Jonathon tells me that people enjoy reading my reflections. He is a connoisseur of writing, and I listen to his advice. It is raining cats and dogs in honor of Dog Days. Rain fascinates me. I took a short Woods Walk. Perhaps the rain is a heat breaker.

Eldorado was a quiet place that seemed to be happening for me as a kid. I was a watcher of people. I picked up on many subtle nuances of my surroundings. When you are a closet introvert, it is amazing what you can learn by listening. I saw loneliness in the eyes of popular kids in school. Being a teenager is a particular challenge. I attended a church that my extended family was affiliated with, where no one seemed to smile. Faith was portrayed as a system of dos and don’ts rather than the love of Christ. Rules were designed for the congregation and did not apply to the clergy. The church had the most threadbare carpet I had ever seen.

Free thought was not encouraged. The hippie movement taught us that. Conformity was praised, and thinking outside the box was discouraged. These were the days of Dick Van Dyke and Father Knows Best or Leave It To Beaver. Eldorado was a blue-collar town with little thought of College. Churches had a profound influence on people’s lives. It was important for your resume to have a church affiliation. A high percentage of people were members of a church in the 1960s.

The television show Peyton Place was popular in my town. It was a secret pleasure of the residents. Affairs and Adultery were themes of the program. Many kids were married soon after high school graduation. Adulthood began the day after commencement. Some high school graduates were drafted to serve in Vietnam. I left home at the old age of 17. I was wet behind the ears, but I thought I was dry.

Pounds Hollow was a profound pleasure. With no air conditioning, it was the coolest you could be in the summer. The lake water was welcome and full of mystery. Jackie and I, along with Cousin Brenda and, now and again, Johnny, loved to ride in the ’57 Chevy convertible to the place of dreams. There were the town fathers and mothers in their swimsuits. Our teachers and we students all looked equal. Neva J told me that Johnny’s mother took money for love. I did not concern myself with her vocation. The Hollow had hidden secrets. There was the land far away from the Safety Rope that I floated to on numerous occasions. No one else performed this courageous maneuver other than Jackie from time to time. People looked like action figures on the sandy beach on the horizon. Finally, I could not determine who Neva J and Brenda were. Jackie and I were in no man’s land. Or at least no man’s lake. I realized I could do anything that I set my mind to. Pounds Hollow proved it.

Franny was the daughter of our neighbors, the Colemans, and was a magnetic personality. She and Neva J became friends, and her son Johnny and I did as well. I went with them to Clarksville, Tennessee, for an overnight stay. It was a fun time.

During our overnight stay in Clarksville, Franny changed blouses in front of the one mirror in the room, revealing more than I had seen in those formative years.

Today is a scorcher. The air is heavy with moisture. The grass never dries. Pop-up thunderstorms are a daily occurrence. It is the Dog Days of summer. When I was a kid in Eldorado, I did not like the heat of summer. I enjoyed summer vacation, but the weather was miserable. On the days Neva J and I did not go to Pounds Hollow, I asked if we could. My primary means of transportation was my bicycle. I first had a bicycle that looked like a motorcycle. It was fun to look at and difficult to ride. The wheels were knobby and interfaced poorly with the gravel road I lived on. When I got my three-speed bicycle, I was in nirvana. The three-speed cost $70 dollars which was a lot of money in the 60s. I rode it everywhere. I rode it to the little village of Wasson. I was a knight of the open road. It was almost like having a car. I loved to change the speeds and see how fast I could ride. Once in a while, I buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes to smoke on the bike ride. I was standing in tall clover in those days. Me and the Marlboro Man had it under control.

Neva J smoked Salem cigarettes. She smoked one or two daily. She said that she did not like them, but that all adults smoke. I liked their menthol smooth flavor and took one or two into the restroom and smoked them quickly with the window open and my large canister of bug spray as my accompanying friend. After the sin of smoking Marlboros in the toilet, I sprayed an abundance of bug spray to cover the smoke odor. The canister was the 60s variety of a pump sprayer with the spray contained in a compartment at the front of the device. Neva J finally told me that if I wanted to smoke some of her Salems, I should stop hiding and smoke them in front of her. I did from time to time, but my conscience stung, and I went back to Marlborough’s uptown from the Dairy Queen.

I wrote and enjoyed it from grade school forward. Mr. Feazel and Ms. Barton complimented me and encouraged me. I did not find writing a burden, but a wonderful artistic release. Mr. Feazel said I wrote in a particular conversational style. Ms. Barton told the class that my paper was like none she had seen in Junior High School. As you can see, I never forgot a teacher or, later, a professor who complimented me.

I carried a load as a child, not unlike many kids. Neva J was fragile at times after her and my father’s divorce. She confided in me more than anyone. We were buddies. We were in it together. She began to lose blood from her colon. I feared she had colon cancer. I called her each day from the payphone at school. I turned out she had a benign obstruction in her colon. It took major surgery to remove, and she looked like she was dead when Earl and I visited her in her hospital room. Not long after this frightening event, we began attending church.

The friendliness of the people in the little white church in Elkville was compelling. Most were senior citizens, and it was like having 100 grandparents. I made a practice of shaking hands and speaking with everyone in the sanctuary. They were all glad to see me, and I was them. The preacher was an old-time Pentecostal minister who had a wonderful singing voice and treated me like a son. He was a World War II Veteran and fought at Guadalcanal. He called me Jaycifer, which conjured up images of Lucifer. Everyone in the church called me Jaycifer. What a nickname. I gained some great friends and a wife from my 18 years in the non-denominational church. Steve, who worked, went on to work for Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale a few months after I was hired. Jeff, who had been a homeless Jewish boy on the streets of Chicago and became a millionaire. Brent, who treated me kindly when I assisted him in carpet laying and was beginning to apprentice me into the craft. The little white church believed in raising up preachers from the congregation, and subsequently, I spoke many weekends. I later went on the officiate at over 30 funerals. There was a time that I believed that only God could make a minister and not a Seminary. I have since changed this belief.

In my middle years, I met Dr. Jo Ann Argersinger. I was a member of the Chancellor Search Committee who brought her to Campus for three days of Open Forums and interviews. I saw Dr. Argersinger had a heart for working with blue-collar people. What a tremendous addition her becoming the Chancellor of Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale would be. Jo Ann understood the value of staff to the university’s success. Jo Ann would walk into the middle of a field being mowed by a Grounds worker to shake their hand and introduce herself, and inquire about their opinions regarding our Campus. Jo Ann inspired staff, faculty, and students. Jo Ann became the Chancellor only to be terminated for spite, as Jerry Seinfeld depicted in his wonderful comedy. The Campus had never been the same.

Life in Eldorado is life in middle America. Eldorado was a coal mining town. We are not all financial planners. Appalachia has an influence on us. We seek leaders who understand our lives. Not a gratuitous comment, but real understanding. We midwesterners live and die without hope of recognition by East Coast Elites. For some inexplicable reason, public policy seems to exude from where the nation began in the Revolutionary War. But we are here. We matter. We have a sense of place unlike any in the country. We are who you count on to populate your armies for your wars. We have been forgotten so many times that the words of an obvious conman resonate with our group.

Eldorado was a big town to me. There were many shops, including a great Ben Franklin Dime Store. The Dime Store had a plethora of things that I wanted. They had the Action Figure Daniel Boone molded to look like the actor Fess Parker, who portrayed Daniel Boone on TV. He was two dollars, and Neva J told me that we did not have the money. When we had the money, he was gone. My best friend Jackie had a Daniel Boone Action Figure, but when we played with our Action Figures… not dolls…Jackie insisted on playing with Daniel Boone, who looked just like Fess Parker.

Thelma, Jackie’s mother, taught me the efficacy of eating Oscar Mayer Wieners directly out of the package. Thelma said that Jackie had always been a bit fleshy. I told an airline attendant that I needed a seat-belt extender as I had always been a bit fleshy, and he laughed. I was happy that I could brighten his day.

Neva J was reading daily. She belonged to the Book Of The Month Club. Each month, you select a book from BOTMC, or the Club will send you its monthly choice. Neva J read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer. Books were important in our country home. Most people read. It was a primary component of entertainment. We read and listened to our long-playing vinyl records. We also carried transistor radios. I had a few during my youth. They were a bit magical, as you could have music with you wherever you were. Of course, there was nothing to compare with the reel-to-reel tape recorder. I wanted a reel-to-reel for some time and finally got one for my eighth-grade graduation. I recall recording the soundtrack to the movie Ben-Hur with Charlton Heston. I spent hours listening to it and marveling at the technology that enabled me to capture the majestic music on tape. My Aunt Vema had been an avid reel-to-reel aficionado and thus made tape recordings at family events, including Christmas. Vema reminded me until I was well into adulthood that I said, ‘I did not want ‘No’ ‘shoit’ for Christmas.

We had fried potatoes six out of seven nights…I assumed most people did the same. Liver and onions every week, as it was recommended for healthy blood. I despised liver but liked the onions. I loved pepperoni sticks from the Food Center. Friday was grocery day because it was payday. My request was two pepperoni sticks for dinner or Totino’s Pizza. Friday was a special night. There was the Friday night feature at the Orpheum Theatre. Often, there would be a monster flick or a science fiction thriller. All the kids went on Friday night, which detracted from the performance due to the noise and spitballs flying through the darkened Theatre. The teenagers would be gunning their hemi engines and peeling out with their slick tires in front of the Theatre for the entertainment of the teenage girls.

Grandma A and most of her girls were dedicated to church attendance. Neva J and I did not attend. We were bohemians. We followed our eclectic inclinations. We were not interested in a fellow human telling us how to live our lives. Neva J read Freud. I read Edgar Allen Poe and Edgar Cayce. We were on the outside and liked it.

These are the Dog Days. I have thought that the term Dog Days was a metaphor for hot days. ‘They were historically the period following the heliacal rising of the star Sirius (known colloquially as the ‘Dog Star), which Hellenistic astrology connected with heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck. The Dog Days run from July 3 – August 11, 2025.’

Summer Memories are abundant in the Dog Days. The only thing that drove me outside in the summer was the heat; the only thing that drove me inside was the heat. Air Conditioning was a rare thing for working and poor people. Fans were everywhere, which felt like a furnace blower engulfing the person sitting in front of it. They were good for making robot voices. The television show Twilight Zone was a favorite of mine. The show opened worlds that I had not considered. Rod Serling was a bit of a prophet. The weekly shows offered an alternative way to see the world. There were nuances to what appeared to be a concrete reality. One Twilight Zone episode illustrated the near-death of a patriarch of the family and their gathering to swoon and supplicate over him, theatrically. The Old Man assigned to each greedy family member a Theatre Mask that depicted their inner, hidden self. When they removed the masks, their faces had frozen into the warped depiction of the masks.

We hide ourselves from others. We have a work version and a church version…even the real thing that we display when no one is looking. We have worn our masks so long that we do not recognize when our leaders are wearing their masks with pride. What we have learned to accept as the truth, we see in our masked leader. He is just like us. Perhaps he is the Saviour we have been waiting for.

Time flies when you are having fun. Summer in the ’60s was a blur of Pounds Hollow swim days and Oscar Mayer Wieners. There was also Moo and Cackle hamburgers, which were the best hamburgers I’ve ever put in my mouth. In those Halcyon days, you could purchase five Moo And Cackle Hamburgers for a dollar. Moo and Cackle were a thrill of summer. Neva J and many others liked the Lottaburger in Eldorado. I preferred Moo and Cackle. This was the day of being close to your car. Motels were the in overnight stay. You could pull your automobile up to the door of your Motel room, and it was just like home. Lottaburger was popular for the same concept as the servers came to your car window to take your Lottaburger order and then deliver it to your ride. Lottaburger was no Moo and Cackle.

We looked for the unseen as most Twilight Zone aficionados do. Cousin Billy Gene loved Monster magazines and Universal Studios Monster Masks. Eldorado was a fine little town to reflect on the hidden realities just beyond our sight. Indeed, the world we lived in had much suffering and pain. There was the Vietnam War, where many of our friends and family were serving and dying. Our President was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. This was an earth-shaking event. The Vietnam War was protested across the country. At the end of the 60s, four students were gunned down by the National Guard for nothing more than disagreeing with the War. We had our hopes in the fallen President’s brother Bobby, who was assassinated in California. Before that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. Dr. King embodied the hope of reconciliation in the United States.

Most of our senior classmen had grown their hair long in solidarity with the times we lived in. I was one of the few who did not. I had my eyes on a Christian life and perhaps becoming a minister. The world was before me, and I jumped into the deep end of the pool. It was very cold. And deep. A few times, I struggled to surface for air. I have always done things my way. I eschewed authority figures. I was never a go-along, get-along guy. I wanted to be a voice for those who have none.

So the Twilight Zone taught me to look behind the mask. There is a hidden world.

It’s difficult to believe, but it’s peach season again. We made our journey to Lipe Orchard this morning for a half peck. Peach pie is fine. Peach cobbler is delicious as well. Peaches are a hidden treasure. Peaches remind me that fall is coming.

Volunteers are painting Saulki Paws on the roads leading to Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale. The Sauluki Dog is the Mascot of SIUC. Again, I am reminded of fall. July has under two weeks remaining. We are in the Dog Days, not Saluki Dogs. August is the precursor to the Ber Months, which are my favorite of the year. If I could have three blocks of the Ber Months, I would be complete. I was not a hot weather fan as a kid. I love the falling leaves and hot chocolate with pumpkins and ghost stories. I was raised on Frankenstein and Dracula, The Wolfman, and The Mummy. I liked scary movies that were not really scary. They were ethereal. Many of these movies I saw on the big screen at the Orpheum Theatre. With my dollar from Neva J, I had my fill of popcorn and coke as well as the thirty-five-cent admission fee, and I could stay all day and all evening for that modest admission. Space was portrayed for me and the other ’60s kids by the television show Lost In Space. The unseen world of the TV shows The Twilight Zone and Outer Limits. The Twilight Zone was compelling. Each was a morality play disguised as science fiction.

Summer stands apart in its ability to mold young minds. With no school and endless days of swimming and play, a young mind can seek the mysteries of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island or Jules Vern’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I fancied myself a writer in those halcyon days, and my cousin Billy Gene as the cinematographer of our own movie. Indeed, we made an eight-millimeter movie of our version of The Creature From The Black Lagoon, replete with my portraying the Creature with a Universal Studios Creature mask and Creature hands. This was exciting stuff. Not everyone was doing such groundbreaking science fiction work.

Pounds Hollow Lake was nirvana. I wondered if other kids had such a lake to swim and float in several times a week. I floated for hours beyond the safety rope. I felt like an explorer. With my ears covered by water, I was in another Aqua World. When I would look up to find Chet and Neva J, and Brenda, they looked like dolls on the beach. I was accustomed to being underestimated by some, but in the Lake, I was master of my domain. I did not brag, but observed that those who did often went to the head of the class.

The saxophone was as delicious as peaches to me. I played the tenor Saxophone in the sixth grade. Mr. Prince told me that I played the best scales that he had ever heard a beginner play. Boots Randolph was my hero. I wore out my long-playing record of Boots playing several tenor saxophone numbers, including Yakety Sax. Yakety Sax is closely identified with the Benny Hill show of the United Kingdom. Yakety Sax was played outside Parliament when Prime Minister Boris Johnson resigned.

Carbondale was the City of Knowledge to me when I was a wee boy in Eldorado. I had watched with joy theatre students from Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale put on theatre performances for the We Eldorado kids. I knew there was something special at SIUC. Now I live in Carbondale and have worked for over 32 years at the University. Soon I will be retired for 15 years. I still think of the saxophone and the Orpheum and most assuredly Pounds Hollow…

Today is the air that you wear. The kind of air that fogs your glasses and the glass in the door to the Writing Porch. It dawned on MJ and me a few months ago that a small table to put our coffee cups on and the television remotes would be nice, sitting between our two chairs. We like little tables. Little tables are fun. So we set our sights on searching for a small table. We were a bit like Goldilocks in “Goldilocks And The Three Bears,” as some were too tall and some too short, and finally we found one that was just right. It came today, and now Christmas is in July.

Life takes time and requires copious patience. We ordered the little table in April. Craftsmanship is a slow and detailed process. Fernie told me many years ago that I could forget pressure washing her house, as she had asked MJ to ask me a day before, and I had not done it yet. When I explained that I was preparing to call her and say that I would do it Saturday, as I didn’t have to work. She laughed and said, ‘I want what I want done quickly, but I guess you can still do the job. All jobs for my Mother-In-Law were, of course, free. So it goes with our impatient projections for our future. Our lives are not neatly wrapped in a Christmas package with a pretty red and green ribbon on top. Life can be messy.

Success is incremental. No matter if you are kicking a habit or losing weight, perseverance is vital. As we struggle for the goal or prize, mistakes and reversals happen regularly. ‘I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong…’ Or as the story of the Tortoise and the Hare illustrates, slow and steady wins the race.

‘I have been watching the leader, and he says one thing and does another daily,’ Chet said. ‘There seems to be no end to his lies and deceit,’ Chet observed. ‘People follow him blindly without consideration that he is hurting them,’ Chet said softly. ‘Thelma used to tell me that people who do evil are not hidden and that their sin would find them out,’ Chet said of his mother. ‘What is done in darkness will be revealed in light,’ Chet smiled. ‘Unmitigated power is its own ball and chain and shackles from head to foot,’ Chet observed.

‘There seems to be a real propensity to hide from the light,’ Neva J said. ‘When President Nixon was forced out of office, it was the cover-up that did it,’ Neva J noted. ‘Finally, lies turn on the liar and consume them, ‘Neva J warned. ‘Always tell the truth because lies are impossible to remember. Soon you will be crossing up your lies with new lies,’ Neva J winked. ‘Leaders become so full of themselves and their perceived power that they believe nothing can touch them,’ Neva J said. ‘Someone is always watching and waiting and remembering,’ Neva J promised.

Hope endures through the darkest night. The Craftsman is working to produce excellence. Excellence takes time.

Grandma A had a hard life. As Neva J told me, her first husband worked but did not provide for his family, and her second husband was an alcoholic who seldom worked. Grandma A and the kids hunted for persimmons in the woods to have something to eat. By the time I met Grandma A, a few things were clear. She poured the best cold milk into large white porcelain coffee mugs and loved her dog, Nuggett, whom she renamed Narky. Grandma A studied her Bible and prayed, often singing hymns. She had been searching for the secret all of her life.

Grandma A had ten kids. Not unusual in those halcyon days. She had chickens in the backyard and spoke to them as if they were children. We spent Christmas at her house. In my days of youth, the food was spilling from the horn of plenty. There was more to eat than we could eat, but we tried our best. On full bellies, we discussed the mystery of the secret. We all wanted to be ready, but ready for what? Were we going to do as the old hymn said, ‘I’ll Fly Away?’ Was there a door at the end of a long hall? Would our loved ones who had gone before us escort us to the Secret? Or was it the quiet solitude of deep sleep that never ends?

‘Dad came to the foot of my bed last night and said he was going to take us to the Veil that separates us from the Secret,’ Chet said. ‘Dad mentioned that we could not come in the opening of the Veil, but we could peek around the corner of it to get a glimpse of what awaits us,’ Chet said with a wide grin. ‘When I asked Dad what it was like on the other side of the Veil, he whispered it was unlike anything that anyone living had imagined,’ Chet noted with a wink. ‘He went on to say that the scripture, ‘Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the hearts of men that things that God has prepared for them that love him,’ was more true than he could explain. ‘When I asked Dad if he was a dream or really at the foot of the bed, he tickled my toes,’ Chet laughed.

‘Come in and rest awhile,’ the Preacher said. ‘Soon we will begin the lesson again for the newcomers,’ the Preacher added. ‘We are in the waiting room, the vestibule…the foyer of the Secret,’ the Preacher noted with a grin. ‘We walked through the door and hung up our coats and cloaks, and the host was beckoning us to come in,’ the Preacher laughed. ‘We imagine and exposit and create dogmas and doctrine to explain the Secret…while we have not seen it,’ the Preacher explained. ‘See the spotlight on you…you are on stage in the foyer to play your part well or poorly,’ the Preacher smiled. ‘We all are players in life’s performance, and we learn our lines as we go along the path,’ the Preacher chuckled. ‘Some of the lines are tongue twisters,’ the Preacher winked.

‘Neva J are you making a swimming trip to Pounds Hollow this week? ‘ Brenda asked with a wink. ‘It is so hot and I need a Pounds Hollow day,’ Brenda continued. ‘Gene is playing with his monster masks and cares for little else other than practicing his organ,’ Brenda noted with a frown. ‘If you do not talk about Universal Monsters Studio with Gene, he is just not interested,’ Brenda said. ‘When I tell him about my boyfriend Danny, he seems underwhelmed,’ Brenda lamented. ‘Mom is so into church, and Dad is tired all of the time, so I have to count on you to rescue me from a life of boredom,’ Brenda assured Neva J. ‘I can do no wrong in Dad’s eyes and no right in Mom’s,’ Brenda moaned. ‘I love babysitting Billy B on Friday nights, we watch the Friday night Science Fiction Theatre on television,’ Brenda laughed. ‘Billy B is so smart for his age, he sounds like a miniature adult,’ Brenda laughed.

‘Can I come along to Pounds Hollow?’ Cousin Gene asked. ‘I see Brenda go each week and think I can pry myself away from my Monster Mask Collection long enough for a cool dip,’ Cousin Gene said. ‘I will bring my monster masks for a laugh when we wear them on the beach,’ Cousin Gene noted. ‘I know the kids will enjoy them and perhaps their parents as well, Cousin Gene said.

‘I have packed the Merlot and Oscar Mayer Weiners for Chet,’ Neva J said. ‘Have you read the articles in the Daily Journal regarding a peeping tom in the town?’ Neva J asked. ‘Some Eldorado residents caught a glimpse of PT and said he looked a bit like a half-man, half ape,’ Neva J laughed. ‘One reporter said she had been told that PT had the walking gate of Frankenstein,’ Neva J shuddered with joy. ‘Another eyewitness account of PT mentioned that he had fangs like Dracula,’ Neva J winked. ‘One old man said that PT had hair all over his body like the Wolfman, Neva J noted with a wink.

‘My goodness, everyone is running for the hills, Jane observed. ‘Whatever could be the frightening element of our walking on the beach?’ Jane asked. ‘We have our swimsuits on and have applied our Coppertone for a uniform tan,’ Jane commented. ‘Yet the old and young alike have grabbed their beach towels and books, fleeing the beach as well as the swimmers who look as if they have seen a shark,’ Jane commented with surprise.

‘You know I was unable to bring the Universal Studios Monster Masks, but I read that if I believed strongly enough, we would all appear as Monsters,’ Cousin Gene advised. ‘Before me, I see Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolfman in real life preparing for a swim in the cool Pounds Hollow waters,’ Cousin Gene said triumphantly.

‘The beach is enjoyable when we have it to ourselves,’ Chet observed as he scratched his hairy arms.

Moisture-laden clouds are gathering. They are blue-black in color. The weather forecast calls for torrential rains. The word “torrential” is used frequently in these climate change days. Flash flooding is an ever-present danger. Our weather is changing in real time.

I remember my days in Chicago. They seemed carefree if you did not look too closely. We lived in a house that reminded me of the home that the Beav and Wally lived in on the television show Leave It To Beaver. I identified with their TV lives as I had a similar cadre of friends who lived on my street. There were Danny and Pauly, who came to my house regularly. Pauly was younger than Danny and me and laughed at everything. Pauly was good-natured. Once he was laughing so that I told him to stop unless he wanted me to hit him with the toy gun we were playing with. Pauly found this pronouncement especially funny. After I hit him, a bump the size of a goose egg appeared immediately. I felt bad, but the deed was done. Danny and Pauly went home. I apologized and gave Pauly the offending toy gun.

We all went to see Lady And The Tramp at the Chicago Theatre. The Theatre’s Marquee was brilliant. Steve and Susie, along with Danny Pauly and Ivy, were all in attendance for the movie’s premiere. It was Christmastime, and the Chicago streets were replete with shoppers carrying magnificently wrapped gifts. I had a bit of a crush on Lady as well as Susie, Steve’s older sister. I could visualize living in the home with Jim Dear and Darling, Lady and Tramp, and pups. Jock and Trusty reminded me of Steve Pauly and Danny.

Neva J enjoyed the Twist by Chubby Checker. She twisted daily. I did not twist. We attended a church service in a house one evening. The living room and kitchen were packed, and when the service concluded, one of the attendees told us we had listened to their prophet and that he would never die. I was four years old and thought that the church members had been conned. Their eyes were aglow with what they believed was heavenly light. I wondered how we came to attend such a bizarre church service.

Whispers and furtive glances filled our Leave It To Beaver Home. Something was shaking just under our foundation. Dad passed by my bedroom door carrying Neva J and crying. Red lights circled my bedroom. Soon, we moved to Southern Illinois to a town called Eldorado.

Grandma A and Aunt Wanda, and Aunt Vema lived in Eldorado. In those early days, Vema and Guelda both lived with Grandma A. Wanda, and the family had just returned from Alaska. The Hayes family had my cousins Brenda and Billy. Brenda walked with me to school for many days as she was in 8th grade and I was a new first grader. Brenda was wonderful. She listened to me and smiled at the things I told her. My bedroom in the Haunted House on Illinois Avenue was in a narrow utility closet. I had to enter it by climbing onto the bed. We shared the Haunted House with the Hayes family for the first month. Neva J asked me how I enjoyed my first day, and I told her that I had had enough of school and would not be returning. She laughed like Pauly and said I would be attending school for a long time.

I loved the first-grade desk with its top that functioned as a lid for a compartment where you kept your paste, ruler, and books. I loved learning. I have always been an introvert, or at least since Chicago. It was not long into my first-grade experience that President Kennedy was assassinated.

So we bring our memories to the table of life. Some of us sit boldly and purposefully to represent our values, while others sit humbly and appreciative of the opportunity. We humble folks know life’s reversals. We understand what it feels like to be on Leave It To Beaver’s pristine street and to be in the lowest part of the slough of despond. I watched a documentary regarding fundamentalism’s foray into Brazil. What sounded good, bringing the message of Christ to Brazil, ended up as a cruel malformation of the original intent.

I am reminded of the desire of fundamentalists to have prayer returned to schools. I often wonder what they are speaking of, as people can pray anywhere they are. Could it be that they want their prayers and political agenda to be public in the public schools? No one has the corner on faith or understanding. When they assure you that they do, they are like the little church group in Chicago who believed that their prophet would never die.

Every time I consider taking fewer photographs to post on Facebook, I receive kind compliments that cause me to continue. For my retirement years, I walk daily and snap photos of interesting things I see. I share several on Facebook daily. I finally think people must be getting tired of my photos. I have loved snapping photos since the days of receiving my Big Swinger camera for Christmas. The image coming from the camera is magical to me. The camera’s eye sees things that I miss with my human eyes. The camera’s eye sees with no fear or mental reservation. The camera often captures the soul. We Baby Boomers were taught to not stare at people. The photo is unflinching in its portrayal. Pictures reveal to us the hidden world.

We have some fear. It comes with the package. We wear Fear like a three-piece suit. We purchased it at a fine clothing store. It cost a month’s wages. When we are faced with environments that make us uncomfortable, we put on our three-piece suit of Fear. Certainly, it will protect us. When we are asked if we can do a job in our church, we check our watch hanging from a golden chain attached to our three-piece suit of fear and respond No, thank you.

Wrong is in front of us. They are making up public policy on the fly. We know most of what political leaders are saying is bullshit. We know their venom-filled rhetoric is harming vulnerable people. We are in our safe place. We have fear. Perhaps someone else will do it. Perhaps someone else does not have fear and thus will speak out against obvious lies.

I learned in my early days to overcome fear. I saw the best Chancellor of Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale fired without cause. She was fired for spite, as Jerry Seinfeld said when he attempted to return a sports coat and gave the reason of spite. I was threatened, and the people who reported to me in the housekeeping department were threatened, but I would not back down and invited the person exuding the threats to have the Board of Trustees and the Governor threaten me as well. I saw bullies make kids’ lives miserable in school. Fear is a formless vapor that, when blown upon, evaporates.

It is incredible to me that our elected leaders cannot muster the courage to vote against a bill that they know hurts the people who elected them to Congress. Is the money, the power, and the perks that good? I have held two elective offices: the president of the Civil Service Council at SIUC and Elder at First Presbyterian Church. The people that I represented were all I could think of.

Life cowers us. Fear rules our lives. We believe fear is our natural state of being. This irrational fear is why we are in our current condition. We are afraid of our neighbors. We fear the end of the world when in reality, our world is going to end in a few short years due to death. We fear offending some people when they do not know our name, or will forget it soon after our encounter with them. We worry about what people will think when they seldom, if ever, think of us.

We fearfully walk in the agenda of our minds. Many falsehoods we believe to be true. We follow an image that others have developed for us. Often, we search for who we are. We see a shadow on the wall where our shadow should be. It looks bold and courageous. It is a strong shadow full of joy. The shadow reveals who we really are without the three-piece suit of fear.