I prefer the word “unique” instead of the word “weird” when it comes to describing a person. I really don’t think whenever I hear someone say that …

Beverage Choices

The rhythm of our lives. Indeed, it exists. Certain happenings make us feel happy or sad, anxious or depressed. If we are not focused on what our body and brain tell us, we wonder what is going on. Joy comes to each of us, as does pain and suffering. If we deny that reality, we deny ourselves. Being in tune with our environment is a good step.

Thoughts control our actions. Often, the thoughts are irrational or suppositions. Our world is a wonderful place if we relax. Rome was not built in a day. It is best to work on one thing at a time. Spring brings renewal and rejuvenation of spirit. The Serenity Prayer is true,’ God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’

Time changes things. God knows the number of the hairs of our heads. Quiet helps. The media is wonderful. Media can kill. Moderation is the key. Faith is a reliable garment. I have worn it for 58 years. It never leaves me.

The Old Man was convinced he had a Guardian Angel. He had seen GA out of the corner of his eye a few times. Ga treasures his anonymity. In times of trouble, GA has come to the front. Now and again, the Old Man forgot GA was there. GA never forgets. GA was with the Old Man when he was young, riding in the ambulance; the driver said he did not think the Old Man would make it to the hospital. GA was with the Old Man when he first took a management job at the university and feared he would fail.

Harsh words and bad thoughts cause a bad stomach. ‘In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin, but he that refraineth his lips is wise.’

Behavior change can cause good health. The Carpenter’s Motto is to Measure Twice and Cut Once.’ Most angry words subside when reflected on.

Of late, our political world has afforded much strife. Strife has been placed on a pedestal for admiration. The good guys versus the bad guys. Fun if you are a good guy, not so much if you’re in the bad camp. Many are lost in the battle of the elite. We, Little People, suffer for the wars of the rich. The poor of the land have been left behind. Affordability is no longer a worry since the election is over.

A day made in Heaven. Cool with a nice breeze. A day to wonder at the possibilities. We look for the prophets. Not the self-appointed ones, the God-appointed ones. Many are in the employment line for the job. If you listen, they cite their resume of accomplishments.
Examining the resumes yields different results. We are a bit like a ship at sea, and the waves are high. We need a good sexton.

The Hollow Men are around the corner. Faceless and nameless, they watch our lives. They stand at the top of the hill watching the Theatre of the Macabre. In good times, they are there in bad times, they watch. They have been called ghosts. Slipping in and out of our daily routine, they go unnoticed. A diligent observer catches them out of the corner of their eye.

‘I have been sitting with my sick friend at the hospital,’ Jane said. ‘She said she saw a shadow standing at the foot of her hospital bed last night,’ Jane continued. ‘When she spoke to the shadow, it did not respond,’ Jane explained. ‘My friend wondered if the shadow was an angel,’ Jane noted. ‘She feels better today and appears to be on the mend,’ Jane smiled.

‘Neva J spoke of the Shadow Man, who she said was her brother who went missing from World War II, Chet mentioned. ‘She saw the Shadow Man in the woods with her mother when she was a child,’ Chet continued. ‘There are many reports of Hollow Men or Shadow Men being seen in sundry places and unusual times,’ Chet explained. ‘The ‘Spirit Photograph’ of Mary Todd Lincoln with the faint spectral figure of President Abraham Lincoln standing behind her with his hands on her was later debunked, but many believe it still,’ Chet observed. ‘Why do you think the song Me and My Shadow is so popular?’ Chet laughed. ‘In 1965, there was an episode of the Dick Van Dyke show based on a mysterious shadow which turned out to be President Lincoln’s Shadow,’ Chet said.

‘I saw the Hollow Man,’ Billy B announced. ‘I was distressed about the war in Vietnam and the friends I had lost as I walked the streets of Eldorado,’ Billy B said. ‘I wondered what my future was going to be living in unsettled times,’ Billy B continued. ‘As Neva J and I watched the Cuban Missile Crisis unfold on television, we saw three shadows that looked like men behind President Kennedy as he uttered his ultimatum to Kruschev,’ Billy B said tentatively. ‘We wondered if the TV picture was out of sync as it was the days of the rooftop antenna and snow on the screen,’ Billy B winked. ‘I then recalled turning the corner by the Orpheum Theatre and a Hollow Man stood watching me,’ Billy B whispered.

‘Do you ever feel like someone is watching you?’ Billy B asked. ‘You may be alone, but cannot shake the feeling of being observed,’ Billy B continued. Once I woke in the middle of the night and there was a shadow figure at the foot of my bed,’ Billy B recounted. ‘The Shadow Man was watching me while I slept,’ Billy B said with a shiver. ‘On a separate occasion, I went around a corner, and there was Mr. Shadow Man again,’ Billy B said. It has not been clear what his intentions for me are,’ Billy B noted. ‘He is a man of few words,’ Billy B explained. ‘Once when I was being rushed to the hospital by ambulance, I saw him sitting next to me,’ Billy B said. ‘When I asked him if I would live, he nodded slowly,’ Billy B remembered.

‘Shadow Man was with Grandma A and me in the woods when we were hunting persimmons,’ Neva J recalled. ‘Grandma A spoke to him and watched us from a clearing in the forest,’ Neva J said. ‘Grandma A told me the Shadow Man was Dutch, her son lost in World War II, or what was left of him, Neva J said with tears in her eyes. ‘So my brother has been watching out for his nephew all of these years,’ Neva J whispered.

I see a little bee outside the Writing Porch. He is going about his day with neither concern nor care. He understands his mission. Bees are a comfort. They live with us without issue. Such are we, little people. The Bullfrog is singing. He is practicing for the concert. His song is melodious. Our Earth is under stress, but is still functioning.

I heard on a podcast that many people are using credit cards to purchase gas. Not a surprise. Credit card debt is rising rapidly. What is a member of the Little People to do? The cost of living is climbing. Wages are not.

Some would have us believe that it is in God’s plan for suffering and the end times. Perhaps it is leaders not listening to God, and the problem is greed. God does not brush our teeth in the morning nor comb our hair. Some things we are responsible for.

Little folks walk across the stage, and the boards do not creak. The oxygen is consumed by gifted orators. They talk and produce little. They tell the lie, and many believe it. If the lie fits our worldview, we are all in. Little people are humble. We are taught to believe what the Leader tells us. How else did he or she become the Leader?

We sit in the marketplace and wait for our turn. We raise our hands, but no one calls on us. Little People make a big difference. Often, we have to unite to be heard by the elite and gifted Con Artist leaders. When a Leader tells the Little People that they are going to work in their interest…the Leader does the opposite, we Little People notice.

‘I think the path veers to the left,’ Chet said as he studied his compass. ‘The Leader to the summit has taken a rest stop about a mile back,’ Chet continued. ‘I saw him as we passed his aides who were bringing him foot lotion,’ Chet laughed. ‘He swore to us he knew the way and had made this climb numerous times,’ Chet said. ‘He is hopelessly lost and a bit in his own world,’ Chet commented. ‘The Leader talks a good game but refuses to use a compass,’ Chet noted. ‘I heard him say if he could find another job, he would take it,’ Chet winked. ‘He is hoisted on his own petard,’ Chet chuckled. ‘This happens when no one gives the Leader another point of view or disagrees with his erroneous assessment,’ Chet mused.

‘I see the Preacher ahead, and he is beckoning for us to follow him,’ Jane said. ‘The Preacher appears in times of anxiety and stress, Jane continued. ‘His voice is calm, and his words are clear,’ Jane whispered. ‘He does not brag or boast,’ Jane noted. ‘His eyes are tired and kind,’ Jane observed. ‘He is drawn to the poor and needy, the Little People who have been unseen and unheard by the rich and powerful,’ Jane observed with tears in her eyes. ‘When he speaks to you, he sees your soul,’ Jane said.

‘Be not afraid, God is watching,’ the Preacher said. ‘We are safe in the Woods,’ the Preacher continued. ‘The nice part of being part of the Little People is going unnoticed,’ the Preacher continued. ‘Often I am in the room where the President makes his decisions, and I am unseen,’ the Preacher explained. ‘People with hurtful and cruel ideas are given the floor and applauded,’ the Preacher continued. ‘Everyone waits in fear until the President says what he wants and then they all speak in unison of his brilliance and majesty and his royal clothing,’ the Preacher said. ‘Mary told me that it would be the same in the future as in the past,’ the Preacher said with downcast eyes.

The long evenings remind me of the porch setters. In the days of youth, most could be found on their front porches until sunset at 9:00 P:M:. Conversation, fibs, and fables were abundant. Old men worked out the problems of the world. Old women discussed old men. The kids were in the yard with open canning jars in the adept endeavour of capturing lightning bugs. The Cooks on the corner had an in-ground swimming pool. We passed by in reverence of the majesty.

Mosquitoes were a fact of life, and a few bites were our rite of passage. No one went inside until it was bedtime. It was hot with no air conditioning and a box fan or two blowing hot air. We did not lock the front door; we needed the screen door to help air circulate. Earl would say to crack our bedroom windows to get the maximum effect of the fan-cooled air circulation.

Everyone had their windows open in the closely placed one-lot houses on the streets of Eldorado. There was a pleasant cacophony of sounds, television, and conversation that wafted through the warm air. Spring and almost summer nights were good for telling ghost stories. I had a trundle bed, and when one of my friends came over, we told stories on the unique bed. If the stars were aligned, a thunderstorm would rise up. The bang of the thunder and the room-illuminating lightning provided action effects to the Frankenstein Story as well as cool wind and refreshing rain. There was the fear that Chet might fall out of the top trundle bed in the noise of the summer storm.

Life’s pace was slower in my halcyon days. When you do not have much money, there is little temptation. Peace, pleasure, and happiness came from the common cloth we all had. We would have put on ‘aires,’ but no one would have noticed. We all liked Dairy Queen. You could get a big ice cream cone for 5 cents. That same cone today would be much more. Dairy Queen invented Dilly Bars. Quite a hit with the Eldorado kids. If you were adventurous, your poison was a Malt. Malt is much different than a shake. Malts are shakes, big brothers.

We believed what the President told us. For a while, we had JFK, and after his assassination, we idolized him. His photo was on many living room walls. To this day, we wonder what might have been.

Neva J’s sisters and her mom were avid churchgoers. I attended the Orpheum Theatre on Sunday for my early years. The quiet peace of the movies engulfed me. Watching the movie two or three times reveals that the ending does not seem to change.

In Sauk Village in the suburbs, Dad cooked out on Sunday while George and Helen sun-tanned in the chaise lounge chairs in the yard. George called me Dr. Brooks. They had thick Chicago accents and seemed like family. The rhythms of the street we lived on made me think of the television show Leave It to Beaver. I had friends along the street. Steve and Susie had marionette puppets. They put on shows. The marionettes fascinated me. A rich life full of hidden mysteries.

It is a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Each day the Old Man walks in the woods, it looks new. What we think of as ordinary is extraordinary. It is hard to become bored when miracles surround you. The birds sing new songs each day. Brooks Pond is resplendent each morning. The little yellow flowers are blooming along the front of our house. We are anxious for nothing. All has been provided.

The Old Man used to think something grand had to be achieved to have meaning. An award to be won, a promotion to be garnered. There was a mountain of success to be climbed, and training was vital. There was the great boulder to be pushed to the top of the hill, only to watch it roll back to its resting place. Life is short and brutish, the philosopher said. The philosopher does not live in my neck of the woods. I run and get my fuel on Pastor Meg’s advice, which I have as my mantra for my life. Find God in the small things and places where you do not customarily look. You do not have to look far. God is everywhere once you look.

God is watching us. If we are quiet and contemplative, he will show us where he is all around us. When we feel forgotten and forlorn. God is watching. If we could see the guardian angels by our side, we would understand.

Recently I was driving to work and two songs played through Pandora that I’ve loved for many years. The first song was “We’ve Only Just Begun” by Run…

Sky Music

Memorial Day is just around the corner, then July 4th, then Labor Day. Time has its running shoes on. Mylo Jonathon and I are enjoying the Writing Porch. The cool breeze of spring is wafting through the screen. Thoughts of summer and cooking out on the grill. Salameats, potato salad, and games. An easy time of song and mirth while the Bullfrog Quartet performs.

I was listening to a podcast where a financial advisor said that riches come in many forms. Some folks lay up money as if someday they will enjoy it and never do…time ran out too soon. Others choose to travel or purchase art, or perhaps they enjoy clothes and thus have riches closely aligned with their personalities.

Many days, Ordinary Time is our surroundings. We look for the fireworks when God is in the little things of daily life. Pastor Meg reminded us on Sunday that when we consciously look outside our pattern of living, we see God. Have you driven the same route for years, and one day, a house along the side of the road you had not noticed? Or a person you know and have worked alongside, who you suddenly understand is consistently kind.

We introverts are not performers. We love to watch performances. We think about what we have seen, heard, and felt. Still Waters run deep. We follow the plot. We get the theme. The quiet of Ordinary Time enriches us. We seek the hidden gifts. Often, we see what others miss.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers reading. We began the day attending church at First Presbyterian and witnessing an extraordinary piano performance. Our little church has three outstanding pianists. This morning, they performed a medley centered on their time at the keyboard. When a pianist left the piano bench to the right, they moved to the left of the seat and prepared to continue once the next pianist exited. I have never seen anything like it, and the joy of their music filled the sanctuary.

MJ Aaron and Jonathon attended an Arts Festival in the Art Community, where the artists are outstanding. We have been fans of Char Down’s art for many years. The Crew brought home a piece to join the others in our collection. It is inspirational, as is art in general to us. The acquisition of a piece of art from one of our favorite artists made a well-rounded, wonderful Mother’s Day Weekend.

We took a sleigh ride with Jay as Santa very effectively in the early days of this century. What a nice man and a good name. Jay seems to be ageless. The ride we took around the Lowertown Art Community hooked MJ and me. Paducah became a preferred destination for several years. There was a magic in the midst. There still is. We became aficionados and friends.

Art enriches my life. Writing blogs feeds my soul. Paintings are a primary pastime. The piano music this morning was a special experience. Art is the key that opens our hearts to life. Blinders only afford tunnel vision. Art is similar to looking through the old Viewmaster 3D toys we had in my youth. Suddenly, I was transported to a magical, mystical world of possibilities I had not imagined.