Frankenstein. It stayed light until 9:00, and the possibilities were many. There were pretty girls and fast cars. I learned of hemis and Funny Cars. Ben Franklin Dime Store had shelves of car models, paint, and glue to put them together. There was Stony the soldier, Johnny West, and Chief Cherokee. GI Joes had not taken their place of leadership at the time.

Eldorado was a working person’s community. Folks were serious about life and enjoyed a good time on Friday night. A dry town, but liquor could be obtained at the package store in the tiny village of Muddy, 3 miles away. One Christmas season, Lanny gave me a couple of swigs of Peppermint Schnapps, and I felt festive. My world swirled a bit, and the movie that Friday night was especially enjoyable.

Eldorado was full of churches. Most folks attended one of them. After the Honky Tonk on Friday and Saturday night a little church was in order. Neva J’s sisters and mother attended church on Thursday night, Saturday night, and twice on Sunday. Neva J and I did not. I attended the movie on Sunday, and Neva J read books. Everyone read books in those days. Television was fun in black and white on three channels, and two of the stations were fuzzy.

We had a party line for our telephone. Most of the time, when you picked up the receiver, someone was talking. If you had an emergency call, you would ask the Gabby Gusses and Gertrudes to give you a moment to make it. Often when you got the precious use of the phone, you could hear a member of the Party listening in on the Party Line. If the stealth listener felt you had spoken too long, they would clear their throat or ask you how much longer you intended to tie up the phone. Long-distance calls cost extra. They were considered frivolous unless they had to be made.

Cash was the coin of the realm. Credit cards were for the rich. Of course, Dracula preferred blood.

The birds are playing tag. They have a cedar tree to frolic in. From their point of view, the world is well-ordered and good. Two squirrels are playing near the pond. They have no regrets, only the energy of a day in June.

We worry about many things while the plot escapes our notice. We will never do it all or be it all. On Friday in June, we see our lines in the play of life. We learn when to enter the stage and where to stand while we deliver our part. We are vital to the production.

Another pleasant evening. A calm rest is in the air. I gaze at my neighbor’s elaborate bird fountain. He has been gone for years, but the bird fountain remains. The sun is soft, and the light is blue-green. Turn around once, and it will be dark this time of day. Our beloved images are affected by light. Shadows emerge as the sun retreats.

Shadows fall over much of our world. Some in government lie as second nature. They are members of the need-to-know club. In their bylaws, the rest of us do not need to know. The arrogance/banality of power is that they think we do not see them in the shadows.

Light mixed with colors makes a kaleidoscope. We are members of the simple and complex grand design. When the light magnifies and illuminates the panoply of colors, our eyes widen, and our hearts beat for joy. We were meant to soar with the angels. Our feet are firmly on Earth, terra firma, in the shadows. About the time we are ready to try out our wings, clouds cover us. The Earth looks different in the dark. We bump into things searching for the light switch. We stub our toe going to the restroom in the dark.

The frogs are singing. They know sunset is coming. The cat walks through his yard on an evening inspection. The little boy walks his dog. The easy breeze of June is compelling. Crickets are singing a summer song. The grass and sky look different. The Sun is lower in the sky. The pond is a mirror. The reflections change. Everything we see is fleeting. The same landscape changes all day long. The perfect photos are luck and chance. Miss the first chance, and the photo is gone. The kaleidoscope is turning.

A good day to be alive. A special day. It is the first day of the rest of our lives. The significance can not be oversold. The older I become I see my friends and colleagues pass the Veil. I wish I had known them better. We all have a temporary Visa to a magnificent realm. I saw Mr. Racoon today. We took each other’s measure. He then walked slowly away, looking for something more interesting. He had a serene countenance. Mr. Racoon wondered if I had taken the wrong fork in the road.

What a journey we are on together. The Old Man was once young in Chicago. He lived on a street that reminded him of the Leave It To Beaver television show. Friends along the street and one who gave Marionette Shows. The Old Man was intrigued by the Marionettes. They had a life of their own. The Old Man thought they were real. Neva J played badminton with her buddy Ivy. George and Helen joined Neva J and Bill and the young Old Man for summer cookouts. Life was good, peaceful and regular until it was not.

The road has many hills and curves. We sneak ahead and look around the next curve. Our past and future destination is ahead and over the next hill. The Old Man sees himself with his sons and wife around the Christmas Tree in front of the humongous picture window.

Ahead, we wonder whether we will reach the end of the journey or if it is the beginning. Our hearts are full, and we have learned a little along the way. We learned to share our toys. Nap time is good. Don’t buck the line or your place in the queue. Everyone hurts. Everyone loves. Help others. Seek no reward. Play nice in the sandbox. We all want to be seen. We all want to be heard. We all want to tell someone our good ideas.

When we began seeking, it seemed time had no end. First was school, then work, and the Golden Years. All whisked by like a weaver’s shuttle. Could it be that indeed time has no end?

The Evening Breeze wafts about me. It has a renewing peace. The birds sing their Evening Song. Mylo came to the Writing Porch but could not stay. He is in search of spinach. Mylo loves a leaf or more of spinach. Spinach is his cookie and his motivation. He dances after he has engaged in his constitutional. Once he receives his spinach, he dances again. The shadows are serene. They promise sunset. There are no cries of conquest or retribution. When you seek retribution, who is hurt more?

The sound of the mower is heard in our land. A daily pleasantry in June. The bullfrogs are laughing as they practice for the nightly concert.

Jack Benny used to visit his basement vault to admire his money, according to his comedy writers. The rich man speaks lovingly to his money, hoping it will grow.

El Niño is forecast to produce hot temperatures across much of our land. The Strait of Hormuz will cause food disruption. Rich countries will still be able to obtain food, and poorer countries will not. Poor people will die. We Americans export a lot of oil. China exports a lot of Green Technology. So far, global warming has been watched on the nightly news in the first world; soon, it will be lived and died by all.

Grass looks especially nice in June. Fun to walk on. A good place for badminton.

‘Ivy beat me in badminton today,’ Neva J said with a laugh. ‘We drank Long Island Iced Teas, and she beat me on the third Tea,’ Neva J winked. ‘My foot got caught in the thick, lush grass and I missed a serve,’ Neva J winked. ‘Since we installed the sprinklers, the grass grows two inches overnight,’ Neva J smiled. ‘Ivy invited us to a pool party and a Marionette show this Saturday, they have a new inground pool,’ Neva J noted. ‘1962 will be a banner year if we do not get into a war with the Soviet Union,’ Neva J cautioned. ‘I love June, my birthday is on the 29th,’ Neva J winked. ‘When we visit Mom in Eldorado later this month, we will take the Badminton Set with us,’ Neva J danced.

We wait. Waiting is our thing. We have waited before. We will wait again. Our Good Earth waits. Earth has seen good times and not-so-good times. Sense of Place is patient. The Bullfrog Quartet does not practice until it is time. They understand their discipline. The singing for the members of Brooks Pond and those within their hearing. The grass is vibrant green in June and brown in September. They sing for the hope. The song for the grace of living in a mysterious orb of happiness.

Summer time is here. The kids are out of school, and the pools are open. There is a heady, cockeyed optimism for adventure. ‘No more school books, no more teachers’ dirty looks.’ Neva June was named Neva Jane on her birth certificate, but was known in life as Neva June. She was born in June. I look at the next three months as a hurdle to leap before my favorite ‘Ber’ months commence. The thoughts of summer take me back to Pounds Hollow and the halcyon days of swimming. Neva J, Chet Jane, and I loved to swim at the Hollow. We made two to three trips to Pounds Hollow from Eldorado each week, around 20 miles each way in Neva J’s 57′ Chevy Convertible. The days were filled with swimming adventures and floating to the other side of the lake, which was way beyond the safety rope. As I floated in the quiet, I imagined Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and my part in the story.

Salameats on the grill this Memorial Day were a big hit. Aaron says we should get them more often. Additional cookouts are in order.

In the 1960s, you could not purchase firecrackers in Illinois. So when we obtained some illegal ones, the explosions were all the more exciting. Sparklers were popular and snakes. Snakes were little black buttons that, when you lit them they expanded into a snake-like shape. While we baby boomers set off our firecrackers and lit some snakes, the elders sat on Grandma A’s front porch and tried to see the fireworks at the Starlite Drive Inn. We could see them quite well, and they were excited to watch them from the box seats.

June is a good month to reflect on what has happened in 2026 and what lies ahead in the second act. We are in our second act and enjoying it. June reminds the Old Man that here he is, and another summer presents itself. Not like the other Junes before it, yet similarities. The similarities are the hook that captivates our imaginations. We are drawn into the dream. We look out of the wispy clouds and see the Pounds Hollow adventures floating on the lake.