The fall leaves are resplendent. They have outlasted my birthday week. I never tire of taking photos of them. They are new every day. Autumn leaves give me peace. Baseball is over for a while. It will be back soon. I was for the Blue Jays since I felt an affinity with their name. Holidays are here. We will be erecting the Christmas Tree later this month. I am in my element. The cool weather is perfect for my Outback Leather Hat and a jacket or sweater. Comfortable clothing for an old man who once was young. I eschewed the ball caps and stocking caps of my youth as soon as I was able to buy my own headgear. Neva J dressed me in funny-looking hats. Often it was what we called in those halcyon days a Navy Cap. If it was not for the Navy Cap, it was the hat that had ear flaps. The ear flaps snapped under my chin. I recall my first hat that had a semblance of a bill. It was a fuzzy what I called a Russian hat, and I loved it. They were popular in the 70s. Of course, Leisure Suits were popular in the 70s, but I never owned one. I never owned bell-bottom trousers, but I did have a pair of elephant leg pants. I liked the look and think they should return to men’s fashion. Navy Uniforms had bell-bottom trousers.

Words change things. The Bible tells us that God spoke the world into existence. Words heal and harm. A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver, according to the scripture. A few words spoken in haste can destroy the confidence of many. Political leaders are afraid that a word spoken against the Emperor will result in their downfall.

I read a scripture passage yesterday, as I do four times a year. My friend Marta thanked me as I left the sanctuary after the service. My heart was warmed. The Bible admonishes us to be as wise as a serpent and as harmless as a dove. Easier said than done. Another admonishment is to let our yey be yey and our neigh be neigh. ‘In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin, but he that refraineth his lips is wise.’I wish I had followed this wisdom more.

We are fellow travelers on the road back to Jerusalem. We come from many places. Representing all colors of the Rainbow, we walk with steady and halting steps. It is time to have the landscaper trim the plants and bushes for winter. We settle our hearts for the Advent of Christ. He teaches us to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. No prerequisites or qualifying stipulations. No political party affiliation required.

The days grow short when you reach September. It will be dark shortly after 5:00 p.m. this evening. I like the short days. A calm blanket of night settles over the land. A time to be quiet and reflect. A time to consider. A time to plan. Fall Festivities like the short days. A time of hayrides and campfires. Ale at the local pub and stories that mystify. Stories that pull back the curtain on the Secret. Spirits are watching. We are not alone.

The Quiet Man sits with us by the campfire. He smiles as he listens to the stories. He likes spiced rum. The animals of the Woods love him. He talks with them and they talk back. He remembers the first Thanksgiving. The difficulty of moving to a new world. He helped bury many of his fellow travelers. The Quiet Man evokes memories of hunger and deprivation in the cold, with no shelter. The kindness of strangers sustained him. He smoked the peacepipe. Tobacco was a lovely pastime for listening and telling stories around the campfire. No one was excluded; all were welcome.

‘I come from long ago,’ Quiet Man said. ‘I heard the angry throng cry, ‘Give us Barrabas,’ Quiet Man said. ‘When I looked into his eyes, I was lost in the pools of eternity,’ Quiet Man continued. ‘To look at him, he seemed ordinary until he spoke,’ Quiet Man noted. ‘He welcomed all and turned no one away,’ Quiet Man observed. ‘The term sinner or black sheep had no relevance to him; he loved everyone equally,’ Quiet Man attested. We at the banks of the river hung on his words of a time of peace,’ Quiet Man said softly. ‘He cautioned of those preaching in his name but not his message,’ Quiet Man continued. ‘He told us to look at the fruit of their tree.’ Quiet Man smiled and poured another spiced rum.

‘Much of what we see is a dream,’ Quiet Man’s Friend said. ‘We have watched and listened to learn much,’ QMF continued. ‘The Plan is so much bigger than we imagine,’ QMF said. ‘I have been guarding Quiet Man for centuries,’ QMF noted. ‘He is an easy companion and does not speak unless he has something to say,’ QMF explained. ‘Quiet Man is a Watcher,’ Quiet Man’s Friend informed. ‘There are many Watchers in the land,’ Quiet Man’s Friend explained. ‘They say little but understand the Veil and the Secret behind it,’ QMF said clearly. ‘Quite Man is here to help if we want it,’ QMF said.

‘What is your name, Friend? What shall we call you,’ Chet asked. ‘Both you and Quiet Man have a familiar look, and I have seen your photos and fine art,’ Chet noted. ‘Your voices are familiar and like the sound of many doves or the rippling of a brook on an autumn day,’ Chet continued. ‘I have seen Quiet Man in my dreams and you standing behind him,’ Chet explained.

‘We are here to record and chronicle the happenings of humans as they search for the Secret,’ Quiet Man explained. ‘You see us now and you will see us again on the other side of the Veil,’ Quiet Man assured. ‘We watch and wait for the promise to be fulfilled,’ Quiet Man said calmly and softly. ‘Accept all of God’s creation and do not reject any of his children,’ the Quiet Man said.

Two of the ‘Ber’ months are over. My favorite months whiz by like a weaver’s shuttle. During my halcyon days, November and December were called the Holiday months. Time for turkey and gravy. Dressing and pumpkin pie will be a staple food group this month. Now we get down to the serious business of celebrating the close of 2025 and looking ahead to 2026. I write a few checks, but when I do, 2025 seems like a science fiction story. This is the future Ray Bradbury wrote about. We live in interesting times. The Holidays will aid us in securing our sense of place. We have been disrupted and disturbed. Turned from pillar to post. If we were in the Netflix program Stranger Things, we would be living in the Upside Down. The Old Ways have been tested and some torn down. Identity Crisis is the norm for 2025. Who are we? Where are we going? We have not come this way before.

Our through line of life is based on ideas. For Christians who follow the message of Christ, we believe be good to all men and women, boys and girls. If someone is cold, give them your cloak. If your neighbor is hungry, feed them. We are not all able-bodied and work-hardened. We are sick and in need of a physician. Children need an advocate, and if their parents will not fill the role, shall we place them in Debtors’ Prison? Perhaps their little hands are ideal for close work on garment sewing? Peace comes from helping others.

The Jeeps were everywhere. Jeep after Jeep drove by the Old Man. It appears that many people drive Jeeps. It was Jeep day in the Woods. The Jeeps stuck together. They traveled in unison. It was a Jeep caravan. The Old Man wondered if driving a Jeep and being with the other Jeeps created peace. The Jeep drivers looked happy. They seemed content with the Jeep Convention.

Arbitrary identifiers should not be affixed to humans. This is what happened to Christ. We will soon celebrate his birth. Unconventional would be the term for it. No fanfare, no trumpets, or the gathering of the power people of the time. No leaders telling lies about the birth of the baby in the manger surrounded by animals and shepherds. Straight, unglamorous, or pristine words conveyed the story. The Son of God was born in mean circumstances. No gold adorned the walls of the barn where he was born. The Baby Jesus did not require hyperventallting rehtoric or cross words to unbelievers. The story unites, not divides. There was no sleight of hand or card trick. No conman or magician directed the attention of the audience to somewhere other than the scam or trick they are perpetrating.

Perhaps we are not wrong to look to the old ways of peace. The hope that the hand of friendship will result in a similar hand being extended to us. We have forgotten the old ways. We have chosen expediency over mercy. After all, everyone seems to be out for themselves. They are not and, in fact, are the minority. We hunger for the Golden Rule. We were born with the spirit to be kind to all. We have to learn prejudice and lack of empathy; it does not come easy to spiritual creatures. Depression is a rampant problem among our kind. We all suffer from it from time to time. Peace helps alleviate depression. The simple story of the little Baby Jesus is a GPS to our Peaceful Place.

‘Tonight we walk down Cemetery Road and picnic in the Cemetery,’
Billy B. said. Halloween is a great night of remembrance for those who have passed over,’ Billy B. continued. ‘This is the night when the dead return for a spot of tea and crumpets,’ Billy B. laughed.

‘I will bring the Merlot and the Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs that
Chet eats directly from the package,’ Neva J smiled. ‘We will also have plenty of candy and Ketel One Vodka for Dirty Martinis,’ Neva J winked. ‘I have heard that the ghosts of the dead walk freely among the tomstones on Halloween night,’ Neva J shuddered. ‘I would love to talk with Grandma A or Dutch,’ Neva J said softly. ‘Dutch died in World War II or at least went missing, never to be found,’ Neva J recalled. ‘Grandma A passed away in the 60s,’ Neva J wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Earl died in 2001 from a major heart attack,’ Neva J remembered. ‘I was with MJ and Jay for some time after that and Aaron and Jonathon,’ Neva J laughed nervously. ‘MJ made the best Malt-O-Meal and Jay the best coffee, both so sweet, and they were sweet also,’Neva J mentioned. ‘I have lived in the beautiful place for 12 years,’ Neva J reflected. ‘I watch the lives of MJ Jay Aaron and Jonathon, but when I speak to them, they often do not answer,’ Neva J observed. ‘I have everything I want here, and Bill and I are back together after our long separation, Neva J smiled peacefully.

‘It is great seeing you, Sis,’ Dutch said to his sister Neva J. ‘You have not aged,’ Dutch observed. ‘You are still 16 and fresh as the morning dew,’ Dutch said to Neva J. ‘I got lost in the war,’ Dutch said. ‘I could hear our Mom praying for me, but I could not reach her,’ Dutch said with tears. But here we are together again, and I do not recall where I was before seeing you,’ Dutch said with laughter. ‘I recall the Nazi guns firing at me as I cowered in a foxhole and a long period where I tried to return home,’ Dutch said with sadness. ‘I could see Mom in her rocking chair, reading her Bible and praying for my safe return. She died not knowing what happened to me,’ Dutch observed sadly.

‘Welcome, all, we have been renewing old acquaintances here in the Cemetery,’ Grandma A told the kids. ‘Our worlds are one in so many ways,’ Grandma A noted. ‘Time is fluid and what is lost now is not so later, ‘Grandma A noted. ‘On Halloween night, the Veil is wide open and we visit together,’ Grandma A said with a hearty laugh.

We are anxious. Neva J told me she was a worrier. We are desperately trying to control events around us. Our worry is heightened by events we can not control. A source of anxiety is the unease we have with people who do not fit our mold. If only the offending person would do what we think is appropriate. If only they felt like us. Life reveals to our anxious minds that we are not in control of everything. The people we are worrying about may be worrying about our deportment. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

The kids say that this person or that may not be into you. Although we are quite certain we have the answers to life’s persistent questions, others may see a different portrait. Much of today’s malady is centered around our government, which exhibits a Type A personality, and is setting the course for real Americans.

Peace comes from acceptance and understanding. The beauty of the church that follows Christ’s message is that everyone can sit at table. The holidays are here. The fall winds are invigorating. The clarion call of peace surrounds us. Not the faux peace that politicans speak of daily while supporting nuclear weapons. Not the peace of who has the bigger sword. A settled mind brings a grateful heart.

A calm mind is a choice. We are wrapped up in social media. Negative pronouncements are a daily occurrence. We even have our share of Job’s Friends who tell us why not curse God and die. We need to make the main thing the main thing. Our journey back to Jerusalem is an exciting adventure. The Gift lives within us. That is the first thing. All else emanates from the Gift of Life. Others may not understand us, and that is alright. People may wonder why we do what we do, and that is our business and not theirs. Each of us is a unique creation. No two of us are alike. One size does not fit all. We bloom and flourish as one of a kind, a miracle in the universe.

The angels are watching. They marvel at our movements. They root for our individuality. The angels identify with our struggles. They share our victories.

The rain fell hard this morning in the Woods. This is the type of day when no one is exploring other than the Old Man. The hard ground of summer has become the spongy ground of fall. The kind of rain that soaks a raincoat through. The Old Man lit his pipe. In the corner of his eye, he saw a young man hurrying to the shelter with what appeared to be tomatoes in his hand and a white plate. First, the Old Man waved, and the young man kept walking toward a respite from the rain. Then the Old Man spoke, and the young man returned the greeting. He spoke as if the Old Man knew his story. ‘I have three days off work and this is the last day,’ the Young Man said. ‘Three days is too much for being in the Woods in the rain,’ the Young Man noted. ‘I love the Woods and a little rain, but this is more than I bargained for,’ the Young Man continued. The Young Man proceeded to place four ruby-red tomatoes on his white plate and began eating. He looked familiar in a strange sort of way. I wondered where he got the tomatoes that appeared to be garden fresh in mid-fall.

‘I have lost my way, I fear,’ the Young Man said to the Old Man. ‘What day of the week is it?’ the Young Man asked. ‘Why, it is Wednesday of course,’ the Old Man answered with a wry grin. ‘I thought days running together was a malady of the old,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘I come to the Woods almost every day and have never seen you here before,’ the Old Man commented. ‘Usually, a rainy day like this keeps everyone home,’ the Old Man chuckled.

‘In the past, I often came to Southern Illinois with my wife and son,’ the Young Man mentioned. ‘My wife’s family lived in Eldorado,’ the Young Man offered. ‘I rode a Harley Davidson with my son sandwiched in the middle between my wife and me,’ the Young Man said with a reminiscent grin. ‘Would you care for a tomato? They are fresh from my garden,’ the Young man asked the Old Man. ‘We did not have a garden in Chicago, but began one in Eldorado as all of our neighbors had one as well,’ the Young Man noted.

The mama deer and her baby watched with interest. A flock of geese flew overhead. The Young Man ate with vigor.

‘My family moved to Eldorado in 1963,’ the Old man said. ‘Dad planted a tomato garden in the backyard of the Haunted Victorian House we lived in,’ the Old man said with determination. ‘Dad rode a Harley-Davidson,’ the Old Man noted with a quavering voice. ‘He loved to walk in these Woods when we visited Eldorado,’ the Old Man explained. ‘He smoked Pall Mall cigarettes,’ the Old Man remembered. ‘Where is your automobile?’ the Old Man asked.

‘It has been a long time since I saw my Harley Davidson,’ the Young Man said. ‘Is JFK still President?’ the Young Man asked. ‘Do you have a light?’ the Young Man asked as he pulled a package of Pall Mall cigarettes from his breast pocket.

‘The Halloween Party is tonight in the old Victorian house on Illinois Avenue, Jane said. ‘It is haunted and ghosts have been seen many times,’ Jane continued. ‘Billy B. lived there when he first came to Eldorado,’ Jane said. ‘Billy B. heard voices in the night speaking in whispers,’ Jane noted. ‘The legend of the appearances includes crying from the covered well in the back yard,’ Jane shivered. ‘A young woman was thrown down the well and the top of it sealed up 100 years ago,’ Jane explained. ‘Her name was Annabel Lee, and Edgar Allen Poe wrote about her in a poem,’ Jane said with trepidation. ‘Poe came to Eldorado during his short life and lived with Annabel Lee in the Victorian,’ Jane said. ‘History does not record their love affair other than his poem, which is not set in Eldorado,’ Jane explained. ‘Poe writes of a ‘Kingdom by the sea, where he and Annabel Lee lived, Jane noted. ‘He continues with, ‘And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee: So that her highborn kinsman came and bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea,’ Jane quoted Edgar Allen Poe’s poem.

‘I have read that there were numerous sightings of a man with dark hair and a mustache seen around Eldorado,’ Chet said. ‘He wore a top hat and had a magnificent walking stick with an ivory skull on top,’ Chet continued. ‘He was known as a gentleman and drank spirits copiously,’ Chet observed. ‘He wrote for the Eldorado newspaper under the name Allen Poe and was well read,’ Chet explained. ‘He was from Massachusetts,’ Chet noted. ‘Mr. Poe wrote several detective stories while he resided in the Old Vic on Illinois,’ Chet said. ‘He was a sad man who became sadder when he drank,’ Chet commented. ‘He spoke of his beloved Annabel Lee, but no one ever met her,’ Chet said with a sigh. ‘Edgar Allen Poe is said to roam the long porch of the Victorian House on Illinois Avenue and is often seen with a young dark-headed woman of unparalleled beauty and mystery,’ Chet observed. ‘At times, the etheral creatures are rumored to walk across the street to the High School to watch the football team play,’ Chet laughed. ‘The lovely woman always cheers for the Eldorado Eagles,’ Chet winked.

‘When we moved into the Vic, I slept in a utility room that was so small I had to jump onto the roll-away bed to enter the room as it consumed the floor space,’ Bill B said. ‘I woke up the first night to see a little man dressed in black with a black mustache at the foot of my bed,’ Billy B continued. ‘He spoke not a word, just staring at me with sad eyes,’ Billy B. noted. ‘I asked him if he lived in the house and he shook his head no,’ Billy B. said. ‘I asked him again if he lived in the big cold house with a fireplace in every room and he said that he did live there…of a fashion,’ Billy B. noted with a fearful look. ‘The man in black with the doleful eyes said that he stayed close to his love, who was a resident of the property,’ Billy B. said. ‘The mysterious man said he had been a slave to drink and neglected the love of his life,’ Billy B. explained. ‘They were hiding in Eldorado to attempt to begin a new life,’ Billy B. recounted. ‘They wanted to be somewhere where no one knew them,’ Billy B. remembered. ‘I would give up the spirits, but they aid my writing the little man with the sad eyes told me,’ Billy B. said.

‘Welcome, Halloween guests,’ Edgar Allen Poe said. ‘You have discovered Annabel Lee and my secret hideway, EAP continued. ‘We live on you realize, I am sure,’ EAP explained. ‘Annabel Lee and I are happy in our secret life after life, Edgar Allen Poe said. ‘At times I think I am drinking more than usual, but it is hard to tell in the spirit world,’ Edgar Allen Poe laughed. ‘When I wrote my poem about my beautiful Annabel Lee, I was already dead, EAP noted with certainty. ‘So we did live by the sea at times and in Eldorado at other moments,’ Edgar Allen Poe noted. ‘Have you read the Tell-Tale Heart?’ Poe asked. Once again, I was thinking of my Annabel Lee,’ Poe noted. ‘Life is uncomplicated in Eldorado, and when I reveal myself, I am thought to be one of the eccentrics who frequent small town America,’ Poe laughed heartily.

‘You children are so lovely,’ Annabel Lee said with a benevolent smile. ‘Edgar has always been obsessed with me, and I do not know why, Annabel Lee continued. ‘I played the organ in the Presbyterian church in Massachusetts,’ Annable noted. ‘I noticed him each Sunday sitting in the front row listening to my playing,’ Annabel Lee said. ‘He seemed transported to another world,’ AL said. ‘He was always so sad,’ Annabel Lee noted with a tear in her eyes. ‘He wrote like a god and lived like a longshoreman,’ Annabel Lee said. ‘Here we watch the season pass, and our favorite is autumn, Annable Lee grinned. ‘Here people accept you for who you are and do not judge,’ Annabel Lee explained.

The Old Man walked in the rain today. While listening to classical Christmas music. It was an unparalleled joy. A mother was protecting her fawn. Change is here, and she knows it. The fawn looked like a deer in the headlights. His look was full of wonder and the newness of life. His frame of reference was small, but his aspirations were large. He was ready to take on the world of the Woods. No one would stop him in his pursuit. The passion play of Earth was on full display. Wet leaves do not crunch. They settle onto the earthen bed. All is right with God’s creation. Humans muck it up at times. We were meant for greatness, but prefer to scrape ourselves with potsherds among the broken pots. We are invited to soar like the eagle while we slither on the ground, looking up for our destiny. We have a purpose and mission. Other humans upset us we imagine their conspiracy for us. Look over the fence, we say. Look how the other half lives. Others are watching our fence line. Perhaps they have designs regarding our lives.

Stories keep us. Without stories, we have no history. Our lives are but a vapor ascending upwards to Heaven. Without a chronicler who will know that we were here? Today is the tomorrow that we worried about yesterday. Regular Order is the rule for life. A settled mind is the goal. The Scribe is watching and listening. Human life plays mental tricks. Taken a day at a time, life seems chaotic. Everything is changing. Is the Bully now the hero? Are there just a few good Americans and the rest chaff on the threshing floor? Are there phases that test our resolve to hold true to the unchanging plan of life?

Fall is serene and forgiving. The heat of summer is over. The sweat of the noonday sun has passed. There are Aaron and Jonathon around the Christmas Tree in the 80s. Wide-eyed and innocent, waiting for life to begin for them. Fisher-Price toys were the order of the day until Nintendo came along. Bases Loaded was a fascinating example of modern technology. MJ and I played it until the sun came up. Our four-room house seemed like a mansion. The Christmas Tree was resplendent with Victorian ornaments from Walmart. The Christmas lights glowed softly. Royal Vinter coffee to drink, which we special-ordered, just like the rich people do.

How could there be such a miracle as the internet? We were unable to obtain it in Elkville for some time due to the lack of a company serving our village. A dial-up modem provided the ability to download a page from the New York Times in two or three minutes. It was just like the Jetsons. MJ and I purchased a Microsoft computer from Microsoft for $2,000 and played Oregon Trail on it. The Chronicler was writing it down for history.

Teddy Ruxpin was a miracle. He was a Teddy Bear that talked. His mouth moved as he spoke. Jonathon was fascinated by Teddy. At the end of Christmas Day, when God is in his Heaven and all is right with the world, Jonathon told me that Mr. Ruxpin had ceased to speak. Teddy’s mouth was broken. A casualty of Christmas excitement. The Chronicler wrote it down.

I saw my classmates and wished I had been at our 50th reunion. I can only see them as they were in 1975. Young and full of promise. We wanted to make our mark on the story. We sought to advance the narrative. The Chronicler was watching. Life seems long when you are experiencing the moment and short when you look back on the panoply of moments. All things pass away. This, too, shall change. Autumn is here in all of its wonder. A new year is coming. Another chapter is yet to be written.

Today is a rainy Sunday. My kind of day. The Woods were lovely, dark, and deep and wet this morning. I walk in the rain. I always have. I have not melted yet. The peace of a rainy day in the Woods is compelling. The leaves fall, winter is waiting at the door. An opportunity for Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey of Saturday Night Live notoriety.

‘This is a perfect Sunday for boating on the river,’ Mr. Toad said. ‘Sunday boating is simply the best,’ Mr. Toad continued. ‘I see the Old Man walking up the path, let us see if he would like to join us,’ Mr. Toad proclaimed. ‘The Old Man is a lover of the river and boating,’ Mr. Toad noted. ‘He has on his new leather Outback hat and looks the part of a Woodsman,’ Mr. Toad laughed and held his sides. ‘Who is that walking with him?’ Toady asked.

‘Greetings, the Old Man called out to his friends on the boat. I have my friend Frank N. Stein with me. May we come aboard,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘We are pleased to have been invited for this Sunday adventure,’ the Old Man announced. ‘I love the rain and cloud cover,’ the Old Man said. ‘I was born a week before Halloween,’ the Old Man noted. ‘The short days please my soul,’ OM said. ‘Frank was telling me about his Halloween plans,’ OM noted.

‘I am inviting you all to Ghost Stories in the Woods on Halloween night,’ Frank N. Stein said. ‘My Bride is making chili, and I am a popcorn ball expert,’ Frank said. ‘We will gather at the river’s edge and eat s’mores by the campfire, telling Ghost Stories,’ Frank said. ‘ We passed some ghost on the way to the river,’ Frank noted. ‘They told us that the Nuclear Clock had been moved up to 30 seconds to midnight,’ Frank continued. ‘The ghosts mentioned that they were from our near future,’ Frank N. Stein offered.

‘Hello, all, we are from your near future, where a nuclear warhead was launched and the world raced to fire their warheads at each other to be first in Armageddon,’ Casper said. The Woods were destroyed and the rivers set ablaze,’ Casper said with tears in his eyes. ‘The unthinkable happened, logical thinking shut down,’ Casper whispered. ‘There was no winner, only losers,’ Casper noted. ‘It was all war games and who had the most nukes until a madman pushed the button,’ Casper sat down, about to faint.

‘Hit the deck, you rubberneck,’ Neva J called out to wake Billy B. ‘You do not want to be late for school, the bacon is on a plate next to the coffee pot,’ Neva J informed. ‘President Kennedy said on television that the missile crisis is over, and I am glad, as we could not afford a bomb shelter,’ Neva J laughed. ‘How could leaders of nations rationalize such bizarre thinking,’ Neva J pondered.

Yesterday was a lovely experience. Morning coffee at the Lost Forest Coffeehouse and Pub to Birthday dinner at Global Gourmet. The birthday greetings on Facebook were more than the Old Man expected. Even a shot of Grey Goose to end the night from the owner of GG. Fun times as I begin my trek to 69.

At times, it seems a bit of a dream. How did I get here from there? There were many turns in the road. Hills and valleys in equal proportion. Faith and fear walk hand in hand. Mellow is the secret ingredient. We look for outside stimulants to bring us peace. There is a reason drinking is so popular. We have a bit of anxiety. We feel the need for an aid. Peace possesses our souls. Most things we worry about never happen. Throughout my life, many people have been kind to me.

‘I must admit I am a mellow fellow,’ Frankenstein admitted. ‘I like walking in the Woods with the Old Man,’ Frankenstein said. ‘Today we smoked some little fine cigars,’ Frankenstein reminisced. ‘I told him that cigars were good,’ Frankenstein laughed. ‘It is one of my most famous movie quotes,’ Frankenstein danced on one foot and then the other. ‘The Missus says I am too mellow and that I should get upset when someone wrongs me,’ Frankenstein observed. ‘I told her we are only human, or in my case, several humans.’ Frankenstein laughed heartily. ‘When I hurt someone’s feelings, I feel pain,’ Frankenstein noted. ‘I prefer picking flowers and photographing the changing autumn leaves,’ Frankenstein explained. ‘I am a strict observer of tea time as I am British,’ Frankenstein smiled thoughtfully.

‘Well, I love the Woods as well and all that it has to offer,’ the Wolfman said. ‘I am well read in the classics and walk with a gold-plated walking stick with an ivory skull’s head on top,’ the Wolfman noted. ‘The conflict with our human and animal nature is tricky at times,’ the Wolfman offered. ‘I like to moon watch,’ the Wolfman said with a smile. ‘When leaders proclaim that hurting other humans is good American and what the Bible teaches, I am saddened, the Wolfman quietly observed. ‘The Teacher told us to love others as we want to be loved,’ the Wolfman explained. ‘Mellow thoughts produce mellow actions,’ Wolfy said with a laugh.

‘We have some birthday presents for the Old Man, and Neva J has brought the Merlot,’ Badger said. ‘We will celebrate life while we are all still members of this mortal plane,’ Badger said. ‘Moley is coming and Mr. Toad, along with Chet Jane and Billy B.,’ Badger said. ‘It will be a grand party for our friends in the Wood and those in the city,’ Badger assured. ‘There will be much food and drink, good cheer and peace for all,’ Badger said with a laugh. ‘Fear and anxiety will have to wait at the door as we celebrate a sense of place and love for all,’ Badger promised.