As a lad, I do not recall so much heavy rain and daily significant wind. It rained down in buckets this morning. Before retirement, hard rain meant a call to campus for multiple leaking roofs. I wondered about my roof this morning.

Hard rain falls on all of our lives. Often, we feel overwhelmed. Problems do not walk in slowly on little kitten feet but rather with their Army boots on. A hard rain can make a person feel alone in a crowd. The person under the torrential downpour can watch their neighbors enjoying the soothing sound of peaceful rain while their house is being swept away.

Rain reminds us that we are all made out of the same stuff. We all get wet. Money and privilege do not protect us from the downpour. We may need a new roof and do not realize it. We are as confident as the little pigs in our homes. Hard Rain finds its way in.

The little girl sitting outside the Broadway Theatre begging for a crust of bread knows what Hard Rain is. She looks into the eyes of those who pass her. Many eyes do not see her while others avert their gaze. Her threadbare jacket is soaked through.

‘June is my favorite summer month,’ Jane exclaimed. ‘It is not too hot or too cold,’ Jane continued. ‘I prefer lukewarm as is spoken of in the book of Revelation,’ Jane laughed. ‘The beach is pleasant and accommodating,’ Jane mused. ‘There is still a long while before school commences,’ Jane offered. ‘I am excited that Neva J is taking us to Pounds Hollow today,’ Jane offered.

‘Let us load the 57 Chevy up with hot dogs and hamburgers along with an ample supply of Merlot,’ Neva J proclaimed. ‘I saw a groundhog come out of the tall grass and scamper across my path which is good luck I am told,’ Neva J said. ‘When the groundhog passed he winked and grinned as he said good morning,’ Neva J continued. ‘Mr. Groundhog told me that he was joining Mr. Beaver at the Hollow for a portion of summer joy,’ Neva J noted. ‘GH also told me to be ready for a surprise when we arrive,’ Neva J said.

‘Look over there where Mr. Groundhog and Mr. Beaver are roasting hot dogs,’ Chet directed. ‘They are joined by Freddy Fox and Sammy Squirrel,’ Chet said. ‘Let us join them and discover what the surprise is,’ Chet suggested. ‘Where you find those merrymakers there is always an adventure,’ Chet said with a wink and a nod. ‘Last June they showed us the underwater home of the Creature From The Black Lagoon,’ Chet reminded the group.

‘It is good to see you,’ Freddy Fox said. ‘Today we shall find Godot,’ Freddy continued. ‘Though we have waited for him for many days he is coming to our cookout,’ Freddy noted with a dance. ‘Godot has the answers we have been seeking,’ Freddy winked and grinned. ‘He is wise and has been likened to God,’ Freddy whispered. ‘Godot is elusive and no one has ever reported seeing his face or shaking his hand,’ Freddy observed. ‘We have been made to understand that he enjoys Oscar Mayer Wieners right out of the package and not cooked,’ Freddy disclosed. ‘We brought several packages of Oscar Mayer Wieners for Godot and Chet,’ Freddy observed.

‘Goodness the wind has increase in the last few minutes,’ Billy B said. ‘I hope the wind does not blow our paper plates away,’ Billy B continued. ‘It is getting as dark as night and there is lightning in the sky,’ Billy B said with trepidation. ‘I want to be able to see and talk with Godot when he arrives and I hope the storm does not scare him away,’ Billy B advised. ‘I hear a melody that I have heard before,’ Billy B cocked his ears to listen better.

‘Oh I wish I was an Oscar Mayer Wiener that is what I truly want to be for if I was an Oscar Mayer Wiener everyone would be in love with me,’ the song whispered through the wind.

‘All of the Oscar Mayer Wieners are gone….’ Neva J said with surprise!

We reflect on the good old days. Those days burnished by memory. The gauzy picture our mind sees is soft and pleasant. In those days, we were happy and free. Work was fun, and life was easy. Problems seemed light. Hope was grand. We walked all day and never got winded. Planting and prospering were the order of our days. Our snow globe world was perfect. What happened outside our sphere was dim in our vision as we climbed the ladder of success. The revelers of the holidays, rum cake and rum for Neva J. Earl, brought smoked meat. We gathered around the round table and laughed the laugh of the hopeful and blessed. Tomorrow was another day.

The encouragement of friends is a treat. Imogene passed away recently. She told me what a good deacon I would be when I passed on the ask. I did not realize Imogene ever thought of me in any regard. Her opinion made my day. Rob often tells me how much he enjoys my photos, and at times, he compliments my writing. Rob will never know how much I think of him and his encouragement.

I think of my friend and tell him that I love and admire him. Confusion is a dark companion. His smile lights up a room. He is kind and considerate, and I have never spoken with him that I was not the better for it.

We are on the master monitor. God is watching us. We are more interesting than the finest Hollywood movie. Performers, we are on the stage of life. We miss the halcyon days when we are in the midst of them and do not realize now is our moment…now is our Halcyon Days! Whoever you meet, you touch their life. A sacred gift. We see the corporeal while God sees the infinite. We are learning our lines. Shall we enter stage left and depart stage right? Who knows what gifts we harbor? Who understands the deep thoughts we feel?

Sparks fly upward. We are in our place on life’s stage, and our part is next. Play your part well…,’ dear God forever,’ we cry. It is a short play. The Acts are compact and meaningful. Before us is the unknown person whom we are on stage to help. Be careful that you entertain angels unaware. Beneath the dirt and grime is a brilliant diamond. The gold of Ophir walks among us. We become irritated when we kick against the role we have in the Great Play. We chafe under the yoke of our performance. God is watching…

The settling time has come. The activities of the day acquiesce to the calm of the night. The firing of the coal hopper for our steam locomotives has died down. The trains are in the train yard. Night winds blow over our heated lives. We humans require rest and recuperation. We cannot go 24/7. It is said that old folks have four or five good hours in them. A true statement, I think. We stand on a tightrope, and our balance is precarious. We must learn how to hold the balance pole to find our center of gravity. When you lose your long pole, you fall off the rope…hopefully, there is a net.

The Hollywood picture of effective living is a myth. In the MGM masterpiece, we see John Wayne fight off many bad guys without getting a scratch in his make-up. Mad Men advertising executives drink in their office starting in the mornings and continue all day and well into the night with a smile and a wink. June Cleaver fixes breakfast in pearls. Rob and Laura Petri kiss each other good night and retire to their own twin bed on either side of their bedroom. If you are not working eighteen hours a day, you are not trying. People brag about sleeping 3 or 4 hours a night. They seem to have boundless energy.

Somewhere along the way, we began to believe the myth that a human being elected to be President is endowed with superhuman powers. We decided to not trust our mere mortal eyes and lay our hopes in our conspiracy theories. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it is a duck. This applies to both political parties. This bit of common sense also applies to religious leaders. We want our religious leaders to leap off the pages of the Bible and be the embodiment of excellent storytelling. The preacher who tells us God told him/her to become rich to illustrate the benefits of serving God with the tithes and offerings of poor people is working on The Ark…but it is for them and not us.

Night Winds bring rest. A time to recharge and reflect on what has been and our role in it. A senator recently commented on the diminishment of Medicaid that we were all going to die someday missed the point. Our primary goal should be to take care of each other.

We attribute the greatness of our nation to the wrong pillars of conduct. Having all come here from somewhere else, we shut the doors to all who do not fit our storybook ideal. This would be likened to the Native Americans meeting us at the shore and telling us to turn around and return home to England. I observed when I was a member of Southern Illinois University that some saw the University’s needs in light of their parochial needs. Others saw the big picture of inclusion as the answer for a strong University. Some wanted work-life to be an image of their lives in a rural environment. Everyone should look like them and attend the same few recognized churches. Others who had been raised in the same towns and villages wanted to accept everyone and make no distinction as to differences of faith or ethnicity. Indeed, many of the most open people to helping others different from themselves were from biased hamlets.

Each of us is our biggest mystery. We seek to fix those around us when we have no clue about what makes us tick. Words can be a healing balm or a burning fire. Such power comes from the movement of the tongue. At night, we consider how we can better utilize that power to help, not to hurt…

Summer is here. Eighty degrees and a cloudless sky. Purpose calls out from the trees in the woods. You are here for a reason, they tell the Old Man. Rest is needed, but purpose is paramount. Retirement does not mean rocking chair. You rock and rock and get nowhere. Goals are essential. Work is wonderful. It is especially fun when you pick the job. Autonomy is a wonderful gift that keeps on giving. To be free of the manipulation of others is enlightening. Reading and writing keep the Old Man’s mind open to the next mission. Thinking for yourself is its own reward. Advice is good, but fire in the belly is better. The Old Man’s life has been marked by the sound of his own drummer. The percussion is familiar and favored. Too many cooks spoil the broth. Cooking and life are more art than science. You know when something is right.

When working at Southern Illinois University, the Old Man was counseled to not rock the boat. Keep a low profile, they said. Don’t lift your head too high. That sounded wise until people suffered from the philosophy. Humility and courage are a winning combination. People first, then everything else falls into place. Always put people first. When you defend the voiceless and forgotten without thought of your own advancement, you are on a mission from God. During the Old Man’s career, he saw each person as a sovereign individual. The Old Man hated groupthink. Every person is worthy of being treated as a one-of-a-kind creation of God. Not part of a preferred or rejected group.

The Old Man worked in the Housekeeping Department. Precious people were often considered subpar or those who worked in cleaning jobs because they could not do any better. Nothing was further from the truth. Wise and brilliant people graced the Building Services Department. People who loved SIUC with an unparalleled passion. Dedicated individuals who could do the cleaning duties with one hand tied behind their back and have time to mentor and be a family to forgotten students. Professionals who had the answers to the University’s persistent problems if they were only asked. People of immeasurable intrinsic value.

No one cares about you more than you. No one understands you better than yourself. They do not hear the still, small voice you hear. They see a caricature and not a fully formed person. Revealing yourself is your task.

Manipulators are everywhere. They are puzzle masters, and you are one of the pieces. The genesis of their counsel is for you to facilitate their vision of you as a part of their master plan for their advancement. This quandary is found in all walks of life. Many financially successful people are master manipulators. Their perception is that they are the king on the chessboard and you are the pawn. Many of us strive all of our lives to advance to the rook or the bishop in the life of the Manipulator.

Look behind the curtain. The Wizard is pulling many levers and twisting numerous dials to achieve the goal. While many perform the grunt work of life, a few call the shots. Follow your heart. Find you. When you leave this mortal coil, know that you pursued your mission in life and not someone else’s. Contrary to common belief, we do not all need a leader to manipulate our actions. We must pursue who we are in humility and servant leadership.

Engage in what moves your passion. Be your unique representation of God. Money and titles are meaningless. Excitement in the joy of daily living is the map to happiness.

The fat clouds look like pillows. They languidly float by. Friday in the summer is a special treat. The tree limbs dance in the warm breeze. Brooks Pond is like a mirror. A turtle slowly makes its way from the pond to the house. He is on a mission from God. Mo is in the house with matching cleaning tools that are bright pink. They lift your spirits.

Negotiating life is a daily affair. Whatever bad you are experiencing will soon be in your rearview mirror. Good things are in store for you. Good is the nature of God’s Plan. Bad is an anomaly. It is good to be a Good Finder. Many years ago, Mom and Dad divorced, and I was a bitter kid. I soon discovered that there was so much good in my world that all I needed to do was to find it. Soon, I was an encouragement to others and to myself. Neva J was in the doldrums due to Dad leaving, and I discovered that my Good Finder attitude helped her outlook as well. Throughout life, I have always been able to find the good that many claim is as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Contrary to popular belief, everyone is not out to get us. We are people of goodwill. We seek peace and tranquility. Arguments cause anxiety. Strife causes stress and a bad stomach. Tums are only a temporary fix. Love covers a multitude of sins. Understanding we seek. Someone to listen. I watch the little children with cancer at St. Jude’s Hospital and cry when I see their positive attitudes. They know what Jimmy Stewart learned in Bedford Falls…It is A Wonderful Life.

The temperature is rising. The grills are cooking. Short sleeves are in vogue. School is out. Kids are fishing and swimming with classrooms a dim memory. Memorial Day has passed, and July 4th is just over a month away. Does anyone remember New Year’s Day? So it goes with the chapters of our year and our lives.

The Old Man walks in his woods. It looks different to him each day. Deer peek out from their grazing. A good-natured man changes his flat tire. He had a massive red toolbox. He told the Old Man that he was not yet ready to drive a computer. It has been a long time since the Old Man changed a tire.

We look to chaos to solve logical problems. Disruption will make our paths straight. Confusion is the new wisdom. Hurting those who are unlike us is the answer to the Christian riddle. God is creating strong men who love only themselves. The immigrant and the refugee are a nuisance and a bother. They must be the answer to our problems. It could not be our own selfishness and narcissism. A few people control most of the wealth. It is a great capitalist miracle. The next ultra-rich person could be you. How is that working out for you?

‘Sit with me for a while by the creek in the woods,’ Chet said. ‘The sound of the rushing water soothes my spirit,’ Chet continued. ‘There is a rhythm to the world,’ Chet explained. ‘God created us all and loves us all,’ Chet mused. ‘The peace of nature and natural order of its movements is proof of his love for his creation,’ Chet postulated. ‘We humans are in a constant fight with each other,’ Chet offered. ‘We play a zero-sum game of I win and you lose,’ Chet said. ‘Instead of survival of the fittest, why can it not be we are all in the same boat in a stormy sea and we owe each other a terrible loyalty,’ Chet asked. ‘Thought is important and reflection on life is paramount to our understanding of our role in it,’ Chet whispered.

‘I am weary of the fighting and pain,’ Neva J said. ‘We leave one room of suffering only to go into another of our own making,’ Neva J offered. ‘A glass of Merlot and some grilled hamburgers and hot dogs… except for Chet, who likes his raw…is the order of a summer day,’ Neva J smiled. ‘The deer and squirrels are watching us as our children and grandchildren,’ Neva J explained. ‘Soon and very soon we will be done in this life, and what will we have to show for it?’ Neva J mused. ‘Will it be said that we divided brother against brother and mother against son…or shall we be remembered as bringing people together on our path?’ Neva J wondered.

The peel of the siren was unmistakably present, and the meat on the summer grills burned from neglect. Pounds Hollow was full of end-of-May swimmers, and inner tubes were everywhere. Cyclist gingerly rode their bicycles in the Woods. Happy joggers relished the burn and euphoria of running. Wrigley Field was packed, and the Cubs were having a wonderful season. The crack of the bat signaled a home run. The fish were biting, and the lures were working better than expected. Nothing could spoil such a summer’s day.

‘Are these the codes?’ the Executive asked as he opened the satchel. ‘Now we will prove who the winners are,’ the Executive said…

‘For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people,’ Chet said. ‘The Book is full of dark days,’ Chet noted. ‘I have been in darkness that you could not see your hand in front of your face,’ Chet laughed. ‘Have you ever seen such thick darkness that it swallowed light?’ Chet asked. ‘I was in a cave one time that if I had not had a rope tied around my waist, I would have never found my way out of the blackness,’ Chet observed. ‘It was creepy and I still do not enjoy thinking about it,’ Chet offered.

‘Night has a different feel to it,’ Billy B said. ‘Life is one way in the morning and it is different at night,’ Billy B explained. ‘Many people function better at night,’ Billy B continued. ‘Without the prism of the sun, the world is monochrome,’ Billy B noted. ‘Life is Noir at night,’ Billy B smiled. ‘Night is for back room deals and secrets,’ Billy B whispered. ‘It is less crowded, but those whom you do encounter are enveloped in shadows,’ Billy B said.

‘I like to visit Cigar Bars at night,’ Jane said. ‘The shadows in the room remind me of people who have gone,’ Jane observed. ‘There is time to plan and consider at night,’ Jane said. ‘There is less worry and hurry at night while the lights are low and remembering is at its zenith,’ Jane observed. ‘Do you remember talking with the well-dressed man who said he knew JFK in the Cigar Bar?’ Jane asked. ‘He could have been his twin brother, and he knew things that only President Kennedy would have known,’ Jane softly said.

‘He spoke of coming calamities and global destruction,’ Chet recalled. ‘JFK noted that his greatest fear was nuclear annihilation,’ Chet said. ‘JFK noted that we came closer than anyone knew to nuclear war with the Soviet Union during the Cuban Missile Crisis,’ Chet remembered. ‘JFK said something chilling that night in the Cigar Bar,’ Chet recalled. ‘JFK said that the lust for power would destroy life as we know it when men and women loved power and money more than truth,’ Chet quietly said.

‘It is almost dark at noon,’ Chet said. ‘The chickens have gone to bed,’ Chet mentioned. ‘There are no visible clouds in the sky, yet I cannot see the sun,’ Chet mused. ‘I read about a day like this in a book some years ago,’ Chet said. ‘The street lights have come on and the frogs sing out their song in resonant bass,’ Chet observed. ‘The breeze is cool like night and the birds have ceased to sing,’ Chet said quizzically. ‘It is as if a heavy curtain has fallen over town,’ Chet shuddered.

‘I watched as he opened the sixth seal. There was a great earthquake. The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair, the whole moon turned blood red.’ NIV

‘I think we must hide from the coming calamity,’ Neva J said. ‘We often hid in the woods when I was a girl as evil pursued us,’ Neva J assured. ‘The Preacher is in the woods and he will help us,’ Neva J said. ‘Business have shuttered their doors and boarded up their windows,’ Neva J informed. ‘They are in the know as to what chaos is coming,’ Neva J calmly said. ‘We have felt it for some time and know it in our bones,’ Neva J assured. ‘We knew life could not continue as it was,’ Neva J said. ‘Sirens are peeling as if a tornado is coming,’ Neva J proclaimed. ‘We must go now,’ Neva J ordered!

‘All is well and as it should be,’ the Leader said. ‘Things will get darker just before the dawn,’ the Leader continued. ‘What is wrong with a little darkness…it is better for romance,’ the Leader grinned like a wolf. ‘The Sun is overrated and has been failing for a long time,’ the Leader announced. ‘I have a plan where we will no longer need the overrated sun,’ the Leader said as he danced on one foot and then the other. ‘Mystics and soothsayers have met with me to learn of my plan,’ the Leader laughed. ‘You will have to pay for my plan and it is not cheap…but then again, those who do not have the money to pay are not worth worrying about,’ the Leader said with a wink. ‘God has shown who he approves of by the Gold Standard,’ the Leader said. ‘I will be away for a while,’ the Leader said as he grabbed his suitcase. ‘I am heard south where there still is sun for a short time longer…do not do as I do…do as I say,’ the Leader said.

Welcome, children, I have been waiting for you,’ the Preacher said. ‘Sit with me beside the warm fire until the shadow passes over,’ the Preacher said. ‘The Shadow Of Death is a bit frightening, but he will do us no harm,’ the Preacher told with assurance. ‘Shadow is my friend and will bring the light back once again,’ the Preacher said. ‘Shadow is part of God’s plan for us…he is a sign of God in the sky for us to take courage in,’ the Preacher promised. ‘Shadow is the forerunner of the sunlit morning and the Peaceable Kingdom,’ the Preacher said.

Freedom is not free. So it goes as the fallen soldiers cry out from the sacred ground. Young…really, kids fought for the country. They had dreams and plans, and goals. The military was supposed to be a national service, and after a long life. It turned out to be the end of life for many.

MJ’s dad and uncle, and my dad served in World War II. They all returned home…changed. Vietnam was my War as a youngster. My cousin served, and many whom I knew were drafted. Yes, in those halcyon years, the choice to fight was not yours but the government’s. The rich and powerful found ways around the requirement, so the War was fought with working-class kids. Fifty thousand soldiers died. There was no welcome home parade nor a brass band when the living returned home. Cat calls and hate greeted the scarred soldiers from their countrymen.

Soldiers return in mass with PTSD and missing limbs from our modern Wars. Afghanistan was the longest War in our history. Our precious kids trusted their political leaders and served courageously. They deserve our respect and reverence.

Many sit in comfort and safety due to the sacrifice of kids who had not started their families or their lives. Who could the fallen have become if it had not been for War? What gifts they could have given us! They gave the ultimate gift…their lives…