‘Although they constitute only 0.003% of the world’s population, billionaires hold 13% of the world’s total wealth.’ At least 13.8 billion dollars is the worth of President Trump’s cabinet. ‘Excluding Elon Musk, the net worth of Trump’s top appointees is estimated to exceed $460 billion, which includes other ultra-wealthy individuals beyond the core cabinet members.’

Public policy is often set by the wealthy and is designed to benefit them. This is not a new thing, but it is only getting worse. Poor people have the illusion of being part of the decision-making process. Richard Pryor spoke of the black man finally being a part of the television camera operation on popular white shows. When asked what his role was, he said he plugged the camera into the electrical outlet. So it goes with our government. We were told prices were going to go down, while they have steadily risen. We patiently await the tax cut revenue to trickle down to us so that we may all benefit from the government’s largesse. The Big Beautiful Bill cuts hundreds of millions of dollars from Medicaid, which many poor people benefit from and qualify for, due to not all of us being billionaires.

The number of billionaires has been rising exponentially. I wonder if cutting Medicaid to provide funds to give tax cuts to the wealthy has anything to do with it.

The middle class is shrinking exponentially. We have become the Story as old as time, of only two societal groups, rich and poor. Somehow, we love our rich leaders. They have the fairy dust sprinkled on them. Most of us are destined to be followers, and the billionaires must know what is best; after all, they are rich. We would buy their cryptocurrency if we had a job. It is like the television preacher with the private jet and several mansions who pleads for poor people to send God more money via his bank account. His many possessions illustrate how God loves him.

We want a hero, we need a hero. Someone, unlike us, and our meager fare. Someone who has their own jet with their name on it. A leader who will tell us that the immigrant is stealing our jobs. He informs us that the homeless and destitute are a drag on our economy. How can we have money to feed the poor children breakfast and lunch at school…they must work for their sustenance. The kids in Africa with their swollen bellies and hollow eyes will just have to die and decrease the world’s surplus population.

‘What a lovely evening,’ Mr. Billionaire said. ‘I especially enjoyed the cryptocurrency presentation,’ Mr. B said. ‘Well worth the price of admission and a bargain at $250 thousand a plate,’ Mr. B continued. ‘I think Junior will enjoy the Tennis Shoes with the President’s name on them,’ Mr. B laughed. ‘I like them so well I bought a pair for myself,’ Mr. B grinned.

‘Mr. B, will you be needing me anymore this evening? Hazel asked. ‘My feet are tired and I do not have fancy slippers like you do,’ Hazel observed. ‘Mr. B, did you really pay 250 thousand dollars for dinner at the White House,’ Hazel asked. ‘I could have fed you and the President for $100, and Rusty could have joined you,’ Hazel said with a shrug. ‘Rusty says the tennis shoes you bought for him do not fit, so I gave them to a homeless man who stays on the corner,’ Hazel informed Mr. B. ‘He said that the tennis shoes were an improvement since he was barefoot,’ Hazel winked.

A little rain is coming. I am glad as it has been hot. We are under a heat dome. Not the type of dome you want to be in. A bit like ants on the anthill. Labor is more noticeable in the hot sun of summer. What took little strength in the fall requires true commitment. A good time for a vodka tonic. A time to wonder at the wonderful. Each day is like the premiere of a first-run movie. No one has seen it before, and the mystery is palpable. The story begins each morning. What will today bring? What is my role in it? How can I make someone feel valued and a part of the story? We are on stage. Our lines are given to us each morning. The performance requires a quick study. The mission of the day involves singleness of purpose. Not for the faint of heart. Conspiracy theories only slow us down. The flood lights are up, and the curtain rises. No time for dilly-dallying, we must address this chapter of what is a very short, impactful play.

‘I am hungry for some Moo and Cackel hamburgers,’ Chet exclaimed. ‘Are we going to get them on the way to Pounds Hollow or on the way home?’ Chet asked. ‘They are the highlight of the Pounds Hollow trip,’ Chet smiled. ‘Today we will see if the Creature From the Black Lagoon is at the Hollow,’ Chet advised. ‘He told me to be prepared for a big surprise,’ Chet noted. ‘The Creature told me that he graduated from Eldorado High School in his disguise of being a human, which he often wore among the humans,’ Chet noted. ‘Creature noted that he came back to EHS to be the principal of the High School in the role of principal,’ Chet laughed. ‘I told him that we all thought the Principal was a bit of a monster,’ Chet laughed.

‘Well, there is Principal Issacs on the beach with a towel over him except for his head,’ Jane said. ‘He is watching us as if he were expecting us,’ Jane continued. ‘Let’s go over and say hi to the Principal,’ Jane suggested.

Greetings and salutations, Chet, Jane, and Billy B,’ Principal said with gusto. ‘I did not have time to put on my entire costume today, but the face and hands will suffice unless someone removes the beach blanket, and it is hot in this 90-degree weather,’ Principal said with a wink. ‘I am sent from Mars to interact with the humans and learn from them,’ the Principal said with a wide grin. ‘Of course, I love the water and live under the lake at night,’ the Principal offered. ‘Soon, Mars will be sending flying saucers to colonize the Earth,’ the Principal noted. I will function as their chief advisor, accompanied by the Principal. ‘You see, the Principal is still around, but I have had him doing research at Morris Library at SIUC for information to give my colleagues, the Creature said with a toothy grin. ‘I have a place for each of you in the transition from Earth to Mars II,’ the Creature From the Black Lagoon noted…

‘Scene that is a ten-minute break, the Director said. ‘Our production of The Creature From the Black Lagoon is going to be a big success,’ the Director said…

I walk by the mirror, and the Old Man is watching me. He looks familiar in a quaint way, yet ancient. I think I saw him many years ago on a calendar. It was of Old Man 1957 going through the back door while Baby 1958 crawled through the front door. The Old Man winked at me and grinned a sly grin.

June is almost gone, and with her, a month of summer. At this point in summer, my thoughts of school were never far away. Endless days at Pounds Hollow, swimming and floating and wondering what the rest of the world was doing. The Pounds Hollow Locker Rooms had a distinct smell of damp delight. Once you had purchased your little basket for your clothes depository for 35 cents, it was a quick change and off to the cool confines of a Billy B And His Large Lake. I felt at home in the water. Once I learned to float, I was cut loose from the bonds of earth and the Swim No Further Rope at the end of the safe swimming section of the Lake. A bit of a rebel, I was. I could float for hours, and the quiet of the experience was another world. I especially enjoyed it when the people on the beach looked like ants. I had given them the slip once again. I planned my future without the shackles of the past. I was an explorer going where no man had gone before.

Movies were another summer enjoyment. They were a pleasure year-round, but the air-conditioned comfort of the darkened theatre was a delight in the last days of June. I attended so many showings that I had a kinship with the owners of the Orpheum. The Orpheum was a grand and glorious movie palace. One screen and one theatre as it should be. You could lay your money down and stay all day if you desired. No muss, no fuss, no sweat in the Orpheum. You might be surprised how a movie reveals new plots and subplots the more times it is viewed. When I came outside, I remembered why the theatre was so pleasant.

Flash forward years to recent history for a mental picture of how hot Maine was on several of the 7 visits we made to our home away from home. Our first arrival was on the fourth of July, late in the evening. We had a four-hour drive from the Portland airport to Southwest Harbor. Then it was up three flights of narrow stairs to our bedroom at the lovely bed and breakfast. There was a fireplace in the room, but we did not need it. Maine is another world. The architecture is different, and the mood is peaceful. Having never been to Maine, we assumed that it was cool in the summer and cold the other three seasons. Not that year. Southwest Harbor is the town in the movie Storm Of The Century written by Stephen King. Walking through the town was like being in the movie. I just saw that the forecast for Portland, Maine, for tomorrow is 100 degrees. The innkeepers gave us wine to drink on their massive front porch, and we dreamed of a life by the sea.

Travel is an extension of my many hours in the Orpheum Theatre. There are so many worlds to see. We know less than we think we do. Our understanding could not crawl over a gnat’s whisker if it had a stepstool. Europeans think a bit differently than we do. Much of our shared culture is similar, and much is different. One human feature is universal…kindness. Everyone understands love. Everyone returns a smile. We all appreciate empathy. Tears are a universal language. Someone to dry them is priceless…

When my iPhone quit due to the heat, so did I. I wonder how I used to live without air conditioning. A lot of fans. They blew hot air, but at least it was air. Summer could not be escaped. You woke up in the morning with wet sheets and went to bed at night with your nose in the semi-open window, hoping for a breeze from the kitchen window fan exhausting the hot air in the house. A pop-up thunderstorm was welcome relief for a few minutes. In those halcyon days, kids spent the daylight hours outside unsupervised. Sweat was a fact of life from morning to night. Most adults spent the evening hours on their front porches sipping iced tea and hoping for some relief. Gossip was plentiful. It was believed that a little heat would not hurt you. Automobiles had a vent window next to the big roll-down window in the front. We gingerly opened the vent window in an attempt to distribute the air flow. Cars that came with air conditioning installed were few and expensive. Some folks purchased portable air conditioning units that fit on the hump in the floor board. Poor people did not have such luxuries. At times, we stood in front of an open icebox. Now we had a refrigerator, but my family referred to it as the Ice Box or, as my Aunt said, ‘The Box.’

We Americans have become accustomed to the finer things of life. Many of us have air conditioners at home and in our automobiles. We do not seek the cool breeze of evening on our front porches. Now we are in our cool houses looking out at our surroundings through our peepholes. Kids are engrossed in their iPhones and tablets with little thought of being uncomfortable. Many young people think that manual labor is for someone else. I reflect on the many hot and onerous jobs I have done in my life. Jobs designed for the humble, as many passed by and grinned and thought, but for the Grace of God go I. Or as one of my American student custodial staff asked me many years ago, who cleaned the toilets? When I told him that he had toilets in his area to clean, he noted that no one told him that he would have to clean toilets. I explained that the University did not have self-cleaning ones. The student employee quit on the spot.

Life teaches us that there are practical applications to all decisions. When Iran is attacked, and we say once and done, we are naive about history. There is the law of cause and effect. War is humans against humans. This is why the Bible speaks of an eye for an eye. It has always been thus. It is called escalation. The recipient of aggression responds at a time of their choosing. Not everyone pays their debts on Friday. Crowing about victory and the Obliteration of our foe’s ability to retaliate is a fool’s errand.

People are anxious. They are afraid. They want to know what comes next. They have questions without answers. If it seems that political leadership does things on the spur of the moment, you are not the only one who thinks so. The specter of nuclear arms is real and present.

My friend suggested that people forget the problems of the JFK years. Not at all. I was six years old when President Kennedy was assassinated. My mother wept as if he were a member of our family. My affection for the fallen leader stemmed from my memory of his assassination and Neva J’s love for him. The 1960s were a tumultuous time. I have no memory of living through a Golden Age, but I know we were not afraid of our President when Kennedy held office. He demonstrated his thoughtfulness during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Camelot was an invention of Jackie after his death. We were a hopeful nation that sent astronauts to the moon and established the Peace Corps. We looked to the future instead of dredging up the past. I have read numerous books regarding the Kennedy Presidency. It is believed that if he had not been assassinated, he would have withdrawn us from Vietnam. His morals were not good. Then again, if we apply the morals test for our political leaders, there would be a lot of new officeholders. Or, as my friend told me, morals matter when he was criticizing President Clinton, but when I asked if President Trump’s morals troubled him, he claimed ignorance of any problems.

Martin Luther King led the Civil Rights movement. The Movement was one of the best causes that advanced the condition of African American people.

Our nation made a significant turn several years ago. We now fight preemptive wars. Before this new policy, the United States refrained from using military force before being attacked. As the Vietnam War body count increased, I contemplated why we were fighting and what we were accomplishing that was worth the lives of so many of our soldiers. I had friends in Vietnam, and I almost was drafted myself. The second incident in the Gulf of Tonkin during the Vietnam War never happened, and yet we were lied to, and the draft increased due to the lie. The war in Vietnam escalated under President Johnson.

Church was cathartic this morning. Pastor Kerry asked the congregation a series of questions regarding how they feel about the bombing of Iran last night and the current political environment. Folks are experiencing anxiety. We are balanced on a knife’s edge. As there are differences of opinion on good Presidents, the world is not in awe of President Trump. It is easy to become a legend in our own minds. This is especially true for Presidents.

As the sword of Damocles hangs over your head, be careful to not swat flies cavilerly.

I just finished listening to a debate in Canada as to whether America is experiencing a Golden Age. The debaters were from America. Simply put, the audience concludes that America is not in a Golden Age. As I listened, I reflected on the significant differences in political ideology between our brothers and sisters. There was a popular book some time ago titled Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. The title could explain the Grand Canyon of our differences.

I am old enough to remember Rev. Jerry Falwell when he was a preacher at a Lynchburg, Virginia, Baptist Church in the 1970s. Rev. Falwell preached the need for Christians to get involved in local and national government. He went on to say that Christians should run for local School Boards. Jerry Falwell began the Moral Majority. In those halcyon days, I was a bit conservative and considered his comments appropriate. Little did I know that the humble message of Jesus would be turned into a white nationalist movement. The song Jesus loves the little children, all the little children of the world, red, yellow, black, and white. All are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world, would be turned into a message of hate and vitriol toward those unlike us. A message of America for True Americans, which I have never understood how to join the exclusive club.

It has been said that historically, voters watch what a President does for them. It is apparent in recent elections, voters seek to do more for the President and ignore how his policies are doing them damage as if he were the fundamentalist pastor and they were the congregation of which the price of admission is sacrifice.

We have lost something. Our conscience has been bruised. As I grew up, bullies were shunned. A political assassination happened in Minnesota, and a Senator made fun of it. This would have been unheard of just a few years ago. Rising to the top is not achieved by scraping the bottom of the ethics and morality barrel.

Great nations are not built on fear. Allies of great nations are not drawn to fear. Fear does not construct a Golden Age.

My friend tells me that she enjoys my blog. Made my day. I spend a significant amount of time blogging and have been doing so for many years. The work is not onerous but rather fun. I am often lost in the world of writing. Story drives my narrative and compels me to continue. Writing brings me peace. I often wonder if anyone is reading my meager efforts. When I find out that someone is, it is like Christmas. Story is our lives.

It is dry at the ranch after several weeks of rain. The temperature is in the 90s just in time for summer. At last, my yard is all cut at the same time. Yesterday, the 2025 New Year’s Baby happened upon the scene. He will soon be middle-aged. How fast a year passes. We number our days because we only get so many. Those that we receive are precious gifts.

‘The fourth of July is two weeks away,’ Chet said. ‘This year I am erecting a Christmas Tree with firecrackers for ornaments,’ Chet laughed. ‘You realize that after July 4th, the year slips away quickly,’ Chet explained. ‘July is an important month when you return to school in mid-August,’ Chet winked. ‘Sometimes the summer seems like one long weekend,’ Chet mused.

‘I think that it is time for an adventure,’ Jane said. ‘I would like to visit the old church that has been forgotten in the woods,’ Jane’s eyes shone. ‘My great-grandparents were members there and were deacons,’ Jane said. ‘Legend has it that a murder occurred at the Church in the Wildwood, and not long after the event, the doors were locked and the windows shuttered, Jane explained. ‘The organist was killed, and people who have visited the church grounds report that her ghost can be seen walking among the tombstones of former members and that they hear ethereal organ music, Jane said with a shudder. ‘Her name was Annabel Lee, and Edgar Allen Poe wrote a poem about her,’ Jane whispered.

‘It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.
But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee. With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee.’

Edgar Allen Poe

‘So was not the poem about a woman who lived near the sea and died due to a chilly wind,’ Neva J asked. ‘Or has the story of her death morphed into her being an organist at the Church in the Woods?’ Neva J asked.

‘The ghost that many have seen in the graveyard near the church has told the explorers that she is the Annabel Lee that Poe wrote his poem about,’ Jane explained. ‘The kingdom by the sea is not a literal place, it is fantasy, but Annabel Lee was the Organist at the Church, and it was during the end of Poe’s life,’ Jane answered. ‘Legend has it that during Annabel Lee’s last performance, a man dressed in black with black hair and a mustache sat in the back pew and wept,’ Jane said softly.

‘Life, what a mystery, Old Man said. ‘You talk and talk and no one listens, then you say an offhanded remark and it is written down for posterity,’ Old Man observed. ‘Many words are a weariness, but a few fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver the Bible tells us,’ Old Man said. ‘Words of support and love are the most difficult to craft and take the longest on the polishing stone,’ Old Man mused. ‘Words of hope and future are powerful and crack like a firecracker,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘Words of sadness and remorse cut like a razor,’ Old Man remembered. ‘Summer tomorrow and swimming at Pounds Hollow with Chet and Jane and Neva June,’ Old Man thought. ‘No clock, no cares, no time for worries,’ Old Man danced at the thought.

‘We must close our country to the outsiders,’ the Leader said. ‘We must not allow our blood to be polluted, the Leader proclaimed. ‘Only I can fix it,’ the Leader promised with a wave of his hand.

‘Look, Mr. Leader, the tanks are rolling by and the soldiers are saluting,’ the Defense Secretary said. ‘This is the celebration you have been anticipating,’ the Defense Secretary announced. ‘Listen to the tanks squeaking by on the avenue while a few people clap,’ the Defense Secretary admonished.

‘Snore…snore…snore…’ the Leader responded.

‘Hot dogs and hamburgers and peanuts will be at the Cubs game tomorrow,’ Chet said with glee. ‘I hope to attend all of the home games this season,’ Chet noted. ‘This is the Cubs’ year,’ Chet proclaimed. ‘No one will stop the mighty Cubs in 1963,’ Chet laughed. ‘JFK is our President and we are going to put a man on the moon in this decade,’ Chet called out to the bleachers of fans. ‘Soon the war in Vietnam will be a thing of the past,’ Chet said. ‘Happy Days are here again,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Why are you deployed to Los Angeles?’ asked the child of the soldier. ‘My home is peaceful and Mama and I feel safe,’ the Child said. ‘Will you always be outside our schools and restaurants, bookstores and churches?’ the Child asked. ‘Is our country fighting itself?’ the Child asked the soldier.

‘Tomorrow we will eat watermelon with plenty of salt,’ Jane said with a grin. ‘I will sleep in and watch Captain Kangaroo and Bozo The Clown,’ Jane observed. ‘My bicycle is ready to ride,’ Jane said. ‘The 4th of July is in two weeks with corn on the cob and a picnic in Karel Park,’ Jane laughed heartily.

‘I will decide in two weeks if I am going to bomb Iran, no one knows what I am going to do,’ the Leader said. ‘All power is mine and I alone will give out my favors to those who please me,’ the Leader observed. ‘I decide what books to read and that DEI is meant for the white race, who has been discriminated against more than any,’ the President said. ‘Enjoy your summer, I am in charge of it,’ the President assured. ‘I know that women feel much safer with me at the helm of the ship,’ the President said.

‘Mr President, Mr. President, when will you allow the return of the under-a-dollar peanut paste to again be provided for malnourished children in foreign lands who are dying from hunger,’ the Reporter asked.

‘Snore…snore…snore,’ the President responded.

‘No more questions as the President has had a long day and is going swimming tomorrow at Pounds Hollow,’ Whitehouse Spokeswoman said.

It’s the last day in the 80s for a while. Summer begins tomorrow. I relished my time in the Woods. As I was taking numerous photos of my favorite rocks, a young couple was attempting to walk by. I stopped and motioned for them to come past me and get out of their way. When I said hello and asked how they were, they did not look up or speak. Later, I heard them speaking to another person and saying,’ He was just standing there.’ I wondered if it was my hat or cigar that frightened them.

As a child, I was taught to speak to those whom I met. It seems to be a lost art today. Is ‘Hello’ and ‘How are you’ really that frightening? I thought, ‘God Bless Them, they appeared to be much younger than my sons.’ Perhaps we are in our current condition due to a lack of simple courtesy? Or is the internet and media partly to blame? Has our constant diet of fear and loathing given us a belly ache?

It is the little things I have been told. Not the grand pronouncements as to love thy neighbor, but the small demonstrations that someone different than us or unknown to us is safe and worthy of saying Hello to.

Many years ago, I was amazed that Uncle Merle and Aunt Lauretta had bars on their windows. No doubt a good security device, but based on insecurity. We hurry home and look not to the left or the right to have a semblance of safety behind the door of our Fort as we lower the big, heavy board down to secure our entrance and raise the drawbridge so no one can enter. We man pots of boiling oil from the paraments for pouring on and scalding those who would lay their portable ladders against the walls of our castle. The Archers are ready with their bows, and the rock-catapults are pulled back for the destruction of the unseen hordes who are coming for us. ‘They are rapist and murderers,’ Leader tells us.

‘Do you have any trees that need trimming?’ Uncle Gene asked. ‘I have a truck and my own ladders,’ Uncle Gene continued while wearing his torn clothes and a wide smile. ‘I do not have much, but I am honest, and if you do not like the job, you do not have to pay me, Uncle Gene promised. ‘Some folks shun me for my jalopy truck and shoes with holes in them, but I work for my bread and I am proud of my labors,’ Uncle Gene noted.

‘I have several trees that need trimming, and you look like the man for the job,’ Ms. Myrtel said. ‘I am a retired school teacher, I taught sixth grade for 35 years,’ Ms. Myrtel said with a smile. ‘I like your positive presentation,’ Ms. Myrtel noted. ‘If you do as good as you say you can, I will refer you to the City Works Office, who are always needing good workers,’ Ms. Myrtel promised.

‘I am happy I knocked on your door several years ago, the breakfast was delicious, and now I am off to work for the City,’ Uncle Gene said with a smile and a wink.

‘I have a two-pound stone that is excellent for throwing,’ Stony said. ‘I have discovered that the two-pounder does a lot of damage quick,’ Stony observed. ‘At the last stoning, we so pummeled the accused’s head that you could not recognize her,’ Stony proclaimed. ‘She cried for mercy, and we shouted, Judgment,’ Stony smiled. ‘She said that she had harmed no one and just wanted to live her life as best she could,’ Stony said in a whisper. ‘Someone in the crowd cried out about God’s law and her breaking it,’ Stony whispered. ‘The poor woman said that God was standing beside her and writing in the sand,’ Stony said.

‘You are who God made you and you can not change that,’ Fear said. ‘We must accept who we are for better or worse,’ Fear observed. ‘You frighten me,’ Fear said. ‘I do not understand you,’ Fear observed. ‘What an abominable choice you have made against God’s law,’ Fear said as another stone flew through the air. ‘I am a drunkard and an adulterer, but I am not as bad as you,’ Fear cried.

‘No one asked me my choice for gender assignment nor guaranteed my place in society,’ Chance said. ‘I thought of suicide due to nature’s mistake,’ Chance continued. ‘I have been locked in a prison that I did not construct,’ Chance noted. ‘I wondered if others felt like me,’ Chance observed. ‘Religion, not faith, chose to make the decision for me,’ Chance whispered. ‘I seek peace, not stones,’ Chance explained. ‘I care not what others do, but I have to live in the earthen hut that I was born in,’ Chance said. ‘I pray daily and read the scriptures, I am a Christian, and I help those less fortunate than me,’ Chance said softly. ‘Now you are stoning me and you do not know me, we have never met…if you knew me, you might like me,’ Chance observed.

The Preacher wrote in the sand surrounding the woman…Chance. One line said the primary stone thrower, Stony, identified as a man but had been born a woman. The Stone throwers dispersed. The Preacher offered his hands to Chance, who lay on the ground, frightened. I accept you and love you…The Preacher said.