‘We are going to eat the hell out of those Oscar Mayer Weiners,’ Chet exclaimed. ‘You do know that I like them straight out of the package,’ Chet added. ‘Fireworks on the creek will be spectacular,’ Chet observed. ‘Perhaps it will scare the water moccasins away, ‘ Chet noted. ‘The Creature From The Black Lagoon is planning on joining us this 4th for our Independence Day Celebration,’ Chet informed. ‘Creature told me that he will show us the unique way they celebrate the Holiday. ‘Creature told me we should bring large fishing hooks, the kind you use to fish for Marlin, and that he would provide the bait,’ Chet winked. ‘I wonder what bait he will bring,’ Chet said.

‘Well, all I know is we will have Merlot and plenty of steaks,’ Neva J said. ‘I also have the makings for S’mores for the evening when we are watching the Fireworks,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Should we bring a pair of Trunks for Creature?’ Neva J asked. ‘I bet he wears extra large,’ Neva J said with a wink.

‘Look, there ahead is the Creature with a big ice chest that he is pulling behind him,’ Jane observed. ‘He is smiling a wide, toothy grin,’ Jane noted. ‘I wonder if he likes Oscar Mayer Weiners or if he is a steak Creature,’ Jane said.

‘Greetings, my friends,’ Creature said with a hearty wave. ‘I brought the special bait and some wonderful cigars to smoke around the campfire,’ Creature noted with aplomb. ‘I brought Stinky Bait for the big fishing hooks, which is what we use in the Ocean,’ Creature said. ‘You may want to hold your noses as humans find it somewhat objectionable,’ the Creature smiled. ‘I use five pounds of Stinky Bait on each hook,’ the Creature said with a wink.

‘Oh my god, what is that terrible smell? I can not stand it,’ Ms. Clarissa said as she gathered her beach towels.

‘Come, my dear, we will go to another beach that does not stink so badly, Dennis the Menace’s dad said with a frown.

‘Well, the Stinky Bait works every time, not always for catching big fish, but always providing ample space to watch Fireworks,’ the Creature laughed.

Whisps of cotton are in the air. As I sit on the Writing Porch, they blow languidly by. The blue sky is full of fluffy cotton clouds. Nature is resting. The explosions will soon start. Spirits will be high, and some will be filled with spirits. The 4th of July is a rite of passage in the United States. We live in a great country and tell ourselves often how great it is. Lee Greenwood sings, ‘I Am Proud To Be An American.’ The next line of the tune states, ‘At least I know I’m Free.’ Many of us sing those words without a thought that we are not all free. Poverty is a jail cell. Being different is a prison in a government that recognizes only itself. Diversity was once applauded, but is now hidden in the shadows. Americans are good-hearted people who do not want those less fortunate than they are to suffer or have food insecurity. Americans want every child to be well fed.

All Americans have shared the idea of a social safety net. All of us have mothers and fathers who have had to use the services of nursing homes and home healthcare. Our brothers and sisters, friends, and neighbors are good Americans, and many voted for the current President. Many are poor and work hard, fly our flag with American Pride. All races have fought and died for Our United States of America. Immigrants lie beneath the white grave markers of our military cemeteries.

Soldiers of all faiths and no recognized faith gave their lives freely for America. They believed in the concept that all men are created equal. They gave their ultimate sacrifice for the promise of America. In the foxhole, there was neither black nor white but only Americans.

‘When I see the colorful display of fireworks, I think of those who gave their lives for our freedom,’ Chet said. ‘Dad fought in World War II and Earl in the Korean War,’ Chet noted. ‘Neva J worked in the Armament Factory making shells,’ Chet continued. ‘Dad’s best friend was Homer Gibbons, a black man from Alabama,’ Chet noted. ‘Dad and Homer called each other brothers,’ Chet said quietly. ‘They got together each July 4th, raise the Flag and conduct a small ceremony,’ Chet said. ‘On alternate years Homer and his family celebrated Christmas with us in Illinois, and the next year we celebrated with them in Alabama,’ Chet mused with tears in his eyes.

‘I was reflecting on our time together in the field hospital in England,’ Sherrie said to Maude. ‘There was so much dying and amputations that I fled the operating theatre and you came to comfort me,’ Sherrie said. ‘The men loved us and treated us better than family,’ Sherrie reflected. ‘We held their hands and listened to them when there was no one else to hear,’ Sherrie said in a whisper. ‘We all were united as one because we were fighting for America and the right of our struggle,’ Sherrie offered.

‘Remember when we had Christmas for the men in the amputation wing,’ Maude said. ‘Those that could not feed themselves we fed and we created a choir for Christmas songs that sounded better than anything I have heard on Bing Crosby’s Christmas Specials,’ Maude laughed. ‘I told some of the men that we hoped to have a child when we returned to the states, and several offered to be a sperm donor with tears in their eyes,’ Maude reflected. ‘They loved us for who we were and we loved them like our fathers and brothers and would have died for them,’ Maude reflected.

So there you have it, Proud Americans are a Rainbow of colors and birthplaces. We are Gay and Straight, we are black and white, we are Jew and Gentile. The re-writers of history have come too late to change who we are as we salute our wonderful Flag.

The old man woke and thought he must have slept a long time. It had been a few minutes. There is a bit of magic in sleep. One minute you are here, and the next you may be a spy in a mystery. Suddenly, you look around you for your fellow spies, and they are an assembly of grinning clowns. As you pick the lock of the secret door, you enter and are back in your bed, looking for the night light. Such is the dream world and our present reality. Have you ever experienced a dream that was so real you wanted to go back to sleep to see what happened next? Or at times do you feel you may be dreaming when the lights are on and there is no bed to be found.

Ethereal thoughts follow us. All seems right and well until a spectre appears that we recognize from our subconscious. It is always with us, yet just outside our peripheral vision. We see a thousand faces throughout our days, and yet one or two stay with us. We connected yet know not how. Is a person we have loved our unseen companion? It is someone interested in our well-being. The stages we performed on had characters we loved at the time of our mutual performance. Then the show was over and we went our separate ways for the next Gig. What happened to our friend?

The Old Man stopped and stared. Before him was someone who looked just like he did 40 years ago. His younger self was laughing and preparing for Christmas. He and MJ were buying their first Christmas Tree with baby Aaron in tow. It was a magnificent tree with Victorian-style ornaments from Walmart. Then he was at a craftswoman’s house to pick up a handmade nativity to celebrate Jesus’ birth, and the enjoyment of their first son’s birth and first Christmas.

When the young man dozed off in the recliner by the front door of the little four-room house as baby Aaron was sleeping in his swing, he dreamed that he was an old man dreaming that he was a young man…

The new seven-foot-tall Christmas Tree stood by the humongous picture window, decorated with brilliant lights and Victorian Ornaments. Baby Aaron cackled with delight!

The market was full of customers this morning. Fireworks in abundance and American Flags for all. Long lines at the cashiers and at the self-checkout as well. The 4th is Friday, and it is the big holiday of the summer. After that, it is Christmas in July. Frank Sinatra told us that the days grow short when you reach September, only two months away. The feeling of our year is a roller coaster ride will increase from here on. The latter half of the year flies by. School will begin next month. A man in the grocery line told us he had opened his pool last night. I wondered if he realized how soon it would be time to close it again. The lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer are like a dream when the cool winds begin to blow and the new textbooks are distributed.

Summer is good for change. Shake things up. Prepare for the frost of winter. What are you doing to develop a bad habit? Stop. Seek what makes you feel whole. Revel in your sense of place. Never project on others the actions or feelings that you want mirrored back to you. Accept folks for who they are.

‘This 4th of July will be the best ever,’ Jane exclaimed. ‘We have Cherry Bombs and Roman Candle Launchers to excite the holiday crowd,’ Jane said. ‘Our fireworks show will be epic,’ Jane smiled. ‘We will not let the One Old Sore Head shoot off the Roman Candles this 4th as he complained all last 4th that they were not sparkling enough,’ Jane observed.

‘One Old Sore Head appeared mysteriously last 4th and I did not think that he existed beyond our sign for Eldorado as you enter town,’ Chet noted. ‘He really is a crumudgeon,’ Chet noted. ‘OOSH told me that he had lived in Eldorado at the turn of the century and in those days they did things better,’ Chet said with a wink. ‘OOSH told me that he had been a founder of Eldorado when it was first named after the Elder and Reader families and that he was left out of the name,’ Chet continued. ‘His name is Frank N. Stein,’ Chet said with a laugh.

‘Frank N. Stein was a good guy, Neva J said. ‘He helped me find a house to rent when I first moved to Eldorado,’ Neva J informed. ‘He comes over on Saturday nights for Bridge, and he often won,’ Neva J winked. ‘Frank got tired of people making fun of his name,’ Neva J observed. ‘He was a serious man and did not suffer fools gladly,’ Neva J said.

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, now comes the coup de grace, where we will write with fireworks the names of our town fathers in the darkened sky next to the Starlight Drive-In’s big Silver Screen,’ the Announcer proclaimed. ‘Please be prepared for a surprise that will excite and amaze you,’ the Announcer said.

Frank N. Stein smiled as his name was written in the black and starless sky of the 4th of July.

Cool air softens the July 1st heat. It is evening again. The long days are closing up shop a bit earlier each day. 2025 asks What am I going to do with the rest of my life? Birds sing in harmony to The Good Old Summertime. Over the hill, children are playing. Carefree and footloose for now. No alarm clock in the morning, no place to be unless you want to be. Pounds Hollow Creek closes at dusk. There is a little time left for underwater exploration. The Cubs are on a winning streak. They are first in their division. Could this be the year? Steaks on the grill Friday the 4th. We buy them at the meat market tomorrow. Steak is delicious, especially with MJ’s special rub.

It has been said that home is where the heart is. When you carry it home in your heart, then it is always with you. Days of mirth and laughter while holding a sparkler in your young hands. We wondered if we would become a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker. Would we marry or just become knights of the open road? The bullfrogs sing around the pond. They have something to say. They are in fine voice this evening. Their resonant bass produces a majestic chorus of recognition of summer.

The old man taps at his computer. Daily, he seeks the beauty of the moment. It really is the moments that make up life. Not the majestic plans but the ongoing flicker of film as the projector of life’s performance on the silver screen moves forward.

‘That actor looks a lot like you, Billy B,’ Chet said. ‘He is sitting with his friends in the Orpheum Theatre watching a movie, at the same time we are sitting in the Orpheum Theatre watching them on the screen,’ Chet marvelled. ‘Could it be that we are the actors in a movie of our lives,’ Chet wondered. ‘Are we performers or are we audience?’ Chet postulated.

‘There go the bottle rockets,’ Jane said with glee. ‘This year will be special with our obtaining some Roman Candles,’ Jane mused. ‘Look at the sweet old folks in their lawn chairs watching us, they enjoy July 4th as much as we do,’ Jane observed. ‘They look familiar and safe, friendly, and they are home,’ Jane said with a tear in her eyes.

‘MeTV is beginning to run Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins,’ Billy B said. ‘I remember watching it the other night along with The Wonderful World of Disney and Lassie,’ Billy B reflected. ‘Was it just a few days ago or a few years?’ Billy B winked as he lit a Roman Candle.

I saw my friend Dan, whom I’ve known for many years, today at the barbershop. His friendly demeanor made my day. We both worked for the University and have similar experiences. Dan is an uplifter. He never leaves me without feeling better for the experience. Friends are a blessing. The only quandary is that Dan is getting younger and I am getting older. Such is life, we think; when we count years, it seems long, but in reality, it is short.

I like pocket knives. I have been an aficionado of the little friends for many years. We visited Gatlinburg, Tennessee, regularly in the past, and during our visit, we attended a massive flea market in Kingsport, Tennessee. I set out each Christmas to visit the Market, not to purchase fleas but rather one or two old Case Knives from a little old lady who knew her product. I felt like a king with my antique Case Knives in my pocket. My friend epitomized my love for Tennessee. She was shrewd and friendly and would negotiate a fair price.

Christmas was fun with our friends Faye and Steve. They had moved to Kingsport in the 90s, and we were the first guests in their new home. I remember the peaceful feeling I had as MJ and I enjoyed the guest bedroom and looked at their collection of Dr. Tom Clark’s Gnomes. We were big Gnome collectors and had the privilege of meeting Tom on a couple of occasions. His works of art drew us into the lives he was portraying. Ezra the Farmer was one of our first acquisitions. In those days, Cracker Barrel Restaurants carried Tom’s works. This was our Art collection before we went to Fine Art in the late 90s.

Woods brings me peace. I go almost every day. It is always new to me. When I take a photo of Woods, I want the viewer to have the same excitement that I experienced when I snapped the shot. Woods is a natural high. Perhaps not a Rocky Mountain High, my available High. Giant City State Park is 15 miles from my home. I hear the strangest sounds when I am photographing the rocks of GC. I think it is an animal, but I can not discern what animal.

Yesterday, a woman dressed in a dress down to her feet stopped to swing on the children’s swings while I was at Woods. She appeared spectral and etheral. I waved at her as I was entering the Subaru, but she did not acknowledge me. She seemed to be walking towards me as I pulled out of the parking area. She was pale and walked to the swings and swung for a minute or two at the most. Then she returned to her car.

Who are we, and why are we here? Is our purpose to make as much money as possible so that our name will be placed on the Big Earner’s Board? Are we here to feel the rhythm of the Earth and our purpose and place in it? Bob Dylan told us that we are going to serve somebody. Why not serve our inner peace?

It is another hot day in the neighborhood. The Senate is debating how to sell the idea of cutting billions from SNAP and Medicaid to provide tax cuts to millionaires and billionaires. A task worthy of Houdini. The Bill adds $ 3.3 trillion to our over $ 32 trillion deficit. Marie Antoinette, when told that Parisians had no bread to eat, replied, ‘Let them eat cake.’ So it goes with our current government. The people are two to one against the Big Beautiful Bill, and yet the President and his minions are for it. They fear being primaried. Republican Senator Tom Tillis asked what he should tell over 600 thousand of his constituents when there is no money for their Medicaid in two or three years. At the threat of being primaried by the President, he said he would not vote for the BBB, and he would not run for the Senate seat he currently holds. A few of our political leaders have the courage of their convictions.

I do not know poor people by reading about them. I was poor and remember standing in commodity lines for government cheese. Neva J and I did not have hidden steaks at home. We did not eat meat as it was too expensive. We did not buy milk as we did not have the money. We drank powdered milk, and I saved my pennies to get a dime and go to the restaurant a street over from where we lived to purchase a glass. Millions of people work from cradle to grave and live in poverty in the richest country in the world. When I began first grade, school lunches were 20 cents per day, and I did not have the money. I was the only first grader who brought my lunch in a brown paper bag. A fellow student laughed when he asked me why I did not eat in the cafeteria and commented that everyone had at least 20 cents for lunch. I did not. All of my childhood and many of my adult years, I had either nothing in my wallet or a dollar. I worked every day.

The Poor of the Land are President Trump’s base supporters. What an extraordinary thank you for their support. Even the hog at the slop trough recognized its fellow travelers. Contrary to popular rhetoric, we are not the land of abundance. Few attain the promise from poverty and want. It is a different world in a family who have no experience with college or upward mobility. There is no glowing Christmas Tree in the corner of the Great Room, and familial dedication to see that the young do well in the capitalist milieu. Encouragement to attain economic greatness is a concept that is unknown in the history of the poor. The desire for a roof and bread is more in line with the poor’s reality.

White people have been discriminated against. Give me a break. There are pockets of white discrimination, but on a national basis, black people and people of color are the overwhelming people suffering discrimination. This is not even a logical contest. African Americans began as slaves. Have you ever been a slave? Then you probably can not empathize. We are a nation that seeks to distance ourselves from our creed of a Melting Pot. Many poor white people are looking for a White Saviour. President Trump and his sycophant Congress are saying Bend over and grab your ankles.

I grew up watching Superman in black and white. Although he had unlimited powers, George Reeves, who portrayed him, looked like a regular guy who was wearing a costume. Yet the bad guys could not match his herculean strength nor his dedication to fight against evil and for the good. Lois Lane loved Superman and did not know that she worked alongside him at the Daily Planet Newspaper in the guise of Clark Kent. Clark was an understated reporter, and I wondered why he was not recognized as Kent. Are glasses really that effective a disguise? Superman was not the chisled abdomen, hard as a rock superhero that is portrayed today. He looked like he had a bit of middle-aged fat.

We search for our Superman. Someone who vanquished our foes and protects our honor. Mighty Mouse was another television show of my youth. ‘Here I come to save the day,’ was the theme song. Most macho leaders do not attempt to identify with Mighty Mouse. I have seen glimpses of Might Mouse in many people. Many of us go unnoticed and are underappreciated. Yet we rise to the occasion. Brave people fight for ethics and to protect the voiceless with no thought of recognition. In the face of public humiliation, Mighty Mouse saves the day.

Political leaders tell us that they are the incarnation of Superman. They were sent to Earth to do what no man can do. Their deeds are done in darkness, and their self-congratulatory praise is in the light of the television cameras. The more vocal and laudatory praise these self-appointed Supermen receive, the more manic their actions. Ethics and the care for the poor among us is Kryptonite to them. Narcissism is the credo they live by.

Supergirl is a hero to me. Neva J raised me without a father. Strong women inspire me. It seems Supergirl is an afterthought in the Superhero Universe, but she is paramount in mine. Women are the unseen and unheard wonder of our lives. The women I know are stronger than Superman or Mighty Mouse, and they do it without fanfare or recognition. When men grow tired and weak from the struggle, women are just getting started. Most of my inspiration for leadership has come from strong women.

A self-promoting saviour is often a conman. When a leader is compelled to tell you daily of their strength and genius, you can be sure that neither is in their wheelhouse. A leader who seeks constant affirmation is troubled and dangerous. An unsettled mind and a wicked heart are not Superman.

It is cooler today, and still hot. I enjoyed sitting in one of the pavilions at the Woods that had been reserved for the weekend, but was empty. The rain repels some picnic participants. I like rain. We wait for something. We know it is coming. It is in the back of our minds. It is in our dreams. Summer life continues. Our time is so short, and God’s Calendar is so long. We see something in our peripheral vision. We look behind us to see if it is following us. There is a grand plan. We understood this as children, but life got in the way of our knowledge. The shadows of our youth follow us closely, yet remain just out of sight.

The Doomsday Preppers know something is coming. They gather food that will keep for years. They build carefully underground. Some laugh at their preparation. Others admire their preparedness. The Doomsday folks know something is coming and thus assign meaning to the shadows that follow them. The animals know. Mylo barks at an invisible entity. He looks perplexed when I do not see what he sees. Finally, he goes to sleep when I sit next to him, and all seems well. Political leaders manipulate our waiting. They know we are a bit anxious. We seek who our enemy is and who is our friend. We like the Preppers want to assign meaning to the nagging thoughts in the back of our conscience.

A moment of clarity is a revelation. The Waiters seek the moment of understanding. Among the baseball games, swimming, and 4th of July Celebrations, we wonder what is next. Life seems static when it is dynamic. We shake the sleep from our eyes and wonder where we have been. We are like Rip Van Winkle, who took a 20-year nap. Things are different in significant ways. For some of the Waiters, the path is clear, while others see through a glass darkly. The images are out of focus.

We wait for Godot. Our faith or lack thereof is of little importance. We came from the same place and are returning home together. Moments of hope and promise, and excitement invigorate the Waiters. We have taken a peek behind the Veil. We saw the Secret as it fled our gaze with a wide grin. Everything is going to be alright. What a test! Success in our journey is about remembering what we have already learned.

The sound of the mower is heard in our land. Heat is breaking. Birds are singing. The evening beckons. Peace grows in a settled mind. There is no time like the present to enjoy the wonders of summer. Listening for the still, small voice of God. It is a constant presence. The voice says ‘Be careful’ and we continue as if we did not hear. Then the voice says ‘Rest’ when we are anxious. ‘Time to go home,’ the voice says when we have lingered too long.

The drive-in was fun. A summertime treat. We sat in the car and watched our community around us. Happy people with happy kids. Others who seemed troubled and were looking for answers. Some who rode to the outdoor theatre in the trunk of the car. As darkness fell, trunks popped open all over the grounds. The speakers were made of iron. They hung on the window of your vehicle. If you wanted to keep the mosquitoes out of your automobile, you might try bringing the entire speaker into the passenger seat, but the cord to it prohibited the complete closing of the window. If you were hungry or thirsty, you had to leave the car confines and walk to the concession building. The concession building had a nightclub feel. There was a poster of the Pink Panther on the wall, and you could purchase a slice of pizza if you dared. Kids were sitting in front of the gigantic screen at picnic tables, and many stayed for the entire movie. You could see the screen from Grandma A’s front porch. Sometimes we just sat in the big porch chairs and pretended we could hear the dialogue of the flick being projected. Most Drive-In nights were still very hot, and most cars did not have air conditioners. You rolled the car window down and applied Off to your skin, and swatted bugs, which was a losing battle.

A week before the 4th of July, it was time for a young man’s fancy to turn to sparklers and firecrackers. The news on the streets of Eldorado was that Dad had been able to obtain illegal firecrackers. This required a clandestine trip to Missouri. Our Illinois Moms thought we would shoot our eyes out. If you had firecrackers, you were the talk of the town. It ranked up there with Marlboro Cigarettes or Charles Denby Cigars. Kids would pay simply to be near where the firecrackers were being lit and cavalierly thrown. Pitching pennies might suffice for unapproved excitement during school days, but paled in comparison to illegal firecrackers at the 4th. The sound of them made the neighborhood nervous. We were constantly looking over our shoulders for the police. Certainly, they must have extra officers on duty for the night of wicked abandon.

Starlight Drive-In showed movies you couldn’t see at home on the three channels available with either rabbit ears or a roof antenna. These movies were not on display at the Orpheum Theatre. You could not marvel at the 50 Foot Woman in a safe environment. You had to see her on the backstreet of Theatre…the Drive In.

It seemed everyone liked Dilly Bars at the Dairy Queen. The Dairy Queen in Eldorado was not the provider of Brazier Burgers since it had only ice cream-type offerings. Accept the occasional pack of Marlboros on the 4th of July. A great summertime sport was for those high school students who had a car to drive them slowly down the streets of Eldorado and honk and wave as they ate their Dilly Bars.

Lightning Bugs are fun. Have you ever captured lightning in a bottle? Then you have captured a lightning bug. We kids knew we were almost adults when we stayed out after dark and captured lightning bugs in a bottle while eating Dilly Bars.