A lovely summer day in late spring. A squirrel was frolicking in the Woods. He was enjoying the warm weather. MJ and I had a quick trip to Paducah yesterday. We saw our friend Jay. Jay is a wonderful man. I feel uplifted each time I am with him. We have collected several of Char’s paintings throughout this century. They are mesmerizing and a good place to spend an afternoon contemplating.

I thought about something I told a former Chancellor many years ago. I told her that success at SIU means living in the Grey. Everything is not black and white, although those who believe they are on a mission from God think so. Our brains are capable of holding more than one opinion at a time. Indeed, much of our current state of affairs results from holding fast to beliefs when they are based on myth and fable. This affects both liberals and conservatives. Albert Einstein did not come up with the theory of relativity by being close-minded. Churches do not flourish by being closed to new ideas. Nationalism does not have to be White Nationalism.

If you are accepting of all people, your mind and heart are open to new and different customs. When we think of those who are suffering, we first must accept that they are human like us. To be a lover of war, you have to marginalize those with whom you are at war. We are raised with a steady diet of rhetoric of going to war to preserve peace. Our political leaders proclaim that we are bringing peace to hurting people as we slaughter thousands of them.

The Grey Zone is where life is. Affording understanding of humans with a different opinion than you have. The person who is confident that they have all of the answers to life’s persistent questions is a narcissist. As a group, we are not all good humans or bad humans; we are humans and members of the same tribe. Communication with open ears and an open brain is the key to living in the Grey Zone.

Hateful words breed violence. Lying to people is not a badge of honor. Our ethos of violence as the means to have people love us is false. Bombing women and children in their homes in their beds is horrendous. However, we do not hear this on the nightly news. When I was a boy watching the Evening News with Walter Cronkite, the number of dead American soldiers was given for the day each evening. Also, the number of North Vietnamese was given. The Vietnamese number was much greater than the American number. Over 50 thousand Americans lost their lives in Vietnam. At the conclusion of the war, we fled to the top of a hotel as helicopters picked us up. We did not achieve our supposedly noble objective. American soldiers were catcalled and berated. Senator John McCain spent 6 years as a prisoner of war. We fought and died because President Johnson a Democrat did not want to lose face. The father of significant Civil Rights legislation sent American soldiers to war for the sake of his ego.

So it goes. We need to engage in the less flashy but positive communication with each other.

Our form of government is based on compromise or the Grey Zone. There is only one method of passing legislation, Compromise. Culure Wars have nothing to do with government. If a person is transgender or Gay or atheist is irrelevant to the 300 million of us in the United States. Humanity has always been a coat of many colors. We are more alike than we are different. Understanding is what we need. Compassion is what we need. Empathy is a required element to living in the Grey Zone.

It has always been so, but of late more. Faith and political leaders tell us one thing, while another is before our eyes. An intriguing concept is …

Do You Believe Your Lying Eyes

It has always been so, but of late more. Faith and political leaders tell us one thing, while another is before our eyes. An intriguing concept is that if you are a Christian, you will become rich. Of course, the price of admission is giving the preacher a lot of money…give until it hurts. Now, a church always has members of its congregation who are doing well financially, and many poor of the land. The poor of the land are giving their little hearts out and doing without, and remain poor and poorer since they gave their grocery money. The preacher is doing much better, thank you, as God has blessed him/her with an influx of cash. The pervasive message of give more, with the more being over and above 10%, is pounding like a drum in the ears of the cheerful poor giver as they become destitute. There is a prosperity doctrine, but the riches flow upward rather than downward. Folks continue this illegible prescription because they want to be rich. They settled that God has blessed their pastor with the horn of plenty as a sign of his divine calling. Their plight is not to reason why. They must do or die.

Politicians are notorious for saying one thing and doing another. As a rule, they attempt to keep their lies consistent and not deny what they have said publicly and filmed saying it. The term ” fake news “has reached a crescendo of popularity. President Trump created the moniker and uses it daily. His followers and supplicants use it daily. Similar to the preacher who tells you that you will be rich if you send him money, and your eyes and ears reveal this is not true, so it is with what Trump tells us. All that is required is to go to the videotape for the exact account of reversal after reversal in real time. When we subcontract our eyes and ears to a political or religious leader, we lose.

If it seems too good to be true, it is. A good admonishment is to be a checker of fruit. A good tree brings forth good fruit, and a bad tree brings forth bad fruit. First impressions are often correct. The conundrum is that people who want to be at the front of the pack are often narcissistic. Folks who have wonderful abilities and think deeply are often introverted. We look for the spectacle. We want to see John Wayne ride in on his horse and whoop ass and take names. We want someone to tell us what we want to hear. If the leader does that, he or she is wise and gifted. If they tell us the truth, we wonder why we are believing our lying eyes.

My typical response when I was in trouble as a child was, ‘Not Me’ or ‘I Don’t Know,’ when it came to who had committed the offense. Certainly, I was not the guilty party. I spent my time doing good for others. I countenanced no mean thoughts. I obeyed the rules of Neva J. The time I hit Pauly on his head with the butt of a toy gun and a goose egg must have been the stress of a four-year-old. On another occasion, I took Neva J’s red lipstick and drew all over the restroom walls while she was gone. She was unhappy with my art.

Not Me and I Don’t Know are alive today. Over my 26 years as a manager/administrator at Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale, I encountered their antics on many occassions. When work was undone or in need of improvement, the two inventors lurked in the corner shadows.

Our leaders rely on “Not Me” and “I Don’t Know” daily. ‘It is the Democrats’ fault, they say. The Democrats say it is the Republicans’ doing. It has become increasingly difficult to live in our time with skyrocketing fuel prices and inflation. Not my problem, President Trump says as he returns to talking about the White House Ballroom or a slush fund for the January 6 insurrectionists.

‘Not My Problem’ is a cousin to ‘Not Me’ and ‘I Don’t Know’. ‘Not My Problem ‘ is pervasive in today’s pass-the-buck world. ‘Let George do it,’ we say. ‘I did not cause the homeless girl to be in the condition she finds herself, we say as we pour another glass of Merlot. ‘Politics is politics, it has always been so,’ We say. ‘People need a little tough love or a freshly opened container of ‘Whoop Ass,’ We laugh as we cut the ribeye on Memorial Day.

This morning, the butterfly came to visit. She flew closely for some time, and I prepared my camera. She was orange with black spots. She came to my hand and was prepared to stay there. I wondered what I had done to obtain such an honor. Perhaps it was my cologne, which is named Angel. She was one Angel attracted to another Angel.

Butterflies fascinate me. So elegant and sublime. A fragile creature of beauty. A creation of God representing him well.

So it is with we humans. We are intricately and majestically fashioned. Each of us is unique. We usually walk rather than fly. Yet we are meant to soar with the eagles. We thrash about looking for our mission in life. My Butterfly knew her mission. She is here to lift the spirit of the downtrodden. She is here to bring peace. She was here to be a friend to the Old Man.

The simplest things are the most profound. Communion with nature, communion with each other. A simple occurrence that reveals faith and the cosmos in its happening. We want to hear the timpani of the clanging cymbals. The Earth should move toward us. The powerful elite must place their stamp of approval on us. Yet the Butterfly says it all.

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and I have miles to go before I sleep.’ Robert Frost

Fine clothes dry rot. Mansions crumble.
The heady joy of career success is a memory as life proceeds. My colleague often said that we struggle and strive, and yet none of us gets out of this world alive.

The sky was dark on the day of chaos. People ran in all directions. The President said to trust him. He had the answers. Yet he seemed to not understand the suffering in the world. He noted that he was not worried about affordability. Herman Wouk wrote the
Winds Of War. The winds of war blow about us constantly. Everyone is afraid of what is coming. Irrationality is distressing. Hope is needed. The Butterfly is needed.

I was speaking with someone on the phone a few days ago and he asked me how old I was. When I responded I was going on 69 he exclamied ‘Oh my God I did not know you were that old.’ He later said we must see each other soon as we do not have much time. So it goes as the clock ticks. I have heard you are as old as you feel. Another good saying is age is just a number. The power of positive thinking, indeed. A friend asked me some time ago if I felt old. I considered that what I felt was not particulary relevant to the question. Life for we happy humans is grounded in physical reality.

We chase the Dream. A gifted speaker convinces us of a better world in a bottle. Thinking rich makes you rich is only part of the puzzle. Work is usually involved. Success is incremental.

Faith is not a job with good benefits and a health plan. It is a journey on rainy and sunny days and dark nights of the soul. Faith is shoes that fit comfortably and a multicolored cloak that is both cool in the summer and warm in the winter. The clothing of faith is becoming in youth and old age. Versatile yet durable.

Reality is not an address that you choose whether or not to live at. Today you can see powerful people who have constructed their own Private Reality. They gather accolates and supplicants to assist them in their pursuit of Nirvanna. We poor folks on the outside looking in watch in dismay and incredulity at the seemingly obvious antics of the victims of Elite Grifters. When you are becoming poorer while the Great Leader increasingly adds to his wealth something is wrong.

Dreams are fun intriguing and mysterious. Especially if when they are your dreams. You own them they are yours and no one else. Reflect on them and their meaning. Work toward their fullfillment. Dreams are the coal that fuels the fire that turns the wheels rolling down the track. No one has to sell you a dream you have your own.

It’s wonderful to have family that I would’ve chosen as friends. Two special family members visited my parents and brother and I on Saturday and …

From Tennessee to Illinois

Have we been here before, or are we only visiting? I watched a movie on Netflix with a surprise ending that humans were created by aliens from another galaxy. They created us in their image, but we had our defects. With the wave of her hand, the Empress of the Andromedans destroyed all human life. So we negotiate our way through the few decades we have and accept the challenges of the day. Suddenly, we opened our eyes, and we were here. Indeed, we were all visitors, as we did not begin in this noisy, sunlight-and-sunset place.

We are track and field participants. We run both the sprint and the marathon. We jump hurdles. At times, we pole vault. Whatever the coach requires. Once we knew warmth and muffled sound security. Now the strobe lights of life are mesmerizing. It is always a good time to slow down and consider our sense of place. Memorial Day is tomorrow. Time is moving forward. Time for swimming pools to open. Cookouts on every patio. Salameats at the Brooks house. Summer is here. Turn around, and it will be the fourth of July. Turn once more and Labor Day will be here.

‘Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can’t, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.’ Robert Frost

Peace comes from the ordinary. Peace is in the sound of the bullfrogs singing. It is in the sound of the fish jumping. It was in the hours of game playing and engaging conversation with Marcy and Brock this weekend. Peace is inherent in understanding. The better we understand each other, the more peace we feel. Often, we worry about folks who neither know us nor care to. We fret over their approval when we are the furthest thing from their minds. We dance our special dance, and we sing our best song in the marketplace to curry favor. Things will be better if the powerful like us hold us close to their breast. We are not fortunate son or daughter, but we want to be.

We chase the prize. Since we first opened our eyes, we noticed life is for the swift and strong. Cunning is vital. We noticed it in the sandbox. Some kids played nicely, shared their plastic shovel and bucket. Other kids wanted their shovel and bucket as well as yours. Humans are confusing.

Marcy and Brock are on their way. It will be Christmas in May! They are the Tennessee Brooks. Mylo is ready with a smile and a laugh. The Writing Porch is pristine. Cloudy and cool are the order of the day. ‘Pack up all your cares and woes.’

Our world is full of wonder. There is excitement in the air. Our lives are indeed full of wonder, and we wonder what is next. Surprise is a way of life. That is why we turn our heads so often. We want to see what is coming. If we had eyes in the back of our heads, we would be happy. A hundred years ago, people were much like us. They wondered what was next. The Great War had ended, and the stock market was booming. Parties and fun were the thing. There would be no more war. The stock market would keep climbing. Money was growing on trees.

We ponder the horizon. Did it look the same in the 1920s? At times, we walk smoothly and with vigor; other times, we stumble a bit. The answers to life’s persistent questions are beyond the horizon. Some believe the Earth is flat, as it obviously falls away over the horizon. Others believe that is where the unknown sea is, with the big sea monsters. We are proceeding toward the horizon. When we arrive, will we find ourselves coming from the direction we have been walking, looking for the answers?

So here we are together again. The Old Man walked a lot today. Not that he doesn’t focus on walking each day…but today was golden for steps. Cool, cloudy weather is his thing. Life beckons, and the Old Man must go.

As I stood in line at Louie’s P and R in Herrin, an old man about my age said that if he had known he was going to live as long as he has, he would have taken better care of himself. He went on to say that he had just had an MRI, and he would find out how well he was doing. We, old folks, see the doctor more often. A secret to a happy life is an active life. If you can do the activities that you enjoy, all the better.

So we find ourselves in the midst of troubling times. Our parents had the same conundrum. Their parents as well. Time to dive into the cloudy confines and live life. Surprise awaits us around the next corner. There it stands with a leather Outback hat and a big smile. We try to be ready, but we are never ready. That is the adventure of the journey.

Summer has taken the theme. A month of spring to go, but summer now dominates. In my neck of the woods, June, July, and August are summer. Brock and Marcy are coming, and we, the Illinois Brooks, are excited at the prospect. We will tell tall tales and play games. Laugh until our sides hurt. We have laid the charcuterie board, and it is magnificent. We like a good charcuterie board.

‘The swimming and picnic at Pounds Hollow will be wonderful,’ Jane said. ‘We have waited all winter for this,’ Jane continued. ‘This year will be the best I have taken swimming lessons and am eager to use what I have learned,’ Jane exclaimed! ‘The swimsuit costume party will be a blast,’ Jane noted.

‘The costumes are to be 1920s swimwear,’ Chet laughed. ‘It looks a bit different from our 1960s swim clothes,’ Chet continued. ‘The promoter of the event says that the 1920s swimming clothes will transport us back to the Roaring Twenties,’ Chet smiled.

‘Come quick, where is the 57 Chevy?’ Neva J said with a laugh. ‘The cars in the parking lot are from the 1920s,’ Neva J observed.

‘It sure is foggy on the road home,’ Billy B observed. ‘What is awaiting us around the next bend in the road? I feel like we are still in the 1920s,’ Billy B continued. ‘Did we go through the Time Tunnel like the television show?’ Billy B asked. ‘This vintage car runs well if a bit bumpy,’ Billy Bob observed.