October is rolling along. The baseball playoffs are in play. The month of scary, mysterious creatures and mystical events is upon us. October helps us get our minds off so many unanswered questions in our day-to-day lives. When we see Frankenstein, we understand his motivation. He is misunderstood as we are. Frankenstein was looking for a friend. Someone to smoke a cigar with. A little peace and quiet refuge from a type A wife. Our leaders seem to have such deep motivations that we assume criticism is appropriate. Let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ be ‘no,’ it has been said. Brevity is a key to communication. We have two ears and one mouth, so we should use them appropriately.

‘The day is exquisite,’ Old Man said. ‘The autumn leaves are brilliant, cool breezes lend to contemplation, ‘the Old Man continued. ‘Thoughts of days gone by and the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,’ the Old Man laughed to himself. ‘I have brought my appetite,’ the Old Man exclamied! ‘I am glad to see you, Mr. Deer,’ the Old Man greeted. ‘My, you have a jaunty hat, Mr. Badger,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Mr. Mole, are those new glasses you are wearing,’ the Old Man asked with a wink. ‘Mr. Toad has a new automobile,’ the Old Man asked. ‘You are quite the racecar driver,’ the Old Man observed.

‘OM, how are you? You’re getting younger,’ Mr. Mole asked. ‘Each time we meet, I see more of the Young Man I first met,’ Mr. Mole observed. ‘I remember when you worked 16+ hours per day to make your bread,’ Mr. Mole grinned. ‘By the way, MJ did make some delicious bread in those halcyon days,’ Mr. Mole laughed so hard his glasses fell forward on his nose.

‘Follow me, OM, and I will show you my recent discovery,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘It is a time machine hidden in the midst of the ancient sandstone,’ Mr. Badger continued. ‘Walk through the tunnel and you will see something amazing,’ Mr. Badger smiled.

‘Hit the deck, you rubberneck,’ Neva J called out. ‘I have the coffee made and the bacon for your bacon sandwich,’ Neva J said as she returned to bed.

‘This year we shall dress as the Wind In The Willows characters,’ Chet said. ‘We will be the talk of the Halloween Party,’ Chet continued. ‘We will have Frankenstein join us, he is sleeping in the guest room since he and his Bride had a disagreement over his cigars,’ Chet winked. ‘Frankenstein thoroughly enjoys an autumn picnic in the woods,’ Chet proclaimed. ‘We will bolster his spirit before he returns to domestic bliss,’ Chet laughed.

‘Cigars for all,’ Frankenstein said with glee.

It is a lovely, warm October day. Neither hot like August nor cool like October. Caught in the middle. Not the first time. Not the last. The hot weather belies the holiday season. The saying of the old guys when I was a boy is that they did not know if it was time to shit or wind their watch. So it goes, change is coming. October 10th is on the horizon. A big day in the Brooks home in 1978. MJ and I were newlyweds and had little money. She donated her teaching services to our church school, and I worked for a Janitorial Service. Upon my first day back to work after three days’ holiday given to me by the Service’s owners, I had two lovely cheeseburgers in my lunch box. I thought that this marriage thing was good. When I complimented my bride, she cautioned that we would not be able to eat a cheeseburger every day due to our limited grocery funds. As Jennifer said last night, life is hard. So when I received the call that I had been hired at Southern Illinois University, I was thrilled. We would have enough money for cheeseburgers. I began my Christian walk in a conservative church. I enjoyed it and became somewhat of a minor celebrity in the congregation of those enjoying their Golden Years. Before the service began, I made a point of shaking hands with everyone in the little country church. They told me I spoke like a miniature adult. I absorbed the tropes of fundamentalist Christian doctrine, which in those days had a lot of love and no fight in it. The pastor was a World War II veteran and was quick to cry over his faith. He accepted everyone, and the results were the expansion of our little congregation by at least 50 Jewish Hippies. Among that group from Chicago, my friend Jeff was a member. As I became a teenager, I had dreams of becoming a minister. I had felt a pull in that direction since the days of Bible School at the Church of Christ in Eldorado, where the teacher asked me to tell my understanding of the Bible story of Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration. The Bible School Teacher told the class that she had never heard someone so young explain the passage so passionately. I was a Christian from that point in my young life.

Experiences change understanding. I saw hate and divisiveness fill where love once was. Lines were drawn. A tug of war ensued. There were victors and vanquished. Love, forgiveness, and understanding were no longer in the mix. It was time to take sides, the Rev. Jerry Falwell told his congregation in Lynchburg, Virginia. It was time for Christians to become political. I admired Billy Graham, who never wavered from teaching the simple message of salvation. Amazing Grace is my favorite song. I vividly recall when all poor and blue-collar folks were Democrats. The Republican Party seemed to not recognize their existence. Now, religion is equated with which political party you are affiliated with.

In those halcyon days, we attended two church conventions a year. One on Memorial Day and the other on Labor Day. I watched as other young men were called upon to preach, and I was not. During this time, I was preaching at the funerals for our little church. I understood that I was a background character and liked it as it fit my introvert nature. The demarcation between us and them offended me. We were all God’s Children. My understanding was changing.

University was a revelation. So many people of every skin shade and faith, and no faith. I loved the international community. An African student told me that all of the international students wanted to work for me because I had no prejudice. I have never received a greater compliment and have tried to live up to it. God is no respector of persons, and we are all on the same road. God must laugh when he hears our petty and inane grievances about each other. I saw that women, minorities, and handicapped people were marginalized. I tried to right the wrongs done to marginalized folks with tremendous ability.

Serene is the word for this Friday. The Great White Heron is hunting dinner. The Frog Quartet is preparing for their Friday Night Performance. Mr. Beaver has taken the day off to attend his daughter’s wedding. Peace prevails in the Animal Kingdom. There is no us and them. There are no Christian Nationalists and Progressive Christians. ‘Nothing shall hurt or destroy in all of my holy mountain saith the Lord.’ ‘The wolf shall lie down with the lamb.’ Job scrapes his boils with potsherds. Job knows there is a better way. Job remembers the life of peace and plenty.

‘Demons will charm you with a smile for a while.’ So goes the stirring Broadway song. We remember the protectors of our youth. Someone who stood up for us when others were silent. The person who took our part when others averted their eyes from our plight.

Politicians sell their strength as being our protector. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. We do not travel this rocky road alone. Many have taken an interest in our welfare. Often without goading or a hidden agenda. As Sally Field said when she received the Academy Award for Best Actress in a leading role in her 1979 portrayal of Norma Rae, ‘You like me, you really like me.’

Have you received a telephone call from an old friend only to discover they want to sell you something? Has a powerful person in your organization suddenly become your friend, only to reveal themselves as needing something from you once the commercial ends? Those precious guardians who stand by you with nothing to gain are more precious than the Gold of Ophir.

We wear a brave mask. We speak courageously. We carry a big stick. Inwardly, we are the little fat kid with thick glasses at the back of the classroom. We need a protector to walk alongside us. Age puts things in perspective. Not so many people to please and get an affirmative glance from. Money does not color the transaction. The Ladder’s Rungs have been climbed. Yet are we good enough, as Al Franken’s character Stuart Smalley asked on Saturday Night Live?

Watch the Leader who portends his invincibility to the masses. He is smarter than others and better educated. He needs no counsel, as his counsel is his own brain. Experts do not understand what he understands instinctively from allegorical information. Inside is a little afraid child. The child is determined to punish those who do not agree with him. The child broaches no dissent. Accepts no varying opinion. Fear marks his path. Who will rip off the mask, he thinks. They must be stopped before that happens. Who will reveal that he does not like peas and carrots and will not eat them?

‘I think we have picked a glorious fall day to walk in the Woods,’ Guardian Angel said. ‘It is warm now, but that will change, and soon the snow will cover the ground,’ GA noted. ‘I have been by your side since you sat in front of the three heart doctors in Chicago,’ GA said. ‘Neva J feared you would not make it to Evansville, Indiana, due to what the Ambulance Driver said,’ GA continued. ‘I was certain that you would make it and have a fulfilling life,’ GA grinned. ‘Nothing is going to harm you, not while I am around,’ Guardian Angel sang with a lilt.

‘Have you noticed that the skeletons and vampires Frankenstein and Dracula are ten feet tall in the neighbor’s yard?’ Jane asked. ‘When did the Halloween decorations get so big?’ Jane continued. ‘In our youth, we felt lucky to have a carved Jack-O-Lantern on the front porch,’ Jane laughed. ‘I saw a humongous skeleton once and have never determined if it was real or a dream,’ Jane said with a shaky voice. ‘The Big Bag Of Bones was standing behind Hillcrest School when I took the trash out for Mrs. Blackwell,’ Jane noted. ‘I was small but he seemed ten feet tall,’ Jane whispered. ‘He talked like a professor and greeted me warmly,’ Jane said. ‘His smile looked like piano keys,’ Jane observed. ‘BOB asked me if he could be in the Halloween School Play,’ Jane said. ‘He said he had theatrical experience on Broadway,’ Jane laughed. ‘BOB said that he had met the prophet Ezeikel in the Valley of Dry Bones and that he was a good chap,’ Jane mused. ‘BOB began to dance a soft shoe without the need of the taps,’ Jane winked.

‘Jane, I can play any part in the Play,’ BOB said with assurance. ‘I have performed before kings and emperors,’ BOB smiled his piano key smile. ‘I was the inspiration for the song Dry Bones,’ BOB noted with pride. ‘I am sure you have heard it sung where the verses discuss how the bones are connected,’ BOB said with a wink. ‘The audience enjoyed the snappy rhythm and the plain explanation of how all of the bones work together to form the skeleton,’ BOB looked quizzical. ‘Remember there will be a time when the bones no longer work together but lie in Ezekiel’s Valley,’ BOB said quietly. ‘Someone will have the job of reuniting them again for their purpose,’ BOB promised.

‘Wakey Wakey,’ Nurse Ratched called out. ‘It is time for all of us to go to the rec room to see the Halloween Play, the kids from Hillcrest school are performing for our pleasure, Nurse Ratched said with authority. ‘Hello Jane, I was hoping you would be in the audience,’ BOB said. ‘It has been a while,’ BOB noted with a wide Piano Keys Grin. ‘This afternoon we will perform for the good times and the not so good, the joys and the sorrows we all know,’ BOB explained. ‘Jane, please come and join me on stage, take my hand, and we will dance the years away,’ BOB promised…

‘Wakey Wakey, Janie, it is time to go to school, Mom called out. ‘You practiced late last night for the Halloween Play, and who is BOB?’ Mom asked…

We have experienced them. A moment that does not fit our construct of reality. A puzzle piece that does not fit the opening for it. We think linear, but the moment is outside the lines. I had one of those moments when I thought, regarding our ‘Leave It To Beaver’ house in the suburbs of Chicago, ‘At least we have a good house this time.’ I was 3 or 4 years old. What was my frame of reference? What was I comparing it to? A thought that has remained unexplained to me and has stuck with me for my entire life.

I visited the University of Oxford a few years ago. When I entered the Library, I felt I had been there before. Now, the Oxford Library did not remind me of any Library I had seen nor read about. MJ Aaron, Jonathon, and I had visited London previously, but not Oxford. Yet I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I had not only visited the Library before, but the University. I felt at home.

I have known many people of faith who say they have seen angels and visions. I have not. My faith’s empirical reality is seeing Christ in other people.. Yet the feeling of familiarity and place has struck me on more than one occasion. There was a candidate for Chancellor of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale that I knew the moment I met her. We had not met, but somehow we had. I knew I must help her where I could. I understood she was right for our campus. I am a bit of an introvert, but I reached out to work for what I understood our people needed.

As the Assistant Superintendent of our department, I was told by one of our crew leaders that a member of his Malaysian student custodial staff had seen a ghost in Anthony Hall. The young woman had been checking to ensure that she had turned off the lights and locked the doors on the third floor of Anthony Hall, which began as a women’s dormitory named for Susan B. Anthony in the early days of the last century. The student saw a woman dressed in a white blouse and a dress to her feet sitting in a chair with her hair in a bun on the back of her head. When the strangely dressed woman did not respond to the student, she left in fear. The custodial crew leader took me into the attic of the renovated former dormitory and showed me an old photo of the women who stayed in the building. There were women all dressed in white blouses and dresses to their feet with their hair in buns on the back of their heads…

So we search for answers when we do not know the questions. Who are we in the grand theatrical production of life? Are we learning as we go, or do we come with a carpet bag full of experiences? As we look upon our surroundings, what evidence do we have that our neighbor is seeing the same things that we are seeing? Scientists tell us that our brains make sense of the molecules and atoms that make up everything our eyes see.

Could it be that once in a while, we get a peek behind the Veil? Is there another reality or dimension walking alongside us? Perhaps we have the occasional visitor from the other side of the Veil. Maybe they wonder about the unexplainable moments as we do…

Today has the ambiance of fall the heat of summer. Ten to fifteen degrees hotter than normal. Perhaps this is the new normal. My birthday month is in view. I see on Facebook that many of my classmates are 68, but I have yet to achieve that age. I remember when I thought 40 was old. I am becoming addicted to the long walk. My goals for the day were reached in one fell swoop. As the day progresses, I exceed my goals and my iPhone tells me that I am a good boy. Mylo and I like to be told we are good boys. He gets a spinach leaf for a reward. My reward is internal.

Signs are everywhere. The holidays are here. Jennifer and Jonathon have both been published in Grassroots Magazine. We all go to the Readings. They are a big event. My phone just announced that I have exceeded my walking goal. I am a good boy!

The baseball playoffs are coming tomorrow. The Cubs are in. Happy day in the Brooks home. Brooks Pond is shining. Mr. Beaver is building his dam. He is singular of purpose. He knows winter is coming. The Bullfrog Quartet is resting this afternoon for their evening performance. There is more peace than war. There is a lot of war. Some leaders would have us believe that our cities are war-ravaged. Of course, only one political party has the problem of war-ravaged cities. Where is the voice of Wisdom in the cacophony of hate? The Bullfrog Quartet will sing of peace. They laugh at the clownish antics of humans.

Halloween has become a celebration of life in the midst of hate. Children getting free candy and the innocence of youth. Frankenstein, the creation of the real monster, Dr. Frankenstein. A misunderstood creation who liked kids and the occasional cigar. Frankenstein’s Bride was also misunderstood. A woman of refinement who spoke up for herself. She loved an elaborate hairdo. Frank often stole away for a while to enjoy a good cigar or his pipe. He considered the vagaries and vicissitudes of his human neighbors. Why did his creator scream, ‘He’s alive.’ Frankenstein did not think his being alive was so extraordinary. After all, he had been alive before, and now he was back. Frankenstein thought, ‘I am back in the ballgame again.’ The Cubs needed a hitter. Someone who could knock it out of the park.

Now the latest Cub is walking to the plate,’ Harry Caray intoned. ‘Frank N. Stein has the determined stride of Babe Ruth,’ Harry Cary said. ‘Mr. Stein must be 7 feet tall,’ Harry Cary continued. ‘The bat looks dwarfed in his big green hands,’ Harry observed.

‘I have been told that his shoe size is 22,’ Steve Stone added. ‘Frank was a bit miffed that he could not enjoy his favorite cigar before his turn at bat,’ Steve Stone continued. ‘Mrs. Stein can be seen in the dugout screaming instructions for her beloved husband. Steve laughed. ‘She called out for him to zip up and spit out his tobacco chaw,’ Steve observed wryly. ‘I am told they had to go to London to stretch his cap with one of the only antique hat expanders left at an antique London Hat Emporium, Steve observed. ‘Wait…Frank N. Stein has signaled for a time out and has motioned for his manager, Wednesday Adams, to come to Home Plate,’ Steve said.

‘Well, Steve, it appears that Wednesday is giving Frank a cigar and he is lighting it with aplomb,’ Harry Carey noted. ‘I am telling you I have never seen a look of determination like Frank N. Stein has as he waits for the pitch,’ Harry exulted. ‘Holy Cow, it is a grand slam…Cubs Win…Cubs win…

The Old Man enjoyed a reflective Sunday in the Woods. Listening to C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity was a delight. A folksy discussion of what it means to be a Christian. That is folksy from a renowned academic and author who knew how to write for the common among us. The Audible Package is over 30 hours and contains five of Lewis’s books.

My high school class is celebrating its 50th reunion on Saturday. I remember graduating like yesterday. I knew I was moving from my home the next morning. I wondered what I would become. So it goes. Becoming is the road we are on. I knew on that hot evening in 1975, I wanted my life to center around Christ in some form. Nothing had stirred my imagination like the Bible. The Desire Of The Ages had come to live with men.

I listened to the popular Christian song The King Is Coming by Bill and Gloria Gaither and felt inspired. There was something beyond the Veil. I garnered many friends in church. In those halcyon days, I felt accepted by everyone. When I began attending church, it was predominantly attended by older people. I have a love for old folks, now my people to this day. The clock turns swiftly.

A circular saw is peeling its trade in the distance. MJ says I am good at spackling. I told her I did a lot of it during the 9 months I worked on building our church as a teenager. I did everything from spackling to applying tar to the outside walls of the new basement. I worked alongside Dear Departed John Green on many occasions.

For years, my work colleagues thought I was a preacher. I seldom mentioned scripture, but must have looked the part. My boss in custodial told me that if we were contracted, I would be fine, as I could go preach. He also told me I should have been a philosopher. I see grey well. Everything is not black and white. If Christ judged us in black and white, we would be in a bit of trouble. As I often told colleagues in Building Services who wanted me to discipline their coworkers, if the shoe were on the other foot, they would not feel so vengeful.

Humility is real. I remind myself daily to not think of my accomplishments more highly than I deserve. I have been helped every step on the path to becoming. From liver and eggnog to the Old Man in the Woods, I remain a servant. As a child, I asked for wisdom. I am still asking…

We live in a leadership community of Headstrong and Cocksure. Right is right and wrong is wrong, and never the twain shall meet. We are often mystified by our own lives, yet certain about the lives of others, especially when they are wrong. Perhaps we have missed the point of the exercise.

Jennifer reminded me of how awful liver and eggnog must have been. Neva J believed in the efficacy of both. Iron deficiency was foremost in the minds of parents in the 1960s. Liver every week was the panacea. Eggnog with a raw egg in the mix made me wretch. Hence, I disposed of it when I got the opportunity. Neva J garnished it with nutmeg, which did not improve the flavor. I liked hamburgers, especially from Moo & Cackel. In those halcyon days, you could purchase five for a dollar. I could have eaten them all, but had to share. I knew some pasty-faced kids and wondered if they were consuming their weekly allotment of liver. I recall visiting Dr. Montgomery in Harrisburg, where the cigarette smoke was thick in his office. The doctor smoked while he was examining me. All adults smoked at least some cigarettes. It was a rite of passage. The professionals smoked pipes, and the working folks smoked cigars or cigarettes. Some folks chewed tobacco but it was hard to tell until you looked at their protruding cheek. Those folks who did not smoke wondered as to their chosen vice. There were many unsaid and unseen things done behind the barn.

Neva J and I made Ballon Wine. It was a joint project that we enjoyed. We placed a balloon across the open gallon jug, and when it inflated, we knew it was wine time. We kept the wine jug in the basement in the dark and cool climate. We drank it in juice glasses and thought sublime thoughts. Neva J smoked Salem cigarettes and swore she did not like them, but that adults smoked some. The menthol was advertised as being safer than the Pall Malls or Luckys, which were unfiltered. Salem Menthol cigarettes were supposed to be good for your throat.

Grandma A swore by a medication called Lydia Pinkham. A cure-all for women and their female afflictions. You can still purchase Lydia Pinkham today on Amazon. We gathered at Grandma A’s house on Monday nights. Neva J’s sisters, Wanda Vema and Guelda, Neva J, and me. During the holidays, I would quote from memory the Night Before Christmas. Often Aunt Wanda would comment that she did not feel well as she was, ‘Just a flowing and flowing.’ Grandma A went to the medicine chest for Lydia Pinkham.

Cousin Billy was a master organist. The best I have heard. He practiced daily. Billy had two subjects: the Organ and Universal Monsters. His sister Brenda thought he was weird. Brenda loved Neva J. They bonded and talked for hours. Brenda babysat me on Friday nights, and we watched scary movies together. Brenda talks slowly like her dad, Bill. When asked a question, Bill would run his tongue between a gap in his lower teeth, and the questioner wondered if there would be an answer forthcoming. Bill had been a soldier in Germany in World War II. It was said by the family that Bill had killed a German but that he would not speak of it. Uncle Bill loved my dad, whom he called Junior. When Junior spoke, Bill was enraptured. Junior had fought in World War II in the Pacific. Neva J suspected that Junior had been too friendly with the Island Women. This was before their marriage. Junior was a bit rakish and a bon vivant. He rode a Harley motorcycle and wore a motorcycle hat. He carried a gun without a license. He rode my tricycle with a grin of glee.

Junior believed in Spare the rod and spoil the child. He would hold one of my hands, and we went on a macabre merry-go-round with him swatting me with his leather belt. This sounds like child abuse now, but was perfectly acceptable and encouraged for we malcontent kids of the ’60s. One day Tommy stole my pencil, and I came over to my third-grade desk to retrieve what was mine. The teacher told me I should be paddled and that she would do so if she ever caught me engaging in fistycuffs again. The next day, Tommy stole my pencil again, and in walked the teacher. I knew I was in for Corporal Punishment. However, I was comforted with the sure knowledge that Neva J would kick her ass. The teacher was saved from an ass kicking by issuing another stern lecture.

Another day for the long hike. I love it when I reach my walking goal early in the day. I have been walking for health most of my adult life. As a child, I bicycled. Now I seek mystery in the Woods. Friday still revs my engine. Both in school and my career, Friday was special. Friday night was a movie at the Orpheum Theatre. We Eldorado kids were ready for release. This time of year was good for a Creature Feature. Friday nights were prime for monster or science fiction on TV as well. At a tender age, it seemed that scary movies were very close to reality. I remember seeing The Birds and wondering about its deeper meaning. I still do. Movies shadow our lives. The parallels are significant. After seeing Frankenstein or Dracula, the weekend seemed open for possibilities. There was a fight between good and evil. Dracula could be held at bay by seeing the cross. Dr. Frankenstein was the real monster. Could there be a Mad Scientist in Eldorado?

Friday was the forward in the book of the Weekend. It was too cool for a Pounds Hollow swim but not for Halloween planning. I drank coffee from the large brown ceramic cup made in an electric percolator. The richer the burnt coffee I drank, the more excited I was for the adventure of discovering the hidden. Discovering the Secret. Adults knew secret things that I did not. They spoke in whispers behind closed doors. Their eyes betrayed their understanding. There was a hidden world beyond the Veil. Friday night afforded time to investigate as Sherlock Holmes and Watson. There was a hidden book of secrets. Now there were precious hours to discover it.

Some kids always looked sad. Did they not have enough iron in their diet? Did they not have liver once a week as I did? Did they not drink eggnog with a raw egg every morning as I did? That is the mornings that Neva J did not leave the kitchen long enough for me to throw the vile mixture out of the back porch door. What were the adults laughing about after I went to bed? Was there a secret comedy that they unleashed after I retired for the evening?

Teachers rarely revealed their human side. Mostly, they were prim and proper, speaking as if they read from a script. The Script was a bit boring. We kids were just people in miniature. We understood much more than they realized. When they connected with us, it was revelatory. They had hopes and fears and bills to pay. Some pumped gas in the summer. My Social Studies teacher did not seem pleased. Mr. Watson was a kind teacher who connected with me as a human. He was interested in what I was reading and what I thought about the narrative. Mrs. Baker talked with me as an equal. She liked my writing. She spoke of her life at home. She wanted to take a vacation, but her husband was not warm to the idea. Mrs. Baker had a historic knowledge of Eldorado that was unparalleled.

Hillary Clinton wrote a somewhat maligned book, It Takes a Village to Raise a Child. She was right. Egg nog and liver do not do it all for a kid. Fridays offered the opportunity to study the mystery. Why was one of the best jobs in Southern Illinois coal mining beneath the ground? Who decides if a student is more inclined to succeed at University, and who should pursue the vocational trades? Was there really a headless man at the State Fair?

Travel intrigues me. Seeing something I have not seen before. Learning customs different than mine. We visited the catacombs in Sicily. Dead bodies were close enough to touch. They were dressed in their best costumes. Some women in their wedding dresses. A lothario in his top hat and tails. A baby so perfectly preserved that she looked like she was sleeping. What is life? What is beyond the Veil? Did the bodies in the catacombs know?

The Old Man has become accustomed to passing people while they stare or drop their heads. Today, two women smiled and waved. Friendly brightens the day. I noticed that when I visited Manhattan, thousands of people passed by without making eye contact. Many are deep in their thoughts. Some are a bit afraid. Modern life has brought us fear. We hear often about our enemies and seldom about our friends.

Halloween is approaching. The Monsters are planning a Halloween party. ‘I think this year we will have rides for the kiddies,’ Frankenstein said with a grin. ‘A hayride and an apple bobbing contest,’ Frankenstein continued. ‘I do love to bob for apples, I have won the contest three years running,’ Frankenstein noted. ‘I have a special technique,’ Frankenstein explained. ‘I wear my President Kennedy mask until the moment that it is time to bob, then remove it just before we submerge our faces in the water,’ Frankenstein laughed. ‘The shock on the children’s faces gives me just enough time to get the largest apple and win,’ Frankenstein winked. ‘Mrs. Frankenstein says that I have an unfair advantage, but I think not,’ Frankenstein chortled. ‘Mrs. F loves to bob for apples, but her high hair gets in the way of the bobbing bowl,’ Frankenstein wryly observed. ‘One time she bobbed before me and knocked off my Kennedy mask early, spoiling the surprise,’ Frankenstein said.

‘I love a good sack race,’ Mummy said. ‘I do well in the sack as it reminds me of my sarcophogas,’ Mummy observed. ‘Also, I do not trip over my mummy wrappings,’ Mummy grinned. ‘Chet beat me last year in the sack race, but he had the advantage of gliding to the finish as the Lost In Space Robot,’ Mummy frowned. ‘I asked Chet for a redo, he responded, ‘That does not compute.’

‘I make a mean Blood Punch,’ Dracula announced. ‘I spike it with Grey Goose Vodka, everyone is happy after a tumbler or two,’ Dracula laughed. ‘The kids especially enjoy the Grey Goose as they are not accustomed to the benefits of Vodka,’ Dracula observed. ‘After the Punch I enjoy playing Old Maid Cards with the kiddos,’ Dracula said joyously. ‘We eat candy corn and popcorn balls, then we take a nap due to the Grey Goose,’ Dracula said with a shrug of his shoulders.

‘I wonder why we get such a bad rap,’ Wolfman asked. ‘We want to let the children not fear,’ Wolfman added with a toothy grin. ‘I understand why there is fear that some people are not good,’ Wolfman reflected. ‘We are the Storybook Monsters who will never harm you,’ Wolfman advised. ‘We have fears just like you, like the dreaded silver bullet, Wolfman observed. ‘I suppose wolfbane as well,’ Wolfy said, as Wolfy is his preferred name. ‘I come from a long line of good people who have the peculiarities of the full moon blues,’ Wolfman whispered. ‘I go to church every Sunday and sing in the choir,’ Wolfy said. ‘I enjoy fancy walking sticks and three-piece suits,’ Wolfy reflected. ‘I read history at Oxford,’ Wolfy noted. ‘I am different but not bad, only painted that way by many,’ Wolfy said sadly.

‘You all are a bit much, Wednesday said as she entered the Halloween Party Planning Meeting. ‘We are not the normies and we are comfortable in our skins,’ Wednesday proclaimed. ‘For instance, Thing is but a hand, but what he can do with that hand,’ Wednesday observed. ‘Thing saved me many times from peril,’ Wednesday informed. ‘Thing communicates fluently through sign language and is the most insightful Thing that I know,’ Wednesday explained. ‘The Normies are who scare me,’ Wednesday said. ‘Their masks do not fall off in the apple bobbing bowl,’ Wednesday continued. ‘The Normies hurt and destroy people for blood sport and their own gain,’ Wednesday observed. ‘Innocent people believe their lies as they wear sheep’s clothing but underneath are wolves,’ Wednesday said with a glint in her dark eyes. ‘My Normie Neighbor was robbed of her inheritance by a church, which is a cult that promised her riches and reward if she would give her small savings to the preacher,’ Wednesday said with passion. ‘Avarice and vice murder and mayhem follow their government,’ Wednesday said with a tear coursing down her cheek. ‘We plan a fun Halloween Party with no hidden agendas while the real monsters wait at the gate,’ Wednesday announced.