It is Sunday again. MJ bought us lunch. She is a good egg! The Brooks Men had our caps and hats and felt at home since our waiter had a similar flat cap. It is hot, with the promise of nine consecutive days in the 90s. A hot beginning to September. The golf course has well-groomed golf carts. They look new. Talk has turned to the Old Man’s birthday and New Orleans. The health of those we know reminds us we are getting old.

Autumn is coming. Several celebrations, things to do, people to see. Autumn grapes make good wine. Baseball is deciding its fate. It is good to be in the game. As the comedian Chris Rock reminded husbands and fathers, they may not be the band leader or lead singer but rather the tambourine player. ‘Play that tambourine with all you have,’ Chris Rock said.

I think of Jerry Lewis this time of year and his Muscular Dystrophy Telethon on Labor Day. This signaled to me that fall had begun. Magic Time. A time to cool down. Time to reflect. Time to consider next steps. Time to relish and revel in the gift of piloting your little boat through life’s waves and rocky shores.

Days of wine and roses. The quickening hearts hearing a scary ghost story. The settling of spirits hurt by mean, cruel treatment. Hot chocolate and s’mores do good like medicine. Reading Treasure Island, Little Women, The Headless Horseman. Searching for the rhyme in the reason.

Life has rhythm. Life has rhyme. When we are in time with the music, all is well. Autumn is an opportunity to re-tune. The French Quarter taught me the beauty and essential need for music to describe life. Jazz Bands were victorious. The beautiful black female singer on the corner had won the battles of life through her music. She sang of joy, peace, sorrow, and pain. Music brings Heaven to Earth.

The little boy running circles around Grandma’s house, his cat following him. The cat meows loudly. The cat gives up. A blue heron watches, waiting by Brooks Pond. He has been gone for a while. Grandma calls out instructions to her grandson, who replies he cannot hear her; he is sorry. It is the last week for pools and swimming holes to be open. Time to swim while the Sun shines. Time for one last Pounds Hollow adventure.

‘Today I will swim and float to the far side of the lake.’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘This is our last Swimming Trip of the Season,’ Billy B continued. ‘I love swimming so especially floating. I am a master floater,’ Billy B winked. ‘With my ears in the water, the world is silent,’ Billy B noted. ‘Sometimes Dad and Mom float with me in the deep water, at least when I have my eyes shut in the warm sun,’ Billy B said softly.

The Old Man sat by the campfire. The flames licked up around the dry wood. The circle was full. The sky was full of stars. There was the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper ready to hear the Story. The Moon had a wide smile. Mr. Moon winked at the Old Man. The fire danced and crackled. ‘We need a Story,’ the Man said. ‘We have gone too long without a Story,’ the Man continued. ‘We are here; why are we here? Where are we going?’ the Man asked. ‘Many tell us stories, but they do not resonate, satisfy, appease,’ the Man continued. ‘The story of money has no conclusion; capitalism’s plot is thin gruel,’ the Man noted. ‘Continuous war is a sad story no one wins; if you win, what have you won?’ the Man asked. ‘Greed is not good; home is good; a sense of place is good,’ the Man explained. ‘The children cry; the innocent die; leaders ignore what is in front of them,’ the Man said softly.

‘Speak to us of the old ways of servant/leaders of helping others,’ the Woman said. ‘We seek meaning, truth, hope,’ the Woman continued. ‘How far are the stars from us? ‘ We want to visit them,’ the Woman said. ‘It is obvious there is more that we do not see than what we see,’ the Woman explained. ‘Our daughters are hungry, our sons are aimless, our families are broken as we wait for the Story,’ the Woman said in a whisper. ‘Churches tell us how to become rich by giving more money than we have; they are insular, looking at themselves in a large mirror while suffering is at their door,’ the Woman said. ‘The rich and powerful have rich and powerful friends who help them ascend the corporate ladder while the rest of us watch in despair,’ the Woman noted with a tear in her eye.

‘We have hidden in the Woods for fear of being arrested, deported, or hunted like thieves and murderers,’ the Preacher said. ‘Families are separated, lives are ruined, people are killed,’ the Preacher continued. ‘Bragadoccio is good; humility is bad; boasting is a clear sign of leadership; soldiers are called losers,’ the Preacher said. ‘We speak of Hope, Faith, Mercy, He who is promised,’ the Preacher said joyfully.

‘Story has power. Story directs us. Story revives us,’ the Old Man said with a smile. ‘We are united in our hunger for Story, for Truth, Direction in the Dark,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Adam and Eve heard the Story,’ the Old Man said. ‘We lost Dolly Parton this week, and folks from all walks of life miss her, mourn her,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Dolly accepted everyone excluded no one,’ the Old Man said. ‘The Story is David and Goliath, the woman about to be stoned until Christ intervened, the leper, the winebibber, the Prostitute, the Old Man said with feeling. ‘The Story is the Golden Calf wandering in the desert for 40 years, David and Bathsheba,’ the Old Man said as he looked up at the Big Dipper. ‘The Story is in your eyes and your breath, your getting back on your feet when you fall, forgiving those who have wronged you,’ the Old Man said.

‘Look, Mom, in the sky there is a new cluster of stars that appears to be people sitting around a campfire with a Storyteller in the middle of them,’ the Child said.

Jonathon is enjoying a hot bowl of cream of broccoli soup and a French baguette. He makes it look good. So it goes with life: we must grab the brass ring when the Carousel comes around. The Merry-Go-Round is working today at the State Fair. We get on it at birth and depart at death. The ride is full of speed-ups and slow-downs. Life passes by in a blur. We see the homeless hungry and forlorn, but we are on the Carousel and do not want to be deterred. We are a bit into ourselves, our heads, and what is happening in our thought life.

‘I am looking forward to going through the Time Machine exhibit,’ Chet said. ‘I wonder if it is similar to the Time Tunnel television program where the Tunnel swirls into a vortex before you reach your destination,’ Chet continued. ‘Buddy told me he went through it last night and wound up on a river bank watching sailboats, and he was in one of the boats waving at himself sitting on the shore,’ Chet laughed. ‘Buddy called it an out-of-body experience,’ Chet winked. ‘The exhibit people must use Hollywood film technology or special effects,’ Chet noted.

‘Time is a peculiar thing,’ Neva J observed. ‘Let us enter the Time Tunnel Ride and see what happens,’ Neva J exhorted. ‘Then we will know what the future will bring and how to prepare accordingly,’ Neva J laughed as she drank the remainder of her glass of Merlot. ‘Perhaps we will see ourselves more clearly.’ Neva J giggled.

‘What a funny feeling I have,’ Jane said. ‘We are staring at ourselves, and the State Fair is nowhere to be found,’ Jane noted with trepidation. ‘Is it a Wormhole or an optical illusion?’ Jane observed.

‘It appears we have done another round on the Carousel; life is repeating as the rotation of a phonograph record,’ Chet said. ‘In fact, there are two doppelgangers of you, Jane, and none of me,’ Chet laughed. ‘I felt when I visited Oxford a year ago that I had been there before,’ Chet noted with a grin.

‘Look, there is the Merry Go Round we better get back on and set this universe right,’ Neva J called out!

‘You write a lot about change,’ Mylo said. ‘My days are full of familiar patterns,’ Mylo continued. ‘I have a sense of place that the Old Man speaks of,’ Mylo grinned. ‘I know who needs me, and they are my purpose,’ Mylo laughed. ‘Mom needs me during the day, and I keep Dad company at night,’ Mylo mused. ‘Jonathon brings the excitement as Mom and Dad are a bit slow,’ Mylo winked.

As sure as the Sun rises, change is coming. We quiet folk see it, feel it, taste it, and hear it. You learn a lot if you listen and watch. The hollow eyes of politicians reveal much. They look at you but do not see you. They smile all the time. Beware of someone who smiles all the time. It is performance time; they are actors on stage playing the role of benevolent benefactors. Sometimes they wear the Smile Mask when their mouths hurt from the comical effort. The answer can not be found in the hollow eyes or the clownish grins. We instinctively know this but need someone to blame for our faults and shortcomings. The Politicians are our own reflection. We put them in their jobs of service, and they reward us with the agenda of the rich, the ones who hold the purse strings; the people who are paying have the power.

What passes for leaders’ leadership courage of convictions has fallen. President Lincoln, who could not sleep, was despondent and suffered due to the Civil War. President Roosevelt led the country through World War II from a wheelchair. President Trump is worried about his Ballroom.

‘I tell you change is coming, I feel it in my old bones,’ Mr. Mole said to the Old Man. ‘Humans have hurt the Earth,’ Mr Mole continued. ‘We must exercise our sense of place and ensure that the centre holds as Yeats reminded us in his poem The Second Coming,’ Mr Mole noted. ‘The Falcon is flying in a widening spiral and getting too far away from the falconer,’ Mr Mole said.

The State Fair is underway. The Governor is there as well as Senators and Representatives, servant/leaders of the people. The taffy is delicious. The lights of the Midway are uplifting. The Ferris Wheel is still scary. The Carousel is delightful. The Midway looks different in the Sunshine. It is rusty and old in the dark; with bright colored lights, it is magnificent.

The clown took a drag from his hip flask, put out his cigarette, and swore that kids would be the death of him. The Carnivale music played loud; kids laughed, parents looked for the Beer Tent.

August was a blur as it passed by. This time last month, kids were getting ready for the beginning of school; now they are in the thick of it. The DuQuoin State Fair starts tonight. This was a big deal to me as a child, although I lived 50 miles away. When you live in Southern Illinois, you take your excitement where you can get it. The Governor marches in the Opening Parade. Governors often stay in the Hayes Mansion on the Fairgrounds while the State Fair is open. Big-name performers perform at the Fair. Dolly Parton performed two sold-out performances at the DuQuoin State Fair on August 27, 1979.

The State Fair was mysterious, magical, otherworldly for me as a kid. The Fair was home to the Hambeltonian. The greatest harness race in the country. It also had The Headless Man. I saw the Headless Man on several occassions. I never saw his hidden head.

The days are getting shorter. My favorite time of year. The thought of New Orleans is competing for time in my head with visions of sugar plums. We wake to a mystery every morning. The warm glow of fall creates shadows of delight.

Time-lapse photography has captured my imagination of late. The unusual photographic product it produces fascinates me and reminds me of life.

From birth to death is a bit of a blur. Take snapshots along the way.

A worthy goal is to wear the coat of many colors that Dolly sang about.

Let us not judge the Neanderthals too quickly. Neanderthal technology achieved a degree of sophistication. It includes the Mousterian tool industry as well as the abilities to maintain and possibly

to create fire, build cave hearths, craft at least simple clothes similar to blankets and ponchos, make use of medicinal plants, treat severe injuries, store food, and use various cooking techniques such as roasting, boiling, and smoking.’

‘Dad, look at the Eiffel Tower; it looks just like the photos,’ Ned Neanderthal said gleefully. ‘When I told my teacher about our August Holiday in France, she asked me to bring her some pictures,’ Ned N continued. ‘Some of the kids thought I was kidding as they assumed we Neanderthals do not get around like they do, but I knew we would prove them wrong,’ Ned N danced and sang. ‘Soon we will swim in the Seine,’ Ned N said as he jumped into the water.

‘Well, there is no doubt the Parisians have never seen any Neanderthals,’ Nancy Neanderthal observed. ‘The Restaurant had a no Neanderthal policy but waved it when they saw what nice folks we are,’ Nancy N continued. ‘The sauces are to die for,’ Nancy N proclaimed. ‘The expression on the face of the waiter when Nathan asked for a Dirty Martini was priceless,’ Nancy N said.

‘So I thought being in Paris on Holiday would make it easier to either accept or reject the President’s offer to be his Chief of Staff, Nathan N mused as he puffed his cigar. ‘I think I must say no thank you after being in Paris and enjoying the freedom of speech, thought, and action here,’ Nathan N continued. ‘We Neanderthals have always been on the outside looking in, proving ourselves by working twice as hard, Nathan N explained. ‘If anyone believes in inclusion and acceptance, it is us,’ Nathan mused. ‘We have been misjudged and marginalized, forgotten with no voice,’ Nathan N whispered. ‘We are introverts listening and watching, understanding what is going on in the world of extroverts,’ Nathan laughed.

So here we are as August closes its doors. The DuQuoin State Fair opens Friday night and runs through Labor Day. We are heading into the BER Months. My favorite time of year. Vertigo is playing on Turner Classic Movies, followed by Rear Window. Hitchcock Movies for fall. The feel of fall is not quite with us. Too hot. That will change. It always does. The days are shorter and the nights longer. Time for reflection around the campfire. Ghost Stories, Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula. Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Getting old, feeling young. The wine of life seems sweeter each year. ‘It is the little things…kid,’ Neva J often said.

Chapters we experience. We looked to the old ones to be our mentors; now we are the old ones. We live life as if it were War and Peace when it is a short story. Diving into the plot in the first chapter. The resolution of the theme, the big ending, may be before page 100. Each of us has a certain ending that makes our moments precious. Courage is magnified by the small time we have. Looking for a City is our credo.

We introverts sit silent in the tumult. Words change things. ‘A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.’ Harsh words divide us; words of peace unite us. As children, we loved everyone we met. Color or belief, money or political affiliation meant nothing. We opened our eyes to a gift. We could play and laugh, hope and dream. What a game life was. A ride on the Carousel at the State Fair. Pretty lights. Cotton Candy. Swapping stories and wondering how we got to this place…first we were not suddenly here we are. What a hoot, what a kick, a miracle. We had no special pass, no VIP designation. Life is better than a movie at the Orpheum Theatre!

‘Some of our sheep friends look like their skin is rumpled,’ Larry Lamb said. ‘They speak louder than the rest of us and promise fantastic things if we follow them,’ Larry L continued. ‘A chicken in every pot and two cars in every garage,’ Larry L laughed. ‘The other day I saw one of the loquacious speakers take his sheep’s head off, revealing he is a wolf with a wide menacing grin,’ Larry L continued. ‘When the Wolf in sheep’s clothing saw me watching him, we winked and smiled,’ Larry L said with concern.

‘What a lovely day for a late August drive,’ Jane said with a smile. ‘We will pack a picnic lunch to eat by the cemetery after we see Grandma A’s grave,’ Jane continued. ‘We shall reflect on the sweet summer that is slipping through our fingers,’ Jane laughed. ‘We must pack Merlot and Oscar Mayer Wieners,’ Jane giggled.

‘Of course, the Merlot is essential for a late August journey to the cemetery,’ Neva J chimed in. ‘It is dusk now; soon it will be dark, a bit like Halloween,’ Neva J mentioned. ‘I will pack some candles for our Supper in the cemetery,’ Neva J winked.

‘The candlelight casts shadows on the tombstones,’ Chet noted. ‘Look, coming down the graveyard path, people wearing Halloween Costumes,’ Chet noted with some concern. ‘Well, it is President Trump and former President Biden and Kennedy with LBJ bringing up the rear of the procession,’ Chet mused. ‘Their masks are comical in their complexity,’ Chet noted.

‘I see four masked figures, but they are not four Presidents; they are mysterious,’ Billy B observed. ‘Sitting beside me is President Kennedy, who told me to beware the Russians,’ Billy B said with some trepidation.

‘I can’t remember if I cried the day I read about his widowed bride.’

‘So it is a long drive back from Mt. Vernon to Eldorado,’ Jane said. ‘I hope our headlights hold out,’ Jane continued. ‘Four people are hitchhiking, a family with car trouble,’ Jane alerted.

‘Where are we?’ Neva J asks. ‘Through the dim headlights, I see myself walking toward the cemetery holding a candle,’ Neva J whispered.

Perhaps it is the Merlot or even the Oscar Mayer Weiners, but something is strange here, and it is not exactly clear,’ Chet said with conviction. ‘Are we the ones in the mirror, or are they?’ Chet asked.

We saw Don McLean last night. MJ and I were in the front row. He wrote the song American Pie. The usher asked us not to rush the stage. Quite a concert. Being seated just a few feet from Mr. McLean was an added treat. MJ and I could understand every word. The songs harkened back to a different time. A time of limited innocence.

I can see part of a beach ball through the cedar tree. Brooks Pond has no beach. Soon, they’ll put the beach balls in storage. August is a short timer. School is back. School Buses are out. When I lived in the country, I rode the School Bus each day. It is amazing how uncomfortable the seats are. The High School Football Game on Friday Night had four people tased by the police. Not Friday Night Lights.

American Pie refers to, ‘The three men I admire the most, the Father Son and the Holy Ghost they caught the last train for the coast the day the music died.’

‘And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed, but not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken.’

The August Sun is setting. We look for our Poets. Someone to reveal wisdom. Someone who has seen much.

‘Now for ten years we’ve been on our own, And moss grows fat on a rolling stone, But that’s not how it used to be.’

So here we are with the results of being on our own. Can we scrape the moss off? Can we listen for the music? Will we seek the Poet again?

‘Did you know that when you are dead, you are dead for a long time?’ Jane said. ‘We are alive for a second on the Big Time Clock,’ Jane continued. ‘I am excited about visiting Lemp Mansion,’ Jane laughed. ‘Do you think we will see the Lemp Family Ghosts?’ Jane wondered aloud. ‘I have read that members of the family committed suicide in the Victorian structure,’ Jane said. ‘Their Brewing Company was dominant in the United States beer market before Prohibition,’ Jane informed the group. ‘They were noted for their Falstaff beer,’ Jane mentioned. ‘The Mansion is haunted by the Lemp family,’ Jane said. ‘To think we are staying overnight, what courageous folks we are,’ Jane exclaimed.

‘Well, that was a great dinner. I don’t know what the ghosts think, but I enjoyed it,’ Chet laughed and rubbed his round belly. ‘Let’s explore our rooms for the night,’ Chet offered. ‘The restrooms appear to have original fixtures and are cold,’ Chet noted. ‘I heard footsteps, but I thought we were the only people staying tonight,’ Chet wondered. ‘Could it be the Lemp Ghosts?’ Chet asked with a macabre grin.

‘I saw a woman sitting in a rocking chair. When she turned to look at me, she looked amazingly like me,’ Neva J said with some trepidation. ‘She winked and said nothing,’ Neva J said. ‘There is Merlot on the dresser and wine glasses with the Merlot decanted,’ Neva J observed. ‘Do you think the proprietors do this for all of their guests?’ Neva J asked. ‘I must admit, with a glass or two of the Merlot, I feel strangely at home,’ Neva J laughed as she poured another glass of Merlot. ‘I think I may have visited here when Bill and I came to St. Louis right after the War,’ Neva J mused. ‘You know, the more I think about it, we visited a Brewing Warehouse, and I fell and sprained my ankle,’ Neva J recalled. ‘The Brewing Warehouse was just down the block from Lemp Mansion, ‘ Neva J giggled from the Merlot. ‘Bill said he had never been so afraid and that when I fell he saw a ghost push me,’ Neva J winked.

‘I am glad you are finally out of the restroom, Chet. I saw you go in there over an hour ago,’ Billy B said. ‘You were with us talking about Neva J’s strange experience, and then you were gone to the restroom,’ Billy B continued.

‘I have never left the side of the bed and have been a part of the discussion since we came upstairs,’ Chet insisted. ‘I was afraid when I saw you leaning out of the bedroom window,’ Chet continued. ‘You looked as if you were contemplating jumping,’ Chet noted.

‘Will someone help me get the girl that looks like me out of my bed? I am sleepy,’ Jane asked. ‘We are either in a dream or this place is haunted with us,’ Jane proclaimed! Let us leave, although it is the middle of the night,’ Jane pleaded.

‘You kids go ahead; you can come back for me too much Merlot and warm covers,’ Neva J said drowsily.

‘Whew, I am happy to be out of the Lemp Mansion. There is a hitchhiker along the side of the road; should we pick her up?’ Chet asked. ‘Oh my God, it is Neva J,’ Chet said with fear!