It is cold in the neighborhood this morning. A chill factor of 12 degrees. We had our plants deadheaded just in time. What happens today is not something that happens every day. Things change. The cold of winter will yield to warmer temperatures later this week. The grey clouds will part to a sunny blue sky. What seems terrible and dire may turn into hope and dreams.

The Old Man was a poor boy from a poor family. Often sold short in terms of his abilities. Underserved and marginalized by the success of his peerage. Underestimated and assumed simple by vocation. After all, there were the movers and the shakers. The Hare danced and skipped around the Tortoise laughing and pointing. Perhaps the Old Man was lazy or slow of purpose, the crowd wondered. Regardless of the mean words or silly jokes, the Old Man smiled and returned good for evil. A churchwoman said that she had a dream where the Old Man was supervising many of his detractors in a business. The Old Man was a success and a catalyst in helping many forgotten people become successful.

The Tortises walked one deliberate step at a time. Their Guardian Angel could see the future. The race is not always to the swift and strong but to the determined.

The call goes forth, Come to me, you who are weak and heavily laden, and I will give you rest. Life is full of changes. Peace and love are always the answers. Perception is not reality. Reality resides in the heart of the misunderstood and marginalized.

It is winter today. It happened overnight. The leaves are primarily on the ground. They create a colorful carpet. Nature’s time varies little; our time moves around. The pleasant autumn days of October are yielding to the winter chill. So it goes with our lives. Change is happening all around us. We live in the past while the future is knocking at the door. The news can make you anxious. Events at home have changed. Someone moved the goalposts. Without warning, the measurement of what it means to be an American is redefined by some in political power. It pays to keep your own counsel. Holding on to the thru line of truth is comforting. We can not always be a member of the in crowd.

A colleague asked me how I worked for so many years at the University. I responded a day at a time. And there you have it. It seems life must be lived with eyes on the road directly in front of us. Worrying about what is around the corner is futile. The cacophony of disparate voices is troubling. Many problems must be addressed by the problem holder. There is no magic bullet.

The Old Man walked through the Winter Woods. The brisk breeze blew. The limbs bowed and swayed in the wind. The autumn leaves held on for dear life. There was reason to be anxious if you are unacustomed to the Winter Woods. Many limbs did not have their leaf coats on. The sky looked like snow. Some gentlemen were hunting for coins beneath the ground. The metal finders beeped happily.

You see, we gear up and prepare for one phase of life and have no backup plan for the next chapter. Colleagues often told me that when they retired, they were going to sit in the rocking chair on the front porch. That sounded restful but not engaging. Other co-workers said they feared that if they retired, they would not live long. Their life was their work. A reason to be anxious, I think.

Serenity comes from a sense of place and purpose. When I meet people who feel compelled to tell me the great things they have done, I wonder why they are insecure. The Little Drummer Boy will be sung about soon. Follow your own Little Drummer Boy. Please, your smiling reflection in the mirror, not the boisterous crowd.

MJ and I were in St. Louis Thursday and Friday. The Christmas Trees were up at Plaza Frontenac. MJ wanted to visit the Paper Source on Ladue St. I first said I would wait in the Subaru, but she assured me I would want to come in. It was an Old World Christmas. Christmas paper and ribbons from a century ago. Unique Birthday Cards. Christmas Toys You Don’t See Every Day. It was a Christmas Hideaway that I could have spent the day in. I left with the Spirit of Christmas.

Then it was on to St. Charles, Missouri. Once the capital of Missouri. We walked the cobbledstone sidewalks and wondered if they were getting more uneven each year. We discovered our Christmas Nirvana in our favorite store. Someone is getting ready to receive some Victorian Christmas gifts. The Old Man got a little Nativity set. He was pleased as Christmas Punch.

The Christmas Spirit is waiting for us. My friend was lost, but now he is found is a tremendous Christmas Gift. Annalise brightened MJ’s and my day. Christmas is coming, and blessings are all around.

MJ commented that Wheel of Fortune was not on the Hotel Television, although it was posted on the TV Listings. I noted that this was one of the several inconsistencies I had observed since our arrival in St. Louis. I noticed that our regular waitress looked different and that the owner of the eatery seemed much older than the last time I had seen them. I postulated perhaps we had entered an alternate reality, and in this universe, Wheel of Fortune was not playing, and our favorite restaurant icons had changed somewhat. I carried the story further by suggesting that Mylo, our Maltese, might be Malcom, a Brischon Frieze, when we returned home. I like stories. Life presents to me in narrative or poetic form. Both are a joy.

I listened to the old couple sitting adjacent to us in Bartolinos on the Hill. The wife asked,’ Did Wife ask her husband? ‘Your memory is a bit worse but not too bad,’ the wife said.

‘The doctor did give me a memory test and I do not think I did not do too good, I think,’ the Husband said. ‘Memory tests are hard when you get older,’ the husband said. ‘I will help you with your infusion when we get home,’ the Husband promised.

‘You do not know what is required for an infusion,’ said the Wife. ‘I will have to do it myself,’ the Wife concluded.

‘I can help once you are all set up,’ the Husband said with assurance.

‘So it is Christmas and what have you done…another year older and a new one just begun.’We travel quickly, amazed by the children’s reactions to the Christmas Lights and Scenes. Our little eyes widen with the imminent expectation of Santa Claus and his reindeer. The years go by so swiftly, my dear. Soon we will be taking memory tests. We know the promise of Christmas. We have not forgotten…

‘

In 1965, a board game called Mystery Date was released. The television commercial jingle asked, ‘Are you waiting for your Mystery Date?’ Being eight years old in much of 1965, I was not yet ready for my Mystery Date. However, I recall that the girls in my class were eagerly anticipating the mystery. Girls advance faster than boys. After all, all we have to work with are snails and puppy dog tails. One of my female classmates wanted to discuss biology in the bushes on the way home from school. I was frightened and ran home.

The June Bugs are out in November. They are plentiful and proficient. The children played and hooped, hollered, and basically relished the fall afternoon at the Woods. They thought little of the Mystery Date. We prepare for Thanksgiving. In pursuit of turkey breasts. A time to relax and refresh. A look forward and a look back. I checked out the blo-molds of Mickey and Minnie Mouse Christmas figures. Close to $100 with tax. Santa will be fine alone again this year. The Holidays are on the Christmas Locomotive. They are chugging along with the coal furnace burning bright. Turn around once, and it will be over for 2025.

I laugh to myself when one political party succeeds over the other, and suddenly, they are geniuses and have the secret to success. The secret is we want to be seen and heard, cared about. We want our lives to have some of the burden lifted of arbitrary rhetoric. When we lose our livelihoods, we are desperate. Most of us live from paycheck to paycheck. Personalities matter little; results matter a lot.

‘I think you gentlemen will enjoy the journey we are about to embark on,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘We seek the Mystery Date where we shall discover the answer to life’s persistent questions, Mr. Badger proclaimed. ‘We have been recruited to perform in the Grand Play,’ Mr. Badger noted. ‘No one asked our agent if we were interested nor if we were available,’ Badger said with a sly grin. ‘We earned our place on stage by birth,’ Badger proclaimed. ‘We seek preparation for the Mystery Date,’ Mr. Badger smiled benevolently..

‘Shall I bring my spare spectacles to see the answer to the Secret that I have longed to understand my entire life?’ Mr. Mole asked. ‘I have read book after book and dusty volume after dusty volume not to find the answer to the Mystery Date,’ Moley said with a wry smile. ‘Mr. Toad is docking his boat on the riverbank and I am certain he would want to accompany us to the Mystery Date,’ Moley laughed.

‘Ahoy, mates,’ Toady called out. ‘A little bird told me that we are on a trek to find out the Mystery Date,’ Mr. Toad continued. ‘When will we know the Secret?’ Toady, dressed in a blue jacket and an ascot with a navy cap on his head, asked. ‘I have been a slave to the Mystery Date; it has ruled my going in and my coming out,’ Toady proclaimed. ‘I have advanced degrees from Oxford and have read history and English philosophy and religion there, yet I do not know the Secret,’ Today cried out. ‘I am a seeker and a watcher. I have spent my life in pursuit of the Myesery Date,’ Mr. Toad said with solemnity. ‘Ratty told me not to come, that I would be disappointed once again, but I said no, I must seek the Mystery Date and the answer to the Secret.’ Toady danced on one foot and then the other.

The Old Man walked in the autumn woods with determination. The players were there. Badger and Toad, Mole and even Ratty. The Sun shone in the sky. The leaves were yellow, green, and red. There was a golden hue. Life was golden. The promise was golden. The Mystery Date was golden.

Today was a leaf dance in the Woods. I had not seen anything to compare with the choreography. The fine art was so precious that I wished I could watch it forever. Of course, that will not happen. Soon, the leaves will all be on the Earth. The winter snow will come as a blanket for their slumber. So it goes for our human family as well. We shoot up through the soil and grow like a weed. Our branches reach toward heaven. Our roots dig deep in our sense of place. We toil and travail. Anxious for many things, we worry if all will be well. Will we succeed? Will we fail in our quest? Is there an escalator, or do we have to climb the ladder? Is the path every man for himself, or shall we help the weak and fallen? The leaves danced merrily as the classical Christmas music played. Their role in the great performance of life was concluded for the theatrical season. They had played their part well. There was much reason to bob and dance in the cool fall air.

Here we are on the walk of mystery. Never knowing what is around the corner. We look behind a lot. Is something catching up to us? What have we missed in the journey to the Secret? Were we daydreaming when the instructions were given? Those of us who appear to have it all together are often falling apart. We focus on appearances rather than substance. How do we look when we face the world? Do we have our masks on properly? ‘How are you?’ the Friend asked. ‘I am good and full of zeal for the journey,’ Masked Man says. ‘The constant smile of the mask reveals my success in life,’ Masked Man explains. ‘I have higher education and a six-figure income,’ Masked Man notes with some pride. ‘I worked hard to get to the pinnacle,’ Masked Man says with a wink that can not be seen for the static mask. ‘I did not want to be like my parents, who worked in service and thought not of higher goals,’ Masked Man said. ‘They wanted better for me and I fulfilled their expectations,’ Masked Man assured. ‘Now I am old and my degrees mean little as I shuffle to the grave,’ Masked Man beamoaned.

The neighbor’s cat walked languidly to the house. The cat thought of dinner and the occasional mouse. He worried not what tomorrow would bring.

‘Health is a bitch when you do not have it,’ Sick Woman said. ‘My son counts on me and I wonder if I will be there to provide for him,’ the Sick Woman worried. ‘When hope and success are at their zenith, illness comes in to spoil,’ the Sick Woman noted. ‘My colleagues scamper about me, wondering if they have on the right outfit or are in line for the next promotion, while I worry about life,’ SW said. ‘What does my journey mean in the grand performance?’ Sick Woman asked.

‘I am the CEO and a self-made man,’ Captain of Industry said. ‘My wiles have brought me this far,’ Captain said. ‘While others were enjoying their families, I was building a company that could not be destroyed,’ Captain noted. ‘I worked 18-hour days and often around the clock to gain millions of dollars,’ Captain proclaimed. ‘There were many who did not succeed in my company, but it was on account of laziness and sloth,’ Captain explained. ‘Now I have gained the prize and no one is watching,’ Captain whispered.

The leaves swirled in the wind in unusual patterns. At times they fell in mass, other times just one or two. They seemed to dance arbitrarily. Yet there was a method to the performance. The Woods were quiet except for the sound of the wind. The conductor was conducting. The leaves knew their part.

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.