The Old Man noticed on his Walk Through the Woods that the leaves were changing. September is getting closer. When I got into the Subaru to drive home, the thermometer said 110. Arizona weather. We are searching for the oasis in the desert. We have not had to break any cactus open yet.

The University begins classes on Monday. The Halloween store is open in the mall. Change is afoot. Mylo feels it and barks at it in the wee hours of the morning. MJ is watching the Cubs and the Phillies. She is a baseball aficionado. Home is a solace in troubled times. Health is vital and fleeting. We think of it like the Sun coming up in the morning. Sometimes it does not come up. We visit with each other, not realizing we are seeing God in the eyes of the person we visit. Our eyes tell the story of our walk back to Jerusalem. The world can be seen in a person’s eyes.

‘Move along, miss, you are an eyesore and a detraction to the beauty of the city,’ the officer said. ‘We are under orders to clean up the streets and provide a scenic atmosphere to all the tourists,’ the Officer continued. ‘I realize you have nowhere to go, that you are homeless, but the government says that your problem of shelter is not their problem,’ the Officer said with tears in his eyes.

Holidays are coming. The ‘Ber’ months will be here in two weeks. My time of year! My favorite third of the year. We seek the Peacemakers. Those who will speak peace to troubled minds. People who work for unity and solidarity rather than division over petty cultural differences. Christmas is coming, and it is not too early to say it. The Prince of Peace was born in a nondescript barn surrounded by animals. The leaders of the day knew nothing of his arrival. The rich of the day continued to count their money and rejoice that they were not poor. Some Wisemen and Shepherds knew. The oxen and lambs knew. The Star of Bethlehem knew. So it goes. The Peacemakers are on their way and indeed are here now. Look for the Peacmakers. Listen to what they say. The winds of change are blowing, and the leaves are changing.

I love rocks. I snap endless photos of rocks and boulders, and cliffs at the Woods. The tale they tell is endless. This morning, I saw inscribed on a rock CCC, which stands for the Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC was responsible for most of the buildings at Giant City State Park, just a few miles from my home. My father-in-law and his twin brother both worked for the CCC at Giant City and are in a photo in the Dining Room entrance of the Lodge. Of course, the story is thousands of years old, which is told by the sandstone. Water has shaped the stone, molded it over many years.

So it goes with our lives. Problems that seem immovable and permanent are transformed by the steady drip of time. The only certainty is that things change. Whatever mountain you encounter is changing before your eyes. God is systematic and orderly. His time is not our time. Change is on the way.

We are flesh, blood, and bone. We are temporary. Leaders who frighten us will not always be leaders. Illness that buffets us will not always do so. Relationships that hurt or perplex are feeling the drip, drip, drip of the revealing water.

Waiting is something that does not come naturally. Waiting is, however, necessary. Most things in life require waiting. We watch from our bubble at the other bubbles. Inside, we see our neighbors and colleagues living their sheltered lives. How will we ever understand each other if we remain in our bubbles? Some of the bubbles want the entire world to be Christian. The Jewish and Muslim Bubbles have a different idea. The Bubbles who want the world to follow Christ expect them to follow in the manner that they do. The Christian Nationalists have a particular idea of this type of Christianity.

Violence and fiery rhetoric have become commonplace when describing the political party we are not a member of. Many Bubbles have become inflamed with their own peculiar doctrine. They believe that they are on a mission from God to destroy all those who do not see the world as they do.

We wait for the promise of the human family. Not poking each other’s eyes out until we are all blind. Peacemakers are coming. Many are here, and more are on the way.

‘It does not have to be this way,’ the Preacher said. ‘God did not intend the constant fighting,’ the Preacher continued. ‘The Peacemaker is hunted now but not always,’ the Preacher promised. ‘God loves all people,’ the Preacher noted with a smile. ‘We are hidden in the Woods now, but not for long,’ the Preacher said. ‘The brokenhearted will be made whole and nothing will hurt or destroy,’ the Preacher promised.

Southern Illinois University students are moving in. It is an exciting time. They look increasingly younger. The vision of an old man. During my over 32-year career, this was the Olympics of University Life. Nothing was more important than our precious students’ first impression. We who were part of the University Community knew that we were a part of its glory and grace. We wanted to welcome our newest members to the family.

So, we look ahead to see what lies around the next corner. We remember who we were at the beginning of 2025. We want to build on that foundation. Time is changing before our eyes. Those who watch us know that we are evolving. We think we are staying the same, but we are not. The mirror tells the physical story that our inner self is hidden from us. The ‘Ber’ months are full of plans. Jennifer has been a bright light in 2025. Smart, sweet, and kind, she is a pleasure to be around. We continue our quest for meaning. It is a daily journey. Soon will be Labor Day. The end of summer is for practical purposes. Another cookout is in the planning. Perhaps pork chops will be on the menu. I love being retired. It is the best job I have ever had. The close of 2025 will be 15 years.

The media would have us focus outwardly. Nothing is wrong with that until it causes neglect of our souls. For lack of time or purpose, our hearts go untested. There is more than a good job. Money does not buy happiness. The poor among us seek to survive. Hungry children wonder why there is no food for them. Who is in and who is out politically is of little matter when you are hungry.

‘Buba lives on a can of pork-and-beans,’ Earl said of Neva J’s brother Gene. ‘He works cutting limbs out of trees and painting houses, but has little to show for it and not enough to eat,’ Earl continued. ‘He sleeps on a cot in a shack,’ Early noted. ‘I have asked Buba to take dinner with us as often as he likes,’ Earl said. ‘He says that he is satisfied with meager fare and does not want to intrude,’ Earl said. ‘Buba is a proud man who works every day and has nothing to hang his head about,’ Earl said quietly.

‘Murph’ breakfast, lunch, and dinner consist of a hamburger from Mr. Munchy’s restaurant next to his flop house where he lives, Neva J said. ‘Murph is disabled from World War II,’ Neva J continued. ‘Murph asks nothing from family or friends,’ Neva J explained. ‘He comes from the Greatest Generation and expects to provide for himself,’ Neva J said softly. ‘I have never seen Murph without a smile and a positive attitude,’ Neva J assured.

‘Laura Lynn is about ‘Hit’ Velma said with a wide smile. She and her husband Junior lived in a little more than a shack. All of Laura Lynn’s baby teeth were blackened with decay. She was a lovely little girl.

Perhaps this fall we will find answers to life’s persistent questions. There will be Halloween parties and group discussions of Ichabod Crane. Houses will be festooned in orange and black lights. We will bob for apples and enjoy hayrides and hot apple cider. The leaves will turn, and we will take photos. Warm thoughts of the holidays will fill our heads. This will be the prelude to the two big holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas. We will thank God for our freedom and not concern ourselves with those who made us free. November, December, and January Holiday trips are planned. It is enough to make your head twirl.

My dear friend is home from the hospital. I am so happy.

Great things are around the corner. We are all members of a mission that we have yet to fulfill. I have the same zeal and determination to perform the mission of life as I did when I was twenty. We are coming to the corner quickly. What is our reality today will change as we choose to accept our mission and not let the reel-to-reel tape recording burn up, as in the television show Mission Impossible. Our time is here; this is our moment. We choose to accept the mission.

After watching the excellent horror movie Weapons, I think of mind control. I wonder at the psychology of cults. How do you convince a rational person to accept irrationality? When did lying to another human being become a daily occurrence on a mass scale? How do we stop believing what our lying eyes tell us and accept an alternate reality? When did our brains shut off?

Contrary to popular belief, cults appeal to both educated and uneducated individuals alike. We listen for words that support our bias and conspiracy theories. When we hear supporting rhetoric, we want to hear more. The mystery of how one leader’s fever dream can become many’s reality is difficult to understand. It is a bit of a Spell or Hex. Some magic was involved to lead so many to follow and fight for something that is based on a lie and against their own interest.

What causes prejudice, bias, and demonization of people who are not white by the majority white race? There is no logical answer. Prejudice is taught from generation to generation. Bias is born in ignorance and hate. Some of the nicest people to me during my University career were black. Many of my friends are black. I am honored to be their friend.

I think we must have the Spirit of the Lemming. It is said that lemmings will follow each other off a cliff, committing suicide. This bizarre behaviour has been exhibited in several cults. The Heaven’s Gate Cult committed mass suicide in a mansion in Rancho Santa Fe, California.

‘Class was disrupted today when Tommy C and Buckley got into a fight,’ Chet said. ‘They both were sent to the principal’s office,’ Chet continued. ‘Buckley fights dirty,’ Chet observed. ‘He had brass knuckles in his pocket,’ Chet informed. ‘Buckley opened a bloody gash over Tommy C’s eye, and he could not see to fight,’ Chet intoned. ‘Tommy C said that the next time he would break into his father’s gun cabinet and bring a pistol,’ Chet shuddered. ‘I think the violence is only beginning,’ Chet observed. ‘What if kids who have access to guns begin thinking it is alright to settle their differences with bullets,’ Chet asked softly. ‘There are guns in almost every rural home and Americans love their right to bear arms afforded to them by the Constitution…who are the weapons…the guns or have we weaponized our children,’ Chet said with tears in his eyes.

Inevitably, it had to arrive. Time to go back to school. Days full of swimming at Pounds Hollow and Moo and Cackle hamburgers had to end for the sake of academics. There was paper to purchase and pencils, and a box of Crayola Crayons for Art. Paste was essential, although I never understood why, and kids who ate it made me ill. The desk was neat. The compartment for holding all of your scholarly treasures was under the desktop, and it lifted on hinges. It provided a good place to hide from the teacher for short periods. The morning milk was the coldest I had ever drunk. You pulled a lever with a steel ball on the end as big as your fist. There was morning recess, noon recess, and afternoon recess. At times, the teacher threw in another recess for good measure.

A pretty little blonde girl sat across from me on my first day. Soon, I noticed a puddle under her chair, and the teacher asked her if she needed to go to the restroom. She did. Chet wore his hat to his desk. The teacher told him each morning to not wear his hat in the house and to hang it to the cloak room.

Neva J told me to give school a try and to see how I liked it. When I returned home from the first day, I said I had tried it and would not be returning. She said, ‘Oh, Kid, you will be going to school for a long time.’ I discovered she was right. Cursive was a big deal in school. Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, you will recall. We practiced our cursive a lot. Also, multiplication tables. All the way through 12 had to be known by heart. Memorization was stressed. I memorized The Night Before Christmas and quoted it often at family gatherings. Work at the blackboard was vital. We did some every day. I admired the teacher’s cursive on the blackboard.

It was hot as Hades on the playground when school resumed in August. The metal monkey bars could not be touched without burning. In those halcyon days, it was believed that cold air was good for kids and adults alike. So the monkey bars went from hot to icy.

The principal spoke to us from the intercom. Inspiring moments for young minds or Fuzzy Memories. It was through the intercom that the principal announced to us that President Kennedy had been assassinated. School stopped early, and I walked home. Neva J was crying. She loved JFK. I wondered if he was a member of our family. I watched the funeral on TV. I saw Lee Harvey Oswald being killed by Jack Ruby on live television. I was six years old and knew that there was more to the story than we were being told.

The War in Vietnam was on TV nightly. The death count was nightly. No one seemed to be for it. The poor boys sent to fight had no choice because of the Draft. President Johnson told us we were just around the corner from winning. Defense Secretary McNamra said the same. General Westmorland assured us that with a few thousand more troops we would have victory. Fifty-thousand sodiers died in Vietnam.

It is another summer day in the neighborhood. The grass mowers and weed eaters are out. We have gone from very wet to extremely dry in a few weeks. Such is life in our neck of the woods. Time is not standing still. It is racing forward. School has begun, and University will start next week. People are living their regular lives despite their political leaders.

It seems that our elected representatives believe us a bit slow. They tell us what they want us to believe and expect us to eat it with a spoon and ask for seconds. Usually, political rhetoric that does not mesh with on-the-ground reality is a bit strange. This is the recipe for Town Hall Meetings where the Politician seems to be in a different world than their constituents.

We do not live in a bubble. Stale air. We live and work in a diverse community. There are no easy answers to complex questions. The President said he wants the homeless in Washington, D.C., removed from the streets. In other words, hide our country’s shame.

Barbecue time is still here. Grilling steaks, chops, and sausages is fun and delicious. Pounds Hollow is still open for swimming. The Oscar Mayer Hot Dogs are in the cooler along with some Merlot. Neva J insisted. Many of the first days of school are morning sessions, leaving the afternoon open for the Hollow. Chet is going to wear his Lost In Space Robot Costume as a tool of adventure for the August beachcombers. Chet is certain it will be good for a laugh. The Civil Rights Movement, led by Dr. Martin Luther King, is going to march on Washington, D.C. ‘Segregation is wrong,’ Chet said as he pulled on his Lost In Space Robot Suit. ‘All men are created equal is the standard we must live by,’ Chet intoned.

‘Look at the teachers swimming in the lake,’ Jane said. ‘I thought this afternoon was Teacher’s Workshop,’ Jane continued. ‘They seem to be having a wonderful time,’ Jane observed. ‘Maybe the Workshop concluded early or was cancelled…or is this swim afternoon the Workshop?’ Jane ruminated. ‘Perhaps they are studying human interaction in bathing suits,’ Jane laughed. ‘Principal S’s face is very red and he is sipping something out of a brown paper bag,’ Jane observed. ‘Each time he takes a sip, he grins from ear to ear,’ Jane chuckled. ‘He looks to have the Christmas Spirit in August,’ Jane pointed out.

‘There is Buddy’s mom with Mr. U lying on a beach blanket,’ Billy B observed. ‘They appear to know each other well,’ Billy B winked. ‘Buddy’s mom is whispering something in Mr. U’s ear, and he is looking alarmed,’ Billy B continued. ‘Buddy’s mom is quickly gathering her stuff and putting it into a beach bag, and is leaving while Mr. U watches her,’ Billy B grinned.

‘That does not compute,’ Chet said from inside his Lost In Space Robot Costume.

There are few places more dear than home after a long battle. We seek the excitement of the outer reaches and lands that have not been explored. We have been to Oz and back and agree with Dorothy that there is no place like home. In early days, I considered that home was a place to lay my head. Now it is a place to understand the thoughts in my head.

‘I am happy to be back from the hospital,’ Billy B said with a wide smile. ‘The ambulance driver told his partner that this kid is not going to make it,’ Billy B recounted. ‘Neva J told him not to say that, and Billy B was going to make it,’ Billy B assured. ‘I saw home in a new light when I returned,’ Billy B said quietly. ‘Chicken Soup tasted good with a glass of 7Up,’ Billy B laughed. ‘The nurses stuck me with so many needles that I felt like a pin cushion,’ Billy B laughed. ‘There were so many shots to give me that they stuck them in my hips,’ Billy B winked. ‘At first I was embarrassed, but there were so many over several days that I got used to it and the nurses did as well,’ Billy B noted. ‘A kind lady visited me one night and told me that I was going to be alright…I think it was my Guardian Angel,’ Billy B said with feeling.

We have a Story…we are a Story. The narrative of our life is known in Heaven. God reads it and smiles. There is work and bills to pay, and there is Life. Life is sweeter than honey from the rock. Summer is winding down, even though it has over a month to completion. There is an urgency in our steps. Something is coming. The Winds are blowing in something new. As we walk up the mountain, we can not see the summit. When we arrive, perhaps we will all be surprised. We begin our Story each morning with a clean sheet of paper. We write it as we go. Politic is a thin veneer. It covers what is real. Leaders have little to do with our Story. We own our Story. We are the authors and the final editors. What our grandchildren read is what we wrote. We must speak of home. Let us speak of a sense of place.

Those with troubled souls rage against the night. It is dark in their heart, and they assume it is dark in ours. There is a better life than acquiring wealth and power. There is the Story of the Journey. Why are we here, and where are we going? It is time for our part in the Theatrical Performance. The packed house awaits. The spotlight is on us. It is time to add a page to our Story.

We men are proficient in rhetoric. Women deal with reality. Men mimic the tropes of courage and power while women live them daily. Courage is seldom broadcast. Power comes from the quiet. Purpose comes from those amid the battle. ‘The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong…’

Sunday has arrived. Life moves forward incrementally and rapidly. It is an interesting paradox. I marvel at the great photos Jennifer takes. She has a photographer’s eye for detail. I take photos daily. I want to know if I was there at the moment of the day. When we reflect on the past, it seems like a dream. Did I really carry a 22-inch all-metal buffer up two flights of steps? Did I catch 500-pound carpet rolls at the Furniture store and then lift my end with the store owner lifting the other? Did I crawl on my knees all day assisting my friend Brent to lay carpet?

The Geese are talking shop on Sunday. I love to hear the honks. MJ is making chili in honor of fall coming. I bought a red pepper. The cashier said Only one? I thought of telling her that if she were coming to dinner, I would have purchased two. There is a cult called the Rationalist. ‘Its members seek to use rationality to avoid cognitive biases. Common interests include probability, effective altruism, transhumanism, and mitigating existential risk from artificial intelligence.’ So it goes in our human family’s search for meaning and truth.

The Old Man walked in the Woods today. He often does. He thought of matters great and small. He thought of his friend who is searching for meaning. He thought of his friend who is sick. The Old Man wondered how he could help. The Geese are talking about the future.

‘Well, it is still warm and the sun is high in the sky…with the changing weather patterns, it is becoming difficult to decide when to fly north,’ Greta Goose said.’It seems the humans have mucked it up for the rest of us,’ Greta Goose observed. ‘Some of the swallows have already taken flight for Capistrano,’ Greta noted. ‘I like the
Brooks Pond is peaceful and has no predators,’ Greta Goose said with a wide grin. ‘Great Blue Heron is nice and keeps to himself while his kid Little White Heron is mischievous but fun,’ Greta laughed. ‘The other day I threw Little White Heron a fish and he caught it in his beak,’ Greta said. ‘Beryl Beaver is busy building is dam,’ Greta observed with a sly grin. ‘He greets me fondly each morning as he is carrying his lunch box to the Pond,’ Greta said. ‘BB is busy throughout the day and has little time for small talk,’ Greta Goose laughed.

‘I must finish the dam,’ Beryl Beaver said as he swam across Brooks Pond with a mouth full of twigs. ‘Something big is coming, and I have to finish my work,’ BB said with a sigh. ‘There is an ill wind blowing and I must do my part,’ Beryl Beaver said. ‘A storm is coming,’ BB observed with a serious look.

We seek the answer on the long walk home. Soon, the apples will be in season. Apple pie and apple cider, and cool nights. Bobbing for apples in October. Young love and old people smiling. The Grand Performance is playing out before our eyes. The fireplaces will be warm and welcome rest and reflection. The geese will have flown south. The Beaver will have built his dam. We will place another quilt on the bed to warm us against the Ill Wind.

There are days when you just don’t feel so good. Yesterday was one of those days. In the middle of the night, I discovered I had a bug that had crawled through my digestive tract, seeking devastation. Today I am almost back. So it goes in the height of our revelry when all is right with the world. A trail in the Woods called my name. I thoroughly enjoyed it in my diminished capacity. A snake was in my path with its head raised, looking at me. He was so still that I passed by without his moving. He was silent, and so was I. I loved going to the Orpheum Theatre as a lad and especially the Coming Attractions. These were movies that I planned to see in the future. Such is life. A transition is coming. Summer will segue into fall. Our clothing will change. We will change. No longer short-sleeved shirts and shorts unless you are in the United Kingdom, where men wear shorts in the winter. School has begun in many of our rural towns and hamlets. Our year is winding down. Time is a mystery. It is a rushing stream with white caps. There are rocks in the water and undertow to avoid. We see on the horizon. Our destination is before us, but there is the middle of the journey.

We carry a memory with us. Some live while some came with the package. How do we understand that we are equal? We are not better than our peers; we are not worse. We are on this journey together. Time and chance happen to us all. The sky is azure blue, with fluffy white clouds. At times, it is hard to find your place. We all see the world through separate eyes. The world I see is not the world you see. Life has colored our perspective through the kaleidoscope. Some see the Cubs as a great ball team while others see the Loveable Losers. Increasingly, our economy is controlled by the 5%. We want to get ahead, but bumping our heads on the ceiling hurts.

We watch the Influencers and try to pattern after them. Often, there is no correlation. We are two separate people traveling the same path. It is time for the final vacations. If school has not started, it will in a few days. Time to go to the mountains or the lake. Time to plan Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas Holidays. We are still together. This is a mysterious miracle. The old who were not old and the young who were recently babies. MJ, Ron, and I sat at the old table at Christmas dinner 15 years ago. Now we are old. The kids are grown and have their own. There is more to this ‘Time Thing’ than we understand. What a ride of magic and adventure. None of this was in the Manual. There was no advice on how you feel as you transition to the Coming Attractions.