Memorial Day is just around the corner, then July 4th, then Labor Day. Time has its running shoes on. Mylo Jonathon and I are enjoying the Writing Porch. The cool breeze of spring is wafting through the screen. Thoughts of summer and cooking out on the grill. Salameats, potato salad, and games. An easy time of song and mirth while the Bullfrog Quartet performs.

I was listening to a podcast where a financial advisor said that riches come in many forms. Some folks lay up money as if someday they will enjoy it and never do…time ran out too soon. Others choose to travel or purchase art, or perhaps they enjoy clothes and thus have riches closely aligned with their personalities.

Many days, Ordinary Time is our surroundings. We look for the fireworks when God is in the little things of daily life. Pastor Meg reminded us on Sunday that when we consciously look outside our pattern of living, we see God. Have you driven the same route for years, and one day, a house along the side of the road you had not noticed? Or a person you know and have worked alongside, who you suddenly understand is consistently kind.

We introverts are not performers. We love to watch performances. We think about what we have seen, heard, and felt. Still Waters run deep. We follow the plot. We get the theme. The quiet of Ordinary Time enriches us. We seek the hidden gifts. Often, we see what others miss.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers reading. We began the day attending church at First Presbyterian and witnessing an extraordinary piano performance. Our little church has three outstanding pianists. This morning, they performed a medley centered on their time at the keyboard. When a pianist left the piano bench to the right, they moved to the left of the seat and prepared to continue once the next pianist exited. I have never seen anything like it, and the joy of their music filled the sanctuary.

MJ Aaron and Jonathon attended an Arts Festival in the Art Community, where the artists are outstanding. We have been fans of Char Down’s art for many years. The Crew brought home a piece to join the others in our collection. It is inspirational, as is art in general to us. The acquisition of a piece of art from one of our favorite artists made a well-rounded, wonderful Mother’s Day Weekend.

We took a sleigh ride with Jay as Santa very effectively in the early days of this century. What a nice man and a good name. Jay seems to be ageless. The ride we took around the Lowertown Art Community hooked MJ and me. Paducah became a preferred destination for several years. There was a magic in the midst. There still is. We became aficionados and friends.

Art enriches my life. Writing blogs feeds my soul. Paintings are a primary pastime. The piano music this morning was a special experience. Art is the key that opens our hearts to life. Blinders only afford tunnel vision. Art is similar to looking through the old Viewmaster 3D toys we had in my youth. Suddenly, I was transported to a magical, mystical world of possibilities I had not imagined.

I am customarily a one-blog-per-day writer. Today, being left to my own devices, I just keep writing. It may be somewhat dangerous leaving the Old Man alone on a lovely Saturday. Outside the Writing Porch, the landscape is Fine Art. Nature is the propellant for my engine. The Bullfrogs have not begun their serenade yet. Mylo has enjoyed the Writing Porch; now he is napping. How can we neglect such a rich gift? We set our hopes in Wall Street when they reside in our hearts. The survival of the fittest is not how God intended. He came to the weakest among us. He wants us to know we matter.

Sometimes we have to change paths. The more you want something, the farther it moves away. Most happiness is easy. It is a gift. All you have to do is plug into it. Having been a Christian for 58 years, I have garnered peace from the easy habit of following the message of love. Love is much easier than hate. Hate takes focus. Hate is work.

The road is winding. There are hills and valleys. Being old is a new chapter with surprises. When I was a boy, there was a toy periscope that enabled you to see around corners. Would be nice to have one of those now. Time travels forward, but does it also go backward?

We think inside a box. Faith leads outside the box. We can be builders of others, or we can be a wrecking crew. It takes more focus to build than to demolish. What takes a lifetime to build can be destroyed with a few smacks of the big wrecking ball.

Much frustration centers around relationships. It is easy to expect something from a relationship that another participant is unwilling or unable to provide. Then the imagination takes control. The solution is to flow with the relationship and see where it leads.

About now, Billy B, Chet, Jane, and Neva J would be swimming in Pounds Hollow Lake. Oscar Mayer Weiners straight out of the package for Chet. Languid days of reflection and joy floating on the still water. Laughing as they rode to the Hollow in Neva J’s 57 Chevy convertible. When it rained, they all had to get out of the classic car and manually put up the ragtop. None of them had money, all of them had love.

Saturday night at the movies. Often, the Starlite Drive-In this time of year. Not expecting anything yet, full of anticipation. Movies were another world. The big screen took them out of their small world of the Midwest. There were amazing places to see and be a part of. Mind expansion happened in those 1960s cars, where when the sun set, trunks popped open all over the Drive-In lot, and a free movie patron would step out.

A lovely Saturday for Mother’s Day weekend. Where has the year gone? Since I missed the Cigar Bar at Paducha today, I have made my own on the Writing Porch. I am a bit like Kramer on Seinfeld when he was watching Jerry’s apartment for him and subsequently had a real Party before Jerry’s return. When Jerry returned, Kramer was lying placidly on the couch. When Jerry asked what had happened in his absence, Kramer replied, “Not much.”

We watch and wait for what is coming. Life is a mystery, and we are performers in the drama. It is possible to have peace and purpose in the midst of troubled times. Community is important. Someone to wait with you.

‘I think we should wait here for the coming of Godot,’ Chet said. ‘He is coming with a message regarding the meaning of life and what we should do next,’ Chet continued. ‘I met Godot once in a dream,’ Chet noted. ‘He told me that he had the answers to life’s persistent questions,’ Chet laughed. ‘Godot said that we should wait for him and he would tell us what is coming next,’ Chet winked. ‘Godot said that what we perceive as reality is a dream and our dreams are reality,’ Chet smiled. ‘He noted that it seems we have been waiting for a long time, but really it has been short,’ Chet continued. ‘Godot said that all will be revealed sooner than we think,’ Chet chuckled.

‘Now hold on just a minute,’ Billy B said. ‘We have been here for what seems like days waiting for Godot, and I am getting tired of sitting on this park bench,’ Billy B continued. ‘I am beginning to wonder if he will show up,’ Billy B proclaimed. ‘I think I have been waiting for Godot my entire life with more mysteries coming each day,’ Billy B said. ‘The past few Golden Years have revealed the question what it’s all about, Alfie,’ Billy B winked. ‘Remember when Neva J had the Magic Mirror in our youth, and we saw what appeared to be another universe in its reflection,’ Billy B said. ‘That mystical experience has stayed with me for my life. There is more that we do not see than what we see,’ Billy B laughed.

‘Follow me,’ the Old Man said from a spot on the hill far from the park bench. ‘I hear you are waiting for Godot,’ the Old Man said. ‘Godot is a busy man he said. ‘ He asked me to lead you to his favorite spot in the woods next to the rushing creek,’ the Old Man continued. ‘When you gaze into the water, you will see a key to your quest,’ the Old Man noted. ‘You will see part of the answer to the Grand Mystery,’ the Old Man chuckled.

The Crew is in Paducha for the Art Festival. The Old Man stayed behind. Scrooge blamed the ghost of Marley,’ on an undercooked potato.’I think that must be my malady.

MJ is a wonderful mother. She loves Aaron and Jonathon with a fierce adoration. They have been our primary passion since they were born. We will take Mother’s Day Dinner tomorrow at Alongis in Duquoin. They told us last year that Mother’s Day was their busiest day of the year.

Neva J was always there for me. We had great fun. She made me eggnog with a raw egg every morning. When she left the kitchen, I threw it out the back door. In those halcyon days, many people consumed raw eggs… and liver. There was a pervasive fear that we had iron-poor blood. Neva J thought the crew cut was ideal for me. We did not agree. After Dad left, it was Neva J and me against the world.

Somewhere along the way, I noticed that Neva J was her own person beyond being my Mom. She liked to Honky Tonk and drink Slo-Gin Fizzes. She took classes in Photography. She had two years of high school and had to go to work in a shoe factory for $16 per week. Dad was serving in the Pacific during World War II. When he returned home, they were married.

As kids, we assume that we are the be-all and end-all of our Mom’s life. We are the apple of her eye. When Mother’s Day comes, we try to make up for lost time. Often, Mom is the best friend you will have. No one accepts you as you are and loves all of your quirks. Mom is there when no one else is.

We Dads, play catch-up. When Father’s Day comes next month, the restaurants will not make much difference. A necktie perhaps…

The door stands wide open. Smiling faces greet us on the other side. Worry and anxiety melt away. Suddenly, we are in our happy place. Our knees do not hurt so much. Our step is livelier and lighter. There is work, and there is play, and there is play while you work and work while you play. Friday puts it all into perspective.

So MJ and I had a lovely dinner with our dear friends Ryan and Elizabeth on Wednesday. Both are employed at Southern Illinois University and were my colleagues when I was there. I thought of old times. I have been retired for over 15 years. SIUC was a blessing to me. I worked my career at the university and began as a BSWI, which is a janitor. People liked me and appreciated my efforts. I had found a home.

Chancellor Argersinger wrote of me that I endeavoured to have a home for all people in Building Services. Empathy is an easy word to say and more difficult to inculcate into culture.

Through the Friday Door is a collection of musings about what is coming. We have a destiny. What we have done in our short lives is just the tip of the iceberg. There is much more unseen than seen.

Friday’s Door is good to walk through for assurance and a sense of place. Life is not only about earning a living but living a life.

We live at a brisk pace. Not much time for second guesses. The train is coming down the tracks fast. We must climb aboard or get out of the way. We would sit by the Pool of Reflection…if we had the time. The Old Man noticed that even in retirement, the hours fly by quickly. At times, you must work to enjoy life.

Anxious times. What will happen next? It is our duty to push the boulder up the hill, as our brother Sisyphus taught us. It rolls down the hill, and we begin again.

Education begins the journey; the more the better. Then finding a job…keeping a job…retiring with purpose. All require focus.

Hope reigns in our hearts as we take joy in the journey. The best part about living is being alive. We are on the Grand Stage. We have our role to learn to wear as a comfortable garment. People are watching. Much as our little friends watched us in the sandbox so many springs ago. What are we doing and why are we doing it? Do we share our toys? Do we pull hair? Do we laugh at our friend’s hurts? These questions comprise who we are as old folks. Does the Bully excite us? Do we think the Bully is a strong example of masculinity and John Wayne toughness when he bullies us?

The kids laughed and ran to the playground. Shouts of joy and adventure peeled through the woods.
The Old Man thought they were there for an hour or two. In five minutes, they were gone. Another spring voice whispered in their ears. So it goes with us as we furtively seek the hope that evades us. The long-playing vinyl record is not long enough. Here we are on the last cut. Not long ago, the music seemed to play forever…now not so much.

I’m a collector. I enjoy collecting things that interest me. Over my lifetime I’ve collected movie stubs and ticket stubs in general and bookmarks …

A Fancy New Pen

Spring is soft. The easy climate enhances an easy mind. No hurry, no worry. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to look forward to the rest of 2026. Happiness accompanies each of us. Other people are not in charge of our happiness. We wear it like a new shirt. We love it as a constant friend. We wake with it and sleep with our comforter. The birds are singing outside the Writing Porch. They enjoy watching the humans, but often in perplexity. Birds know who they are and what their lives are about. The gift of a Pleasant Land is not lost on them. The gift of life is to be celebrated. Singing all day is appropriate.

Anxiety comes from false constructs. None of us is intended to be the same. When our neighbor is our ruler for success, we become anxious. Some of us are fat kids, while others are skinny. Some of us are artisans while others are academics. The Old Man enjoys writing. Spring renews us for the journey that is short and yet long.

Employment is wonderful. Employment is not life. Life is the sum of its parts. Family Friends Faith…engagement in the excitement of day-to-day living. When I rub Mylo’s ears, he is happy. We all need a little ear rubbing.

‘A soft answer turns away wrath.’ Words hurt…words heal. Be a healer. Sow hope in the heart of everyone you meet. Spring is a time for planting. As babies, we loved each other. A smile turned our heads. The sound of mother’s voice soothed us…We drifted off to sleep. Such is the angel of happiness. Always by our side, watching for bumps in the road. When conflict raises its head, we say what our angel told us…not today…God Bless.

Five dollars per gallon. I have never seen such a thing. A $20 sits at the bottom of your gas tank, feeling alone. I remember when any trip included the important consideration of how much the gas would cost. Folks did not drive for pleasure…they could not afford to. Public transportation is not an option for rural people. The cost of a gallon of gas has doubled in less than two months. This means the cost of all goods and services will be going up. Affordability is real.

It is not unusual for workers to drive 50 miles one way to work at Southern Illinois University, which affords a living wage in Southern Illinois. Their work travel has doubled in the blink of an eye. The cost will be more than many can bear. Something has to give. A high percentage of people do not have $1,000 saved for an emergency. They do not have $500.00.

Political leaders dance while those they represent suffer…they have no clue… oblivious to common sense. One thing I learned in the late 1970s was that we need the Strait of Hormuz. Big Beautiful Bombs, as with the Big Beautiful Bill, are not the be-all and end-all of peace and prosperity.

Political rhetoric does not produce real-world answers to real-world problems. A leader may live in a fantasy world of his own construction, but the camera does not lie. Hard Times require Hard Writers…

The Old Man walked through the Woods in the light rain. His friends, Mr. Badger and Mr. Mole, walked beside him. They spoke of good times and happy days. ‘I think it is when the lying starts that trouble begins,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘When we cease to tell each other the truth, we cheapen our friendship,’ Mr. Badger continued. ‘Soon we are a bit aimless, going too and fro in our lives seeking pleasure above understanding,’ Badger said. ‘Honesty is the bedrock that we are built upon,’ MB noted. ‘We can all agree on basic truth…it is immutable,’ MB laughed. ‘My Old Friend…you must write of the Old Ways,’ Mr. Badger told the Old Man. ‘If we Old Baby Boomers do not remind our colleagues of the good paths…we all will be lost in the Woods,’ Mr. Badger noted solemenly.

‘Life is somewhat dim for me until I put on my spectacles,’ Mr. Mole noted. ‘Often I leave them on the side table when the world is too hard to look at,’ Mole continued. ‘I have discovered that not seeing the world clearly does not prevent evil from occurring…I have decided to face it with my spectacles firmly planted on my nose,’ Moley laughed.

‘Look ahead, there is the Preacher and the little flock,’ the Old Man said. ‘This is where the meeting of Truthtellers is meeting in secret,’ the Old Man smiled. ‘Let us join them and tell the truth together,’ the Old Man said. ‘We will sit by the rushing creek and remember Jerusalem,’ the Old Man said softly…