Pastor Meg spoke of things happening to us that do not fit the story we have constructed in our minds. We expect one result of our future plans, and another greets us. At times, we are moved from our sense of place. We thrash about for the cornerstone. Unexpected change causes many boats to crash on the rocky coast.

I have seen many colleagues plan assiduously for retirement and never reach it. Others said faithfully that when they retired, they were going to travel only to be stymied by poor health. I have been able to travel some and felt a victory when I arrived at my destination. Life has no owner’s manual and no guarantees. Hope is the star guiding the way.

I vividly recall MJ advising me that Building Services was a good job at Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale.
The entry-level position was Building Service Worker I, which is a janitor. MJ was a school teacher, and I asked her if that was all she thought I was qualified to do. She told me that BSWI was one of the higher-paying jobs on Campus. I took a civil service exam and scored 100. Soon, I secured an interview and was hired. I doubled my pay. There were several promotional levels in the organization. Over 32 years and two months and three weeks, I spent 25 years in management/administration. My narrow view of my future was expanded.

I did not imagine my mom and dad’s divorce until it happened. I was 5 years old. Mom and I went from having whatever we needed and often wanted to standing in line for Commodities in Eldorado. Commodities had powered milk. The powdered milk made me sick. I saved up my pennies until I had a dime and went a street over to purchase a glass of cold, whole milk. I could not believe my good fortune when I began school at Hillcrest, whereupon break we lined up for a glass of very cold milk and could have seconds if we hurried.

Hope is a comfort in change. The understanding that our worst days and our best are in God’s Plan. As I look down the tunnel of the past, I see my Guardian Angel with me.

It is a bit steamy on the Writing Porch. A picturesque evening. The birds sing their evening songs. We have become an older population. Old looks normal to me. When I was young, I thought, ‘Bless their hearts.’ Now, 50-year-olds seem like kids. As a lad, I thought that once I reached 40, I would have it all worked out. ‘No more school, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks.’

We fall into our group. Those who have resources forget that not everyone does. The grocery is a fun safari for some and a haunted house for others. It requires a juggler to keep the balls of groceries, fuel, and medicine in the air without dropping a ball or two. High fuel prices are not a theoretical exercise for many.

‘I have noticed that Tommy L often eats lunch by himself in the lunchroom,’ Chet observed. ‘Kids do not make fun of him but avoid him,’ Chet continued. ‘Tommy L has some physical disability but a keen intellect and sharp wit,’ Chet explained. ‘Once I heard him recite the Declaration of Independence from memory,’ Chet smiled.

‘Please join me for lunch,’ Jane said to Tommy L. ‘Chet will be eating with us if that is alright,’ Jane said. ‘We are getting a Play together celebrating our nation’s 250th birthday, and we want you to be in it,’ Jane said with a big smile. ‘I am told that you have memorized the Declaration of Independence. Would you recite it as the crescendo of the performance?’ Jane asked with tears in her eyes.

‘I would be honored to recite the Declaration of Independence,’ Tommy L said with a big grin. ‘I did not think you guys liked me. I am a bit of an introvert and rarely push myself forward,’ Tommy L said. ‘Dad taught me the Declaration when he was at Harvard before he died,’ Tommy noted. ‘Dad told me to not judge others, to give everyone a chance,’ Tommy grinned again.

So the rain is falling. Brooks Pond is enjoying the replenishment. The Bullfrog Quartet is tuning up for tonight’s performance. There is a happy peace and sense of place. The week has come to an end. Many are happy. When I was working, Friday was as exciting as the weekend. The same can be said for my school days in Eldorado. A Friday evening in late June meant getting busy about summer vacation. This was close to the 4th of July, which included fireworks.

Eldorado had a slow pace. Firecrackers were a big deal. Watermelon, the delicacy of summer. My family loved watermelon. I liked it, but had to feign love. Tomatoes straight from the garden were special. Some folks washed them off with the hose and carried their salt shaker with them for a culinary delight.

Science Fiction Theatre was on TV on Friday night. The black-and-white snowy movies were wonderful until the vertical began to roll or the rabbit ears needed adjusting. Watching television in the 60s was a participatory sport. I was the remote control. I recall being in a hospital where the TV had a big remote control connected to the set by a heavy cable. I had never beheld such a device and reveled in changing the channels with it.

Neva J had cats. She loved her cats. Neva J fed stray cats that lived down the gravel road and lived in a decaying barn. She made them oats. They lapped them up. In later years, Neva J’s Cat Feeding Project took most of the morning and took place year-round. One time, a stray cat named Blacker gave Neva J the Claw, and she slapped her lightly and told her,’ Blacker, you know I am good to you.’

A June evening teaches that life is meant to be enjoyed. We are meant for a slower pace than we live. Our brains are made to think deep thoughts. Quiet moments are Polaroid Moments. In the culmination, it will be the snapshots that we remember.

About this time in June, as a lad, I asked, ‘Where did June go?’ Such are the halcyon days of summer. Days that stretch from early morning until bedtime. No muse, no fuss, no worries. The summer days march by without looking to the left or right. Prime Days have ended, and we have more stuff. Carbon Monoxide Detectors and shoes that fit a giant. A new grate for the Webber Grill. Kibble for Mylo. The government is operating with little thought. Until it rains on our parade, we pay no attention. Neva J was born 98 years ago on Monday.

We walk the same path yet seek differences between us. The rich and poor, the powerful and those who have no voice, travel together. Some of us imagine a crown while others seek a hat to protect them from the rain. I have often wondered what the smug Christian believes will be their response when they see the poorest of the poor standing next to them with the same agency as they have?

‘Well, bless your heart, I did not realize there were Christians in Haiti.’Isla said with a condescending air. ‘The President called your country a Shit Hole Country,’ Isla noted. ‘We Daughters of the American Revolution did not have any black folks in our group, you understand,’ Isla continued. ‘Actually, all of our friends were white except for our maid and gardener, salt of the earth people,’ Isla said with faux passion. ‘I see God must not feel like the President,’ Isla said softly.

We used to sing a song that said, ‘This world is not my home, I am just passing through, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.’ Treasures surround us. We all live under the same blue sky. No one is coming to extricate us from our trouble. We are the helpers who are in the building! The phone call is coming from within the house.

The poor man became rich. He forgot his poor days. He rewrote his story. He had never been poor. He never sought food and clothing from others. Those files had been removed from his mental file room. The Poor Man says,’ Those who have no homes and live on the street live there by choice; they need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps like I did.’

‘Who is that poor fellow with the ‘Highwater Pants’ he seems to have little yet works every day,’ Cashier said at the Grocery. ‘He walks everywhere he goes while his friends drive new cars and excel,’ the Village Observer noted. ‘He is a good Christian and works countless hours on his church building, but he is certainly not rich like the Preacher preaches you will be if you are a Christian,’ the Postmaster said.

‘The murderer is in the house,’ the Frightened American said. ‘We thought he was in the ‘Shit Hole’ countries only to discover we have embraced the Masked Ax Murderers and thought they were our friends.’

The days are getting shorter. That is just how fast it happens. For six months, they get longer, and for six months, they return to darkness before 5:00 P.M. We have reached the top of the Slide and soon will slide down until just before Christmas. Often, life is hurry-up-and-wait. First, we want to become older. The key to happiness and knowledge is with age. Certainly, the adults had a secret language they spoke to each other. The quirky look in their eyes revealed their mysterious intent. The agenda was hidden. We were the little people. We were kept in the dark. Once we had the reins of power, all would be different and well. We were princes and princesses in exile waiting to be returned to our sovereign thrones. We saw the cracks in the leaders and would not make the same mistake.

First, we discovered there was no manual for growing up. What looked like a good idea at 20 seemed bizarre at 40. Deadlines and exercises in financial management. Take the kids to practice. Dental appointments and new furnaces to buy. More months than money. The throne we imagined in our youth seemed to be moving away from us. We wanted to solve the world’s problems, but first there was grocery shopping. Relationships go from easy to hard and back to easy again. We see the top of the slide, but the handles are hot, and we almost fall in the midst of our ascent.

The Old Man mused that he would watch the nature of the Slide. He would see who succeeded and who did not. Was it bluster and fury or slow and steady that won the climb to the zenith?

‘Follow me, and I will make you rich, and perhaps you will find time to fish for women and men,’ the Evangelist said. ‘God has given me the answer, the power of positive thinking,’ the Evangelist continued. ‘If you believe you can do it, you can do it,’ the Evangelist noted. ‘Miracles are contemplated in your mind,’ he continued. ‘If you want to sell vacuum cleaners, believe you can sell vacuum cleaners,’ the Evangelist proclaimed! Becoming rich is the visible evidence of God’s blessing on your prosperous life,’ the New York Evangelist noted.

So the time moves much faster as you slide down Earth’s Slide. Some learn what the experience was about, while others are mystified. Some old folks are laughing all the way down, while others are angry that they did not obtain the throne they imagined in their youth.

It is heating up again in Little Egypt. Summer is in full swing. Life is calm. Thoughts are pleasant. Amazon Prime Days are here. There are good sales for a discerning shopper. We buy many things online. Our Mall is empty. Full of liminal space like the movie Backrooms. We are becoming a nation of liminal spaces. ‘Because these spaces are meant to be bustling but are completely devoid of people, they often evoke feelings of eerie surrealness, intense nostalgia, or a quiet dreamlike unease.’ Ghost Towns are eerie. We both remember them when the people were there and fear where the people went.

At times, we have liminal spaces in our heads and hearts. Vacant places of people that we loved and laughed with. When did the change happen? Why didn’t we see it coming? In the 70s, 80s, and 90s, the Old Man thought the University Mall would be vibrant forever. He, MJ, Aaron, and Jonathon went on a road trip to the Mall and had lunch, a movie, and some treasures. The Old Man and MJ bought their wedding rings at the Mall in 1978. It was packed with people.

A few years ago, after the pandemic, I devoted more than a year to taking photos of many towns in Southern Illinois. The architecture was similar in the former coal mining towns. They had been thriving little meccas 50 years ago. Storefronts of Dress Shops and Suit Stores dotted the main streets. Many towns had more than one movie theatre and many family-owned restaurants. All of them had a Ghost Town feel. Where commerce had once been, and pride of appearance now was left broken windows or window frames with no windows. Twenty or so years ago, Antique Stores seemed to be the ticket of revitiazation for our villages and hamlets. Some remain, but many closed.

The Old Man walked through long hall after long hall. There were stairs and smaller rooms at the top of them.
There were classrooms empty of desks, no chalk in the blackboard trays. The stairwells and foyers were going ever upward to nowhere in particular. A massive room had been the auditorium 100 years ago. If you listened closely, you could hear the kids laughing. The ghosts of women wearing white blouses and long dresses with their hair up on their heads. There was a presence of absence. Just walls and halls. Once there had been joy, and everyone was talking at once. Little spaces filled with people, big spaces filled with people. Singing happened here. Band happened here. Art happened here…

There was the place the Old Man had whiled away the hours, lost in another world of cinema. The Orpheum Theatre was full of mystery. There were young lovers and old codgers. The kids laughed and hooted when Frankenstein came on the screen. The Lions Club gave away Christmas Baskets to the kids after the Christmas Movie. The air was cold and bright and full of hope…

‘The water should be just right, as hot as it has been,’ Chet said. ‘I am going to wear my 1920s smim suit again,’ Chet beamed. ‘The last time I wore it, we had an adventure,’ Chet laughed. ‘Some would call it time travel,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other. ‘I still have the Model T in my driveway,’ Chet noted. ‘I hope we meet some of our Eldorado ancestors today at Pounds Hollow,’ Chet said.

‘Well, I have plenty of Merlot packed as well as Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs, the Dogs Kids love to eat,’ Neva J noted. ‘If the Roaring 20s take over, I will wear my Flapper Bathing Suit, Neva J laughed. ‘I would love to run into the young Neva J and Bill sunning on the Beach,’ Neva J crossed her fingers. ‘When Bill got back from WWII, we often went to Pounds Hollow for a swim and to make plans for our future, Neva J noted. ‘He had a bit of PTSD, but in those days we called it Shell Shocked,’ Neva J continued. ‘Men’s swimming trunks were big and bulky,’ Neva J observed.

‘The first time I looked at the Pounds Hollow Beach, it was the 1920s, and when I looked again, it was the 1940s,’ Jane said. ‘I see my mom and dad in the water, floating on inner tubes,’ Jane laughed.

‘I swear Grandma A and Charles are walking on the beach, and it is 1928, and Grandma is pregnant with Neva J, Billy B proclaimed!

‘I fit in with my 1920s bathing suit as everyone else is wearing one also,’ Chet mused. ‘We are going to have to stop talking about the dirt road through the woods, or perhaps keep taking it,’ Chet laughed!

‘The grass is all dead in June, Neva J said. ‘What has happened to our favorite swimming Hole,’ Neva J continued. ‘It has been so hot for some time,’ Neva J observed. ‘I thought Pounds Hollow Lake would be here for us like it was for our grandparents and parents,’ Neva J said as tears streamed down her face.

There is a hint of fall in the air. A welcome respite. I am a cool weather guy. Cool air inspires the Old Man. Heat makes me a bit sluggish, and a cool breeze makes me less so. It is like the wife who told her husband to not be lazy in the grocery store, and he said it almost made him fall out of the grocery cart. So it goes as summer kicks off. The Old Man was bitten by some unforeseen mite. He changed his pants when he arrived home from the Woods. The Woods are great for bringing Woods life, hitching a ride.

So the Reflecting Pool has algae. The fresh Flag Blue paint for the bottom of the Pool is peeling away and floating on the top of the soupy green water. Was it vandals or a poor paint job and water purifying? I know it cost a lot of money for something that did not need to be done. The money our nation spends on the Cool Breeze could guarantee that everyone in the United States is fed.

The neighbor gathered our limbs and placed them on their limb burn pile. Their kindness made my day. There are good people everywhere. It is a myth that the world is full of selfish people. We are surrounded by giving people who care. The Watchers are watching.

‘I see the crying of the lonely Old Man,’ Watcher said. ‘He is missing his family on Father’s Day,’ Watcher continued. ‘He thinks about his kids daily and through the long nights yet rarely hears from them,’ Watcher noted. ‘They are busy, he knows, but don’t they have time for a visit once a year?’ Watcher mused. ‘A smile from his kids makes his day, and time spent with them is more precious than the gold of Ophir,’ Watcher observed.

‘I have been homeless for some time, the Old Man said. ‘My kids are grown and gone, I rarely enter their minds, the Old Man continued. ‘I used to call and write letters, does anyone write letters anymore?’ the Old Man asked. ‘I got sick a few years ago, and my money ran out, and Medicare cut me out, so I am homeless although I work,’ the Old Man said. ‘I am sure the kids think I am doing well. I do not want to burden them,’ the Old Man said.

There were a lot of smiling Dads yesterday, none more than me. Aaron and Jonathon are a blessing every day. Age sneaked up on me. I would like to get a little older. It has been quick. The blink of an eye. A weaver’s shuttle.

The storm clouds are gathering. Father’s Day and tornadoes mixed together. What a stew of life. Japapenos, beef, and potatoes. The Old Man stood up to pay and got blown away. Yesterday we were members of our home movie. Aaron and Jonathon skittering about, laughing. The Old Man, young, is putting up paneling in the Little House.

Halloween and the candy grabbers knocking at the door. MJ was great with child climbing over the paneling and assisting her young husband, who was not a carpenter. Full of pumpkin on Pumpkin Day. Ready to take on the world. The Little House was cold in the winter. A lot of cracks. In those halcyon days, folks put plastic over their windows to keep out the cold.

Teddy Ruxpin talked, and his mouth moved until it didn’t. We shopped for groceries from a meticulous list. No extras, not even a 12-cent comic. Totinos Frozen Pizza was two for a dollar. The Christmas Tree was over six feet tall. It had Victorian ornaments on it, purchased at Walmart. Jonathon and Aaron’s eyes gleamed. Harsh words about being a Christian. Every word in the Bible is literal. A prescription for psychosis.

In 30 years, today will be the Home Movie. There will be the Old Man and Sweet Mom. They were still getting around pretty well. ‘I think the restaurant was named The Turn and was on a golf course,’ Aaron said. ‘Dad had his New Orleans Hat on and wore it in the restaurant, although Mom did not like it,’ Aaron winked. ‘Look, Mom is wearing a cast on her arm,’ Aaron noted.

‘Remember the Subaru, it was a great ride,’ Jonathon said with a grin. ‘Dad saw a humidor on the Bar and thought they sold cigars. He had visions of cigar smoke in his Father’s Day plans,’ Jonathon laughed. ‘Turned out that the humidor was for decoration and they did not sell cigars,’ Jonathon explained. ‘Dad was around 70, I recall,’ Jonathon noted. ‘I remember you told Dad that you saw a Facebook post he made of the empty University Mall,’ Jonathon noted. ‘Dad said he and Mom remembered when the Mall was first built in the 70s, and I recall all of us spending many hours in it on the weekends,’ Jonathon said with a laugh.

‘Hello,’ the little boy with his little dog called out. Many dads are taking a Father’s Day Nap. Kids old and young are thinking fond thoughts of the Old Man. Dads are full of love and doting on their kids and yet were raised in a time lauding the strong silent type. Dads cry. The Old Man’s joy is being a father.

Here we are on Father’s Day and the first day of summer. What bliss. The Great White Heron is back from his adventures for Father’s Day. MJ Aaron, Jonathon, and I are going to lunch. I like lunch. Storms ater after the barbecues.

We search for fathers…we all do. When I was a manager, I tried to treat my staff with the care of a father. In turn, many of them were father figures to me. I never saw my Dad after six years old. I thought he was the Bees Knees and better than sliced bread, yet he left without a forwarding address. When the kids talked about their Dads I knew I had one somewhere out there. I think my initial attraction to church was Christ as a Father and the kindness of a pastor who had a fatherly attitude.

Aaron, Jonathon, and MJ are the core of my life. I think of little in the singular other than blogging and walking for health. Family is of supreme importance to me. I am a kind man unless you come against my boys or wife, then I am a bit of a Grizzly.

Today, fathers all over the world will be wondering what their children are thinking. The children are wondering the same about Dad. Dad’s skills can be used throughout life. The President could think of us as his kids and want only the best for them. He might want to see his kids clothed, fed, and happy. The President would not want anyone to marginalize his kids.

A Father’s Day Dream. Or a Father’s Day Nightmare?

Father’s Day is hope for the future and love for the past. I see Dad carrying me on his shoulders. I felt like the king of the world. I wanted to be like him.