When my iPhone quit due to the heat, so did I. I wonder how I used to live without air conditioning. A lot of fans. They blew hot air, but at least it was air. Summer could not be escaped. You woke up in the morning with wet sheets and went to bed at night with your nose in the semi-open window, hoping for a breeze from the kitchen window fan exhausting the hot air in the house. A pop-up thunderstorm was welcome relief for a few minutes. In those halcyon days, kids spent the daylight hours outside unsupervised. Sweat was a fact of life from morning to night. Most adults spent the evening hours on their front porches sipping iced tea and hoping for some relief. Gossip was plentiful. It was believed that a little heat would not hurt you. Automobiles had a vent window next to the big roll-down window in the front. We gingerly opened the vent window in an attempt to distribute the air flow. Cars that came with air conditioning installed were few and expensive. Some folks purchased portable air conditioning units that fit on the hump in the floor board. Poor people did not have such luxuries. At times, we stood in front of an open icebox. Now we had a refrigerator, but my family referred to it as the Ice Box or, as my Aunt said, ‘The Box.’

We Americans have become accustomed to the finer things of life. Many of us have air conditioners at home and in our automobiles. We do not seek the cool breeze of evening on our front porches. Now we are in our cool houses looking out at our surroundings through our peepholes. Kids are engrossed in their iPhones and tablets with little thought of being uncomfortable. Many young people think that manual labor is for someone else. I reflect on the many hot and onerous jobs I have done in my life. Jobs designed for the humble, as many passed by and grinned and thought, but for the Grace of God go I. Or as one of my American student custodial staff asked me many years ago, who cleaned the toilets? When I told him that he had toilets in his area to clean, he noted that no one told him that he would have to clean toilets. I explained that the University did not have self-cleaning ones. The student employee quit on the spot.

Life teaches us that there are practical applications to all decisions. When Iran is attacked, and we say once and done, we are naive about history. There is the law of cause and effect. War is humans against humans. This is why the Bible speaks of an eye for an eye. It has always been thus. It is called escalation. The recipient of aggression responds at a time of their choosing. Not everyone pays their debts on Friday. Crowing about victory and the Obliteration of our foe’s ability to retaliate is a fool’s errand.

People are anxious. They are afraid. They want to know what comes next. They have questions without answers. If it seems that political leadership does things on the spur of the moment, you are not the only one who thinks so. The specter of nuclear arms is real and present.

My friend suggested that people forget the problems of the JFK years. Not at all. I was six years old when President Kennedy was assassinated. My mother wept as if he were a member of our family. My affection for the fallen leader stemmed from my memory of his assassination and Neva J’s love for him. The 1960s were a tumultuous time. I have no memory of living through a Golden Age, but I know we were not afraid of our President when Kennedy held office. He demonstrated his thoughtfulness during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Camelot was an invention of Jackie after his death. We were a hopeful nation that sent astronauts to the moon and established the Peace Corps. We looked to the future instead of dredging up the past. I have read numerous books regarding the Kennedy Presidency. It is believed that if he had not been assassinated, he would have withdrawn us from Vietnam. His morals were not good. Then again, if we apply the morals test for our political leaders, there would be a lot of new officeholders. Or, as my friend told me, morals matter when he was criticizing President Clinton, but when I asked if President Trump’s morals troubled him, he claimed ignorance of any problems.

Martin Luther King led the Civil Rights movement. The Movement was one of the best causes that advanced the condition of African American people.

Our nation made a significant turn several years ago. We now fight preemptive wars. Before this new policy, the United States refrained from using military force before being attacked. As the Vietnam War body count increased, I contemplated why we were fighting and what we were accomplishing that was worth the lives of so many of our soldiers. I had friends in Vietnam, and I almost was drafted myself. The second incident in the Gulf of Tonkin during the Vietnam War never happened, and yet we were lied to, and the draft increased due to the lie. The war in Vietnam escalated under President Johnson.

Church was cathartic this morning. Pastor Kerry asked the congregation a series of questions regarding how they feel about the bombing of Iran last night and the current political environment. Folks are experiencing anxiety. We are balanced on a knife’s edge. As there are differences of opinion on good Presidents, the world is not in awe of President Trump. It is easy to become a legend in our own minds. This is especially true for Presidents.

As the sword of Damocles hangs over your head, be careful to not swat flies cavilerly.

I just finished listening to a debate in Canada as to whether America is experiencing a Golden Age. The debaters were from America. Simply put, the audience concludes that America is not in a Golden Age. As I listened, I reflected on the significant differences in political ideology between our brothers and sisters. There was a popular book some time ago titled Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. The title could explain the Grand Canyon of our differences.

I am old enough to remember Rev. Jerry Falwell when he was a preacher at a Lynchburg, Virginia, Baptist Church in the 1970s. Rev. Falwell preached the need for Christians to get involved in local and national government. He went on to say that Christians should run for local School Boards. Jerry Falwell began the Moral Majority. In those halcyon days, I was a bit conservative and considered his comments appropriate. Little did I know that the humble message of Jesus would be turned into a white nationalist movement. The song Jesus loves the little children, all the little children of the world, red, yellow, black, and white. All are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world, would be turned into a message of hate and vitriol toward those unlike us. A message of America for True Americans, which I have never understood how to join the exclusive club.

It has been said that historically, voters watch what a President does for them. It is apparent in recent elections, voters seek to do more for the President and ignore how his policies are doing them damage as if he were the fundamentalist pastor and they were the congregation of which the price of admission is sacrifice.

We have lost something. Our conscience has been bruised. As I grew up, bullies were shunned. A political assassination happened in Minnesota, and a Senator made fun of it. This would have been unheard of just a few years ago. Rising to the top is not achieved by scraping the bottom of the ethics and morality barrel.

Great nations are not built on fear. Allies of great nations are not drawn to fear. Fear does not construct a Golden Age.

My friend tells me that she enjoys my blog. Made my day. I spend a significant amount of time blogging and have been doing so for many years. The work is not onerous but rather fun. I am often lost in the world of writing. Story drives my narrative and compels me to continue. Writing brings me peace. I often wonder if anyone is reading my meager efforts. When I find out that someone is, it is like Christmas. Story is our lives.

It is dry at the ranch after several weeks of rain. The temperature is in the 90s just in time for summer. At last, my yard is all cut at the same time. Yesterday, the 2025 New Year’s Baby happened upon the scene. He will soon be middle-aged. How fast a year passes. We number our days because we only get so many. Those that we receive are precious gifts.

‘The fourth of July is two weeks away,’ Chet said. ‘This year I am erecting a Christmas Tree with firecrackers for ornaments,’ Chet laughed. ‘You realize that after July 4th, the year slips away quickly,’ Chet explained. ‘July is an important month when you return to school in mid-August,’ Chet winked. ‘Sometimes the summer seems like one long weekend,’ Chet mused.

‘I think that it is time for an adventure,’ Jane said. ‘I would like to visit the old church that has been forgotten in the woods,’ Jane’s eyes shone. ‘My great-grandparents were members there and were deacons,’ Jane said. ‘Legend has it that a murder occurred at the Church in the Wildwood, and not long after the event, the doors were locked and the windows shuttered, Jane explained. ‘The organist was killed, and people who have visited the church grounds report that her ghost can be seen walking among the tombstones of former members and that they hear ethereal organ music, Jane said with a shudder. ‘Her name was Annabel Lee, and Edgar Allen Poe wrote a poem about her,’ Jane whispered.

‘It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.
But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee. With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me. 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.’

Edgar Allen Poe

‘So was not the poem about a woman who lived near the sea and died due to a chilly wind,’ Neva J asked. ‘Or has the story of her death morphed into her being an organist at the Church in the Woods?’ Neva J asked.

‘The ghost that many have seen in the graveyard near the church has told the explorers that she is the Annabel Lee that Poe wrote his poem about,’ Jane explained. ‘The kingdom by the sea is not a literal place, it is fantasy, but Annabel Lee was the Organist at the Church, and it was during the end of Poe’s life,’ Jane answered. ‘Legend has it that during Annabel Lee’s last performance, a man dressed in black with black hair and a mustache sat in the back pew and wept,’ Jane said softly.

‘Life, what a mystery, Old Man said. ‘You talk and talk and no one listens, then you say an offhanded remark and it is written down for posterity,’ Old Man observed. ‘Many words are a weariness, but a few fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver the Bible tells us,’ Old Man said. ‘Words of support and love are the most difficult to craft and take the longest on the polishing stone,’ Old Man mused. ‘Words of hope and future are powerful and crack like a firecracker,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘Words of sadness and remorse cut like a razor,’ Old Man remembered. ‘Summer tomorrow and swimming at Pounds Hollow with Chet and Jane and Neva June,’ Old Man thought. ‘No clock, no cares, no time for worries,’ Old Man danced at the thought.

‘We must close our country to the outsiders,’ the Leader said. ‘We must not allow our blood to be polluted, the Leader proclaimed. ‘Only I can fix it,’ the Leader promised with a wave of his hand.

‘Look, Mr. Leader, the tanks are rolling by and the soldiers are saluting,’ the Defense Secretary said. ‘This is the celebration you have been anticipating,’ the Defense Secretary announced. ‘Listen to the tanks squeaking by on the avenue while a few people clap,’ the Defense Secretary admonished.

‘Snore…snore…snore…’ the Leader responded.

‘Hot dogs and hamburgers and peanuts will be at the Cubs game tomorrow,’ Chet said with glee. ‘I hope to attend all of the home games this season,’ Chet noted. ‘This is the Cubs’ year,’ Chet proclaimed. ‘No one will stop the mighty Cubs in 1963,’ Chet laughed. ‘JFK is our President and we are going to put a man on the moon in this decade,’ Chet called out to the bleachers of fans. ‘Soon the war in Vietnam will be a thing of the past,’ Chet said. ‘Happy Days are here again,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Why are you deployed to Los Angeles?’ asked the child of the soldier. ‘My home is peaceful and Mama and I feel safe,’ the Child said. ‘Will you always be outside our schools and restaurants, bookstores and churches?’ the Child asked. ‘Is our country fighting itself?’ the Child asked the soldier.

‘Tomorrow we will eat watermelon with plenty of salt,’ Jane said with a grin. ‘I will sleep in and watch Captain Kangaroo and Bozo The Clown,’ Jane observed. ‘My bicycle is ready to ride,’ Jane said. ‘The 4th of July is in two weeks with corn on the cob and a picnic in Karel Park,’ Jane laughed heartily.

‘I will decide in two weeks if I am going to bomb Iran, no one knows what I am going to do,’ the Leader said. ‘All power is mine and I alone will give out my favors to those who please me,’ the Leader observed. ‘I decide what books to read and that DEI is meant for the white race, who has been discriminated against more than any,’ the President said. ‘Enjoy your summer, I am in charge of it,’ the President assured. ‘I know that women feel much safer with me at the helm of the ship,’ the President said.

‘Mr President, Mr. President, when will you allow the return of the under-a-dollar peanut paste to again be provided for malnourished children in foreign lands who are dying from hunger,’ the Reporter asked.

‘Snore…snore…snore,’ the President responded.

‘No more questions as the President has had a long day and is going swimming tomorrow at Pounds Hollow,’ Whitehouse Spokeswoman said.

It’s the last day in the 80s for a while. Summer begins tomorrow. I relished my time in the Woods. As I was taking numerous photos of my favorite rocks, a young couple was attempting to walk by. I stopped and motioned for them to come past me and get out of their way. When I said hello and asked how they were, they did not look up or speak. Later, I heard them speaking to another person and saying,’ He was just standing there.’ I wondered if it was my hat or cigar that frightened them.

As a child, I was taught to speak to those whom I met. It seems to be a lost art today. Is ‘Hello’ and ‘How are you’ really that frightening? I thought, ‘God Bless Them, they appeared to be much younger than my sons.’ Perhaps we are in our current condition due to a lack of simple courtesy? Or is the internet and media partly to blame? Has our constant diet of fear and loathing given us a belly ache?

It is the little things I have been told. Not the grand pronouncements as to love thy neighbor, but the small demonstrations that someone different than us or unknown to us is safe and worthy of saying Hello to.

Many years ago, I was amazed that Uncle Merle and Aunt Lauretta had bars on their windows. No doubt a good security device, but based on insecurity. We hurry home and look not to the left or the right to have a semblance of safety behind the door of our Fort as we lower the big, heavy board down to secure our entrance and raise the drawbridge so no one can enter. We man pots of boiling oil from the paraments for pouring on and scalding those who would lay their portable ladders against the walls of our castle. The Archers are ready with their bows, and the rock-catapults are pulled back for the destruction of the unseen hordes who are coming for us. ‘They are rapist and murderers,’ Leader tells us.

‘Do you have any trees that need trimming?’ Uncle Gene asked. ‘I have a truck and my own ladders,’ Uncle Gene continued while wearing his torn clothes and a wide smile. ‘I do not have much, but I am honest, and if you do not like the job, you do not have to pay me, Uncle Gene promised. ‘Some folks shun me for my jalopy truck and shoes with holes in them, but I work for my bread and I am proud of my labors,’ Uncle Gene noted.

‘I have several trees that need trimming, and you look like the man for the job,’ Ms. Myrtel said. ‘I am a retired school teacher, I taught sixth grade for 35 years,’ Ms. Myrtel said with a smile. ‘I like your positive presentation,’ Ms. Myrtel noted. ‘If you do as good as you say you can, I will refer you to the City Works Office, who are always needing good workers,’ Ms. Myrtel promised.

‘I am happy I knocked on your door several years ago, the breakfast was delicious, and now I am off to work for the City,’ Uncle Gene said with a smile and a wink.

‘I have a two-pound stone that is excellent for throwing,’ Stony said. ‘I have discovered that the two-pounder does a lot of damage quick,’ Stony observed. ‘At the last stoning, we so pummeled the accused’s head that you could not recognize her,’ Stony proclaimed. ‘She cried for mercy, and we shouted, Judgment,’ Stony smiled. ‘She said that she had harmed no one and just wanted to live her life as best she could,’ Stony said in a whisper. ‘Someone in the crowd cried out about God’s law and her breaking it,’ Stony whispered. ‘The poor woman said that God was standing beside her and writing in the sand,’ Stony said.

‘You are who God made you and you can not change that,’ Fear said. ‘We must accept who we are for better or worse,’ Fear observed. ‘You frighten me,’ Fear said. ‘I do not understand you,’ Fear observed. ‘What an abominable choice you have made against God’s law,’ Fear said as another stone flew through the air. ‘I am a drunkard and an adulterer, but I am not as bad as you,’ Fear cried.

‘No one asked me my choice for gender assignment nor guaranteed my place in society,’ Chance said. ‘I thought of suicide due to nature’s mistake,’ Chance continued. ‘I have been locked in a prison that I did not construct,’ Chance noted. ‘I wondered if others felt like me,’ Chance observed. ‘Religion, not faith, chose to make the decision for me,’ Chance whispered. ‘I seek peace, not stones,’ Chance explained. ‘I care not what others do, but I have to live in the earthen hut that I was born in,’ Chance said. ‘I pray daily and read the scriptures, I am a Christian, and I help those less fortunate than me,’ Chance said softly. ‘Now you are stoning me and you do not know me, we have never met…if you knew me, you might like me,’ Chance observed.

The Preacher wrote in the sand surrounding the woman…Chance. One line said the primary stone thrower, Stony, identified as a man but had been born a woman. The Stone throwers dispersed. The Preacher offered his hands to Chance, who lay on the ground, frightened. I accept you and love you…The Preacher said.

The older I get, the more I appreciate peace. As a youngster, I wondered what peace looked like. My elders often spoke of peace, and I wondered if I would recognize it when I saw it. Peace has many forms. It is a bit like fairy dust or gossamer wings. Amid a thunderstorm, peace shows up. It may be a brilliant rainbow behind the smoky black clouds. Peace happens kind of like Christmas. In the quiet of a winter morning or the unexpected unity of broken hearts.

Peace sits by the bedside of the lonely. Peace holds the hand of the forgotten. As the parents of a sick child worry, Peace brightens the room through the eyes of their baby. Peace is unobtrusive yet always close by. At times, Peace has its hand on our shoulder and we are comforted. Laughter is heard in a hospice room. Peace is recounting a humorous anecdote. Tears of joy are in every eye…Peace is doing its quiet work.

Peace gets photographed often. All the days of our lives, Peace is in the background of the photo. Never seen until you know what to look for, and then there is Peace.

Looking back on a life, the events that make up our memories capture Peace in the frame. ‘As a man thinks, so is he.’Peace lights up a darkened room and a sad countenance. Peace brings safety in the middle of war. The homeless smile and bid you good morning, good day. The poor share their pittance so that their sister or brother can eat. The little child sleeps as Peace rocks their cradle.

War, death, and destruction are not the natural order of things. Hurtful words are arrows to our hearts. Survival of the fittest is a myth. When we accept a lie as the truth, Peace can not be found. If we believe in an eye for an eye and karma, we seek an elusive Peace. Soon we are blind from the darkness of our souls. We cry out in pain from our festering wound. We want what we do not have and will not give…Peace…

I am sitting on the Writing Porch during a thunderstorm. Clouds like black smoke are passing by. Rain began as a trickle and now is a torrent. A peal of thunder shook my sanctuary. Already it is lessening. What seems frightening may only last a moment on your time clock but can feel like an eternity.

Rain falls in buckets these days. In days gone by, it pitter-pattered on the front lawn; now it falls like the Gatorade poured over the winning football coach’s head at the Super Bowl. As the doorman told me in Toronto, Canada, so many years ago, ‘You better change your slippers,’ when he observed my sandals as I attempted to exit the hotel on a stormy Toronto day. It has been said that a Boy Scout is always prepared.

Once the thunderstorm is over, you wonder what you were afraid of. The world looks peaceful and serene in the light of day. ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.’ So it goes with life. We mark each week with anticipation. A holiday here and a birthday there. Storms have bad manners. Our revelry is interrupted callously. There is no ‘May I come in’ or ‘Are you alright’ as the English greet each other. There is the battering of the door and the shaking of the windows. The Wolf is huffing and puffing. We cower behind our two-by-four bullwark. We hope the battlements hold one more time.

The singing of birds fills the air. The sweet smell of honeysuckle. The bullfrog bellows a contented call. Life is good, he says with a broad smile. ‘Don’t worry about a storm here and there…I have seen many,’ Bullfrog says. ‘Once it stormed so much that my family had to move to higher ground,’ Bullfrog said. ‘It was in the days that the humans were fighting…although that would be most days,’ Bullfrog observed. ‘They wondered who was greater and who was less and who would win and who would lose,’ Bullfrog continued.

‘I showed my humans the rainbow over the pond after the storm,’ Helen Heron said. ‘They were amazed and took photos of it,’ HH continued. ‘They wished there were more rainbows,’ HH recalled. ‘I told them that they were quite common at the pond,’ HH noted. ‘No matter the storm you endure or the fear in your heart, God has sent us the Rainbow to promise us of his love and that weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning,’ HH whispered with tears in her eyes.

Dad carried me on his shoulders. I thought I was the center of his universe. He left when I was 5.

Aaron and Jonathon came to live with MJ and me. Sons…what an awesome responsibility. I hoped they were not like fine china and would not break easily. Aaron had a precocious grin. Jonathon jumped out of his crib…daily. Aaron watched everything that I did. He called me DiDa. Jonathon laughed often. Aaron could draw like an artist. He has an artist’s heart. Jonathon writes wonderfully. He thinks deeply.

I have never been worthy of such excellent sons. I keep trying. They are in my mind daily. They are locked in my heart.

We go to Alongis for some fine Italian cuisine. Jennifer is going, and I am excited that she is. How did I come to such blessings? Life is short, and hope is long. I hope for the future, long after I am gone. For the health and happiness of my sons, long after I am gone. I will be watching and thinking of all of the good times.

Dad is looking over the hill and smiling as I wish him Happy Father’s Day…