A train trip is in our future. We are going to The Big Easy. We have been there before in the heat of late spring. We board in the wee hours of the morning. Our last visit was a drive from Destin, Florida, to New Orleans. We stayed in an Airbnb and met Mr. Hurricane. He changed our day’s plans. We toured the cemeteries, but not after Mr. Hurricane. Mr. Hurricane is mind-expanding. Burials are in mauseloeums due to flooding. You walk among the dead.

Bats roam the skies at night. An interesting occurrence if you are not accustomed to bats other than Dracula. We heard the dueling pianos and witnessed the antics of several fraternity members as they danced and sang, and drank from a passed-around flask. They were in such high spirits that they did not notice the young woman who wanted to strike up a conversation with them. The busily danced on.

We are in the French Quarter at the Hotel Monteleone. The Hotel has been around since 1886. It has a Carousel Bar. With Mr. Hurricane, we did not need a Carousel.

So we begin 2026 with a little holiday after the holidays. A preference of mine for the fifteen-plus years of my retirement. Yes, I did say fifteen plus since I retired fifteen years ago at the end of 2010. Where have the years gone? Each year passes faster than the last. As MJ said the other day, it will be Christmas again before long. I retired early in hopes of beating the system a little. I had a lovely conversation with my barber this morning. She asked me what I was going to do after my haircut, and I replied, preparing to take a train trip to New Orleans. She was full of stories regarding New Orleans. She told her husband that when she died, she wanted a Parade just like the custom in New Orleans. Her command to her husband was, ‘Make it happen!’

The honors and celebrations of the deceased are to be desired in New Orleans, as well as Mexico’s Day of the Dead. Rather than fear, we should embrace the normal progression of our lives. We are here for a season, then we go to another place. When we arrive, we will wonder what we were worried about.

Mr. Hurricane might facilitate the transition…

A warm day for January 5th. It is supposed to be warm all week. The rhythms of life slowly return from their holiday break. Snow and ice are probably coming, but you can not tell it by today. MJ and I love the Billy Bob Thornton television series, Landman. In yesterday’s episode, the actor playing his Dad, Sam Elliott, fell into the swimming pool and was marooned until Billy Bob Thornton could help him out. Tommy Norris, the character name for Thornton, pays a stripper to give his Dad physical therapy because he states that his Dad can not say no to a beautiful woman. The stripper/physical therapist chose aqua therapy for Dad. She is seen holding him like a baby in the pool with a look of pure bliss on his face. As I have heard it said, getting old is not for sissies.

So we go forth into 2026, old and young. I saw another movie that intrigued me with Jim Gaffigan called Linoleum. His character, who is a television Mr. Science on a late-night cable TV station, insists that we each see the universe in our own way and that no two sightings are alike… a fingerprint of the universe, if you will. This resonated with me, as I have often wondered if we all perceive things in the same way. How could there be such a divergence of opinion if we are all receiving the same visual input? Are we in our own matrix, negotiating the Perils of Pauline on our own? What do the inhabitants of other planets see when they look at Earth?

Have you ever discovered what people perceive you to be, compared to who you truly are? What they have seen is different than what you intended. Indeed, we human locomotives travel on our own tracks. When analyzed by those watching us, we seem to be traveling in the opposite direction of where we are indeed going. Some see us as angels while others smell fire and brimstone. It is impossible to understand what another person is thinking.

We live in a mystery that we have written stories about to give us comfort and explain our reality to ourselves. A sense of place is vital to the journey. Who are we for this journey, and how can we help? Lovely people, wonderful people die young, and old crumudgeons live to be 100. The Grand Play is ongoing. I am reading Hamnet. William Shakespeare said all the world is a stage and we are players on it. We must learn our lines well. We have a mission and purpose and a reason for our existence. Others are counting on our performance. Shall we say we all see things differently, so what is the use? Or shall we agree from our sense of place that the message of Christ to love one another as I have loved you is fundamental?

We understand hunger when we see it. We see loneliness in the eyes of the marginalized. Pain is universal, and we all have felt its terror. The clarion call is clear. Include the marginalized and feed the hungry. Fight the oppression of human beings. Do not allow members of our human family to suffer. The universe is different for all of us, but the needs of our family are the same. We must pass the test that we were dropped into without our consent. We are in the auditorium with the teacher and monitors to ensure we are not seeking the answer to the test questions on our neighbor’s paper. We live in an orb of fog. We did not choose our arrival time nor the time of our departure. We must seek Peace.

‘They seem very unhappy,’ Little Girl said. ‘They like to use their army weapons and blow each other up,’ Little Girl continued. ‘When one gets a nice automobile their neighbor wants the same car or better,’ LG laughed. ‘When I first began watching them, they loved to attend church on Sunday, but now they prefer to golf or play bingo,’ Little Girl observed. ‘It appears the more I give them, the more they want, and they are never satisfied,’ LG noted. ‘The white people do not accept the black people nor any with skin color other than white,’ Little Girl said. ‘The cry for mercy, but do not extend mercy to others in need,’ LG explained. ‘Lately, there have been many fires in the sky and the president of one country boasting about oil riches and his power to make any country do what he wants,’ Little Girl said with tears in her eyes.

‘Come to dinner, my dear, we will decide what to do with your school project after supper,’ Mother said. ‘The humans are a dissatisfied lot,’ Mother continued. ‘Dad bought the Earth at the Universal Box Store on Jupiter and thought you could do something with the creatures in the shadows.’ Mother said. ‘Your father thought the humans would enjoy his projections of the universe on the bedroom ceiling,’ Mother noted.

It was Game Day today. Uno and Golf, along with savory meats and cheese. A good way to spend the first Sunday of 2026. A crisp, cold day with brilliant sunshine on the way to church this morning. Our engines are warming as we take our place on the racetrack of life. The Old Man walks more slowly and with a more deliberate step in 2026. Age does make a difference. Steps slower, time to think clearly about the future. We watch the skies and hope not to see bombs dropping in the night. Generations do not know what that feels like, while others know it as a way of life. Someday it will be our turn.

It is Epiphany Sunday. The day marking the arrival of the three kings to see the Baby Jesus. Christ’s birth is a manifestation of the divine in our midst. So we wait for the peace on earth that the President wished over the Christmas holiday. I learned this morning that our garbage disposals eat better than 30% of the people on Earth.

We watch each other. Talk is cheap, Neva J told me. Watch what people do. Who helps you in the quiet of the shadows with no spotlight or fanfare? Who offers their hand of friendship when you are so down you have to look up to see the bottom?

When did we decide that money was the ruler to measure success? How is God’s Grace equated with wealth? What about the desperately poor Christian? So today we travel with the Three Kings to see the Baby. It is an old story, and new. We say we want the wolf to lie down with the lamb and will gladly offer our spears to be fashioned into pruning hooks, yet we celebrate the casual, thoughtless killing of women and children…innocents.

‘I see nothing but calm waters and endless horizon,’ Richman said. ‘This year we will buy a condo in Aruba and spend next winter there…it will be our winter White House,’ Richman continued. ‘By then Venezuela will be pumping on all cylinders Texas Tea,’ Richman chuckled.

‘Monday, I will see if McDonald’s is hiring,’ Poor Girl said. ‘Although I have a work visa, I am afraid to look for employment due to the crackdown on foreigners,’ Poor Girl continued. ‘I have to do something as my kids are hungry and many turn their heads when we pass,’ PG noted. ‘I was studying Cardiology when the men came to take me away for being the wrong skin color, although I had permission to study in the United States,’ PG said. ‘I was to begin my residency Monday, but cannot due to not finishing my last Semester in December,’ Poor Girl said with her head held high. ‘ICE sent me to El Salvador to be held in a cage until the ACLU sent a lawyer to speak on my behalf.’Poor Girl continued. ‘It was not long ago that we from India felt at home in the U.S. to study and flourish and often to become citizens working in this wonderful country,’ PG said. ‘Now there is no frame of reference or logical procedure to rely on for safety in what was the home of the downtrodden,’ Poor Girl wept.

‘My niece is suffering in the country she went to study in, the King said. ‘She is brilliant and almost a Doctor of Cardiology until the government intervened and stopped her studies and sent her to El Salvador to sit in a cage,’ the King said. ‘A lawyer got her returned to the U.S., although I do not understand why she wanted to return to that dangerous country,’ the King said. ‘After we see the Christ Child, I shall visit my niece and see to her care,’ the King said.

My new year was brought in with much fun and joy! The other day, on the eve of the year 2026, Jennifer and I took a trip to Paducah, Kentucky to see …

From Paducah, With Joy

Here we are together again. MJ has been baking cookies. It feels like Christmas all over again. January passes quickly. But then again, don’t they all. We sally forth into the void of 2026. We had an ice storm a year ago. Limbs filled the yard. The Old Man does not like ice…hard to walk on…breaks ribs. Once, many years ago, I turned around on campus when it was obvious that I could not walk to class. It is important to know your limitations. It is going to warm up again. Sixties are in the forecast next week. Beware of Trojan Horses.

The rhythms of life carry us forward. Our sense of place grounds us. Change awaits us. We live our lives in micro while we watch the macro machinations of our government. Each of us must meet the challenge in our own way. What do we encounter that we have the power to do something about? That is our mission. Feed the babies, walk the dog, work a 9-to-5 job, and help our neighbor. The lonely watch us with wide, sad eyes. Forgotten and marginalized with no voice or advocate. We can be their voice. We can welcome them to our table for a New Year’s Lunch. Let us include them in our games, sports, movie time, and church. Church is a lovely social situation. Many who are shut in or without friends would love to be asked. Friendly folks dispel loneliness and depression. ‘Welcome the stranger for we were all strangers once.’

‘The spirit of Christmas is still with us,’ Jane said. ‘I feel it just like I did in December,’ Jane continued. ‘I saw Lester at Mr. Munchies eating a hamburger for his breakfast and invited him to play board games with us on Sunday,’ Jane smiled. ‘I told him there would be refreshments and he would be our special guest,’ Jane danced on one foot and then the other. ‘This shall be the Year Of The Forgotten,’ Jane proclaimed.

‘Rosie and Abigail are coming to Game Day on Sunday as well,’ Neva J said. ‘Rosie told me that it felt like Christmas in January to her,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Rosie wants to meet Lester and is rosy cheeked at the possibility,’ Neva J winked.

The Woods was inviting and renewing. The Old Man’s thoughts were of events past and the exciting future. Mystery revealed awaits us. We are becoming acquainted with ourselves. Knowing who you are and being comfortable in your sense of place is vital to success in 2026. We are new. Our dedication is fresh for the New Year. No more doing things as we have in the past. We have a 2026 way of thinking. We are people of the now. The past is past; we look to today. Our opinions given to us by others are not a passport for the New Year. We must think outside the Box. The Old Man is a bit of a Crumudgeon. He believes in speaking up. He does not accept being marginalized. He does not countenance being ignored or pigeonholed.

Speaking up and being heard can set you apart from the crowd. If you choose to be accepted by the group, you may want to reconsider expressing your thoughts. If you want to be true to yourself, speak your truth. Honesty is the best policy until it is not. This is how many are left in the shadows. The poor of the land sit quietly as the rich and powerful and elite and club members decide their fate. They have been trained to not speak unless spoken to. They understand their betters have the answers, and their opinions do not count. Until they raise their unheard voices. Then the dynamic changes. Then the answers to problems materialize. Then the voice of the rest of us is heard. Surprise ensues. Who spoke, asks the leader? Do they have the right to speak, or shall we look at the parliamentary rules of conduct to squash their simple protestations?

So we live in a quandary of keeping the powerful happy and secure or speaking our truth. 2026 will require all to speak and none to remain silent. The problems are too great. The solutions are not evidenced by the powerful. We must stand up as servant/leaders and say what we have been thinking and believing. The issues are bigger than all of us, and all of us must participate in the solutions. The elite will say Do not speak yield the floor to the wise and learned. They have been trained and educated, and by virtue of their high birth are genetically qualified to solve the knotty issues facing us.

The Old Man thought of his life. He had spoken to the rich and powerful. He did not hold back. The Old Man had spoken truth to power.

We woke from our celebration to see that tomorrow had become today. No trumpets blew nor claxon called. Deliberate simplicity ruled. We walked in on stocking feet, quietly, slowly, and with purpose. The beginning of a book is exciting. The first page caught our attention. New characters are in our story. A mystery awaits solution. How shall we proceed? Where are the open doors? The Gift has begun. So much to do, so little time. The great days are here. The days of wine and roses. Will we feel with our heart or our head? Shall we do each task as we did, or perhaps change some for a better result? Change is a spice in life. Change creates possibilities not apparent.

‘We look forward, we look back, we seldom look at the moment,’ Chet said. ‘Today the world is our playground, our home, our family,’ Chet mused. ‘Christmas is over and yet Christmas is coming,’ Chet winked. ‘We live on a vinyl phonograph record and what was will be what is,’ Chet laughed. ‘Will the record play different songs if we embrace positive change?’ Chet asked. ‘Suddenly, the combination lock opened with the change in the numbers,’ Chet noted. ‘Minor alterations in behaviour create major changes and opportunities,’ Chet explained. ‘We wait for someone to be the catalyst when we have the first starter,’ Chet said. ‘Growing in proactive faith is at the grassroots, not top down,’ Chet noted with some satisfaction.

‘The Service will begin soon, welcome to the Church In The Woods,’ the Preacher said with a smile. ‘Those who would be a fake peacemaker are gathering additional nuclear bombs,’ the Preacher noted. ‘Peace does not come from killing; unity is not a product of destruction,’ the Preacher explained. ‘So many are fearful, ragged and hungry with no place to rest their heads,’ the Preacher said. ‘Prosperity and peace are promised for the rich while the poor remain in the shadows,’ the Preacher continued. ‘Some would have us believe that money is the sign of God’s blessing and the lack thereof as his curse,’ the Preacher said. ‘Money has nothing to do with the servant/leadership message of God,’ the Preacher noted. ‘He that is greatest among you let him be the servant of all,’ the Preacher said. ‘We are here to wait and watch and act for good in the midst of evil and false prophecies,’ the Preacher whispered. ‘Today we work for peace, a sense of place when so many have lost their GPS and their way, they do not know if they are going west or east, nor really what is up and down or right from wrong,’ the Preacher said.

‘You know it is easier to have the Leader do our thinking for us,’ the Follower said. ‘It seems the Leader knows best and will rid us of all the undesirables,’ the Follower said. ‘Once we were promised a chicken in every pot and a car in every driveway, but now we can not afford the chicken nor the driveway for the car,’ the Follower said. ‘Yet the Leader must be right…isn’t he,’ the Follower asked.

Fernie sang Auld Lang Syne each New Year’s Eve. She sang it with the passion of the Greatest Generation. Guy Lombardo and His Royal Canadians performed it on New Year’s Eve. The Scottish song title means ‘old long since’ or for old times’ sake. It is considered the New Year’s Eve Song.

‘Should old acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot In the days of auld lang syne?’

‘For auld lang syne, my dear For auld lang syne We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne.’

‘And surely, you will buy your cup, And surely, I’ll buy mine! We’ll take a cup of kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne.’

‘We two who’ve paddled in the stream From morning sun ’till night The seas between us roared and swelled Since the days of auld lang syne.’

So, one door is almost closed, and a new door is open. What will we do with a wealth of days? Shall we sit in the rocking chair on our front porch and watch the world go by? Each New Year’s Eve, we have, until now, been given such riches and thought little of them. We assume they will always be there. Has it not been so? Days to learn compassion and to love more. Days to study how to be small to be big. Days when those whom we do not know well look to us for understanding, and we are busy. Days when some people do not fit into the plan.

Tomorrow is another day…until it isn’t. The Watchers are watching. How will we do with another bag of gold called time? More wine, more food, more fun, some say. Live today for tomorrow we die. Others say, ‘Let me work quietly in the field of the needy without fanfare or recognition.’ Will we spend our gift of time helping those who do not know our name or station? Will we expect from others what we are not willing to give in return?

The Weaver is working, and the loom is flying like a shuttle. Which wool yarn will she use for the master rug? How will it add to the overall pattern and plan of the fabric art? What is our perception of the Rug Weaver? Shall we continue to observe with fascination, or shall we learn how to operate the Loom?

The Woods were clear and cold with a brilliant blue sky. Deer roamed freely without fear of the orange vests. The Woods look different in the sunlight. Most things do. So it goes with our complex lives. What seems dim in the shadows is revealed in the light. Off we go into the wild blue yonder. 2026 is upon us, and we barely knew 2025. Most tell me that 2025 was a difficult year for them. I understand.

New Orleans is callin’ our names. A ride on Amtrak and hopefully a nap or two on the journey. My friend Matt B says to be sure to see Preservation Hall. He also told me to drink a beer or two for him. I will do so. Our last visit to New Orleans was in May of 2013, and it was humid and hot. After a few steps, our clothes were wet. I learned I did not want to be encased in a mausoleum after the cemetery guide described what happens to a body in the Louisiana heat in a mausoleum. This time, the weather should be more accommodating.

Seekers, we are on a mission and purpose. We carry our ragged souls and sick bodies toward home. Some of us are walking with walking sticks, while others are in wheelchairs. We have been in the thick of the battle. Beaten but unbowed. A bit bloody about the ears, but in good spirits. After all, we are on our way home.

‘Get On Board,’ Mr. Conductor says. ‘The New 2026 is preparing to disembark,’ Mr. Conductor continued. ‘Old 2025 will be chugging into the station shortly,’ the Conductor said with a mischievous grin. ‘He has seen a lot of living and been places we have not been,’ Clarence Conductor said with a wink. ‘Why, I remember when he was just a baby and full of piss and vinegar,’ CC laughed. ‘Baby 2025 had big ideas and plans for several years, although he only had one year to fulfill his herculean goals,’ Clarence Conductor admonished. ‘Baby 2025’s eyes were bigger than his stomach. He wanted to eat it all and do it all and be all in all,’ Clarence noted with sad eyes. ‘A year goes by so fast, and there is a cacophony of voices calling from the Cheap Seats,’ CC said. ‘Build bigger, some say, while others counsel to save your money,’ Clarence Conductor noted. ‘You have more time than money the crowd yells as others in the audience say tonight thy sould shall be required of thee,’ Clarence said with a whisper. ‘Give us Barabas, the angry throng screams while the Baby of December is sent to the Cross,’ Clarence said as he then played Silent Night on his Tenor Saxophone.

Today was the Great Deconstruction. The Christmas Tree is put up. Santas and Nativities are in their annual hideaway. Big Santa is resting in his cabinet until next November. His Little Buddy is resting with him. The Great Decoration Project took three hours, and the Great Deconstruction took just over one hour. Change is just over the next hill. There is a life of plenty, there is a life of want. There is the fat of the land, there is the Dust Bowl. We will laugh, we will cry.

It is complicated, the young folks say. Getting up and facing the day has challenges. We bring a small armada with us into every skirmish. Our past battles, victories, and defeats walk with us into the New Year. We would second-guess more if we had the time. The mission we should choose to accept is to live the next day with newness and a fresh spirit. We bring one complex person to the performance. The frightened, insecure person of the night and the daydreamer. We are the people who feel small one day and gigantic the next. We hide in the shadows and take big steps into the sun.

‘The New Year will bring us into lives we have not thought about,’ Chet said. ‘Each person is a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire chapter in our life,’ Chet continued. ‘An obscure meeting can change our direction,’ Chet noted. ‘We think we are continuing as the same person we were when we were young, but each interaction with another brings a change in our trajectory,’ Chet smiled. ‘Subtle at first, but growing as we age, we notice where we made a turn on the road back home due to the influence of someone we met,’ Chet mused. ‘These changes become part of our sense of place,’ Chet explained. ‘We are characters in the Grand Production, and each of our parts is vital to the success of the journey,’ Chet said.

‘Parting is so sad until you realize that it is temporary,’ Neva J said. ‘People who are gone are not really gone,’ Neva J continued. ‘They stand in the shadows and behind the door and near the trees of the Woods, watching and waiting for a reunion,’ Neva J noted with a laugh. ‘All of the folks in our lives are still with us,’ Neva J explained.

Pastor Kerry retires at the end of 2025. Two days from now. I did not know him well, but he affected my outlook and my writing. Kerry has such a bright outlook on delivering his sermons and lovely humor that he caused me to rethink my writing. I focus more on stories and feel-good themes with a message. Political decisions made to harm people upset me, and for a few years, I expressed these feelings openly and unapologetically. Pastor Kerry taught me a more compassionate way to write, not knowing that he had. Kerry’s love for children’s stories, which he often reads during a section of our Sunday Service dedicated to children, influenced my writing more in the direction of children’s stories. Kerry will go on to help many others and influence them in positive ways he may not realize.