The light had a strange ambiance. It was a soft golden hue. Things seemed different. Mr. Somnambulist was busy with his appointed mission. It had been a long time since he had been truly awake. October had the magic of awareness. Each October he suddenly woke up. The leaves were vibrant with color. As nature prepared for sleep Mr. Somnambulist started his day.

‘Halloween is just over a week away, Mr. S said. ‘I think it would be a good time to play a trick on the energetic,’ Mr. S laughed through heavily lidded eyes. ‘I enjoy watching people deciding who to spread my sleep dust on,’ Mr. S laughed. ‘The Sleep Walker has a rich history,’ Mr. S noted. ‘I have just the right recipe where most folks do not realize they are sleepwalking,’ Mr S continued. ‘Many walk slowly through life never comprehending the effects Somnambulism is having on their understanding of events,’ Mr. S danced a little dance. ‘Rip did not know when the desire for a nap hit him and lasted for years,’ Mr. S explained.

‘Now now let us not take all of the credit…I have been putting children to sleep for many nights,’ Sandman said with a yawn. ‘I have had stories written about me,’ Sandman smiled. ‘I have caused some mischief and lowered anger among men,’ Sandman noted. ‘Over confident despots and dictators require a little sand in the eyes to calm down,’ Sandman grinned.

‘There has been a change in the christian message since I was a lad,’ the Old Man noted. ‘Christ ministered to the poor…welcomed the stranger…’a friend of publicans and sinners.’ Now…among some circles it is the faith of white Americans with no mission or ministry to the poor…or welcoming of the stranger,’ the Old Man continued. ‘We are sleeping through the plot of our story,’ the Old Man proclaimed!

The Author wrote the Story Of Humans. The Quill moved deliberately across the page. A Story of love and forgiveness…a Story of hate and cruelty. The contrast was stark. The banality of evil. Shall we do evil…that good may come?

MJ and I were having lunch today at the Art Museum in St. Louis. We could not help but notice what a peaceful experience it was. Art is settling. Being surrounded by creativity is inspiring. Thinking about the Woman Impressionist and their wonderful work. Berthe Morisot and Claude Monet’s stepdaughter Blanche Hoschede Monet were important in the French Impressionist Movement.

‘Blanche had a unique intertwined relationship with Claude Monet: she was his stepdaughter, his student, his assistant, and eventually his daughter in law.’

We require reflection. When deprived of it we become ill. A peaceful place is vital to our security and wellbeing. We have become a people who devote the lion’s share of our time to making a living and little to making a life. We wonder where the spark of creativity is. Is it hidden under the pile of dirty laundry? Is it wating patiently for the precious two weeks of vacation we are allowing ourselves next summer?

MJ and I also walked the uneven brick sidewalks of St. Charles, Missouri. St. Charles is a happy event for our family over many years. The history of the place surrounds you at every turn.

So, art causes us to think outside the box. Art enables us to see things from a different perspective. Art opens our minds. It shines a light in the darkness.

‘You learn about life when you play the game of life.’ The jingle for the board game called Life was catchy. Our Game does not have clear rules. The rules of the Game are not accepted by all. Many look for a way around the rules. Then again when we faithfully understand and give yeoman’s effort to follow them we watch as those who have little or no respect for the rulebook pass us by on their unicycle riding backwards with their arms folded and a bizarre grin on their faces.

‘Life is not fair,’ the Young Man said. ‘I see others advance while I march in place,’ the Young Man continued. ‘I work long hours while my colleagues go home early,’ Young Man noted. ‘Management threw a birthday party for everyone in the office accept me,’ Youn Man said sadly.

‘Life has been good to me,’ Old Man said with a smile. ‘I have reached 69 when I feared I would not see 40,’ Old Man continued. ‘I learned to watch and wait…ponder and consider the many machinations of life,’ Old Man explained. ‘Tough times came and went but my faith held firm,’ Old Man smiled. ‘It is a scary ride on the Rollercoaster…up and down…on your head upside down…on your side…seeing nothing but sky or rapidly approaching ground,’ Old Man told of his life. ‘Challenges came faster than I expected…blessings took me by surprise,’ Old Man laughed.

The Old Man talked with another Old Man. Almost the same age. Many memories of former times that are being lost to time. Reflecting on 50 year reunions. How we change…how we stay the same. The Old Men recalled what it was like to crouch under our desks in school to protect us from nuclear bombs. A different time…no cell phones or computers…find your periodical in the Periodical Room at Morris Library. They agree if they make 70 it will be a celebration. The Game Of Life is a privilege.

Due to the recent hot September, autumn seems reduced in scope. Halloween is less than two weeks away. Thanksgiving is drawing close. Time is a bit funny in its proclivity to seem far away and then on top of you. The rapidity of time is unpredictable yet the reality is real. Discussion of Christmas gifts is no longer an academic matter. Talk now or be caught short when the big day arrives. This is life and goals. We speak of desired change…when it comes we say…what is this. Change requires active participation. We want it and hope it will fall on us from Heaven…even then we may shrug our shoulders and ask who ordered this.

I remember wanting to advance at University. When the opportunity to do so came the change desired was greater than I had envisioned. I was fearful of the management position. Was I up to the task? A colleague told me that he would rather be dead than take the job that no one had succeeded at. Another advisor said that I had at least 25 years to work in the stressful position. So I overcame my fears of failure and accepted the first management position and ultimately the head of the department for the last 12 years of my career.

Change comes disguised as potential failure…until it is embraced. Then the hope of time comes to rest with your decision. Challenge is not for the faint of heart. The caterpillar did not know he was destined to become a butterfly.

‘Well, it is time to visit the haunted house,’ Chet said. ‘Last night it was 35 degrees a good temperature for spooky things,’ Chet winked. ‘The House has the reputation of eating those who enter,’ Chet laughed. ‘They go in but they do not come out,’ Chet noted. ‘Tiny went in over 400 pounds and showed up at Mr. Munchies 150 pounds a shadow of his former self,’ Chet grinned. ‘Tiny is the only person who came back from the liminal space of the Haunted House,’ Chet explained.

‘There is hall after hall room after room with no ending,’ Neva J said. ‘I assumed the scary reports regarding the HH were Halloween Hype but this is weird, Kid,’ Neva J said with a shudder. ‘I just passed five clowns with strange smiles,’ Neva J continued. ‘They pointed me to a large auditorium where a man spoke without ceasing…his words were increasingly difficult to understand,’ Neva J said. ‘The audience listening had no ears but seemed content,’ Neva J observed.

‘We have explored for a while,’ Jane said. ‘I continue to look for the door but find I am either in the same place or a place that looks just like it,’ Jane said. ‘The clowns look familiar,’Jane observed. ‘I have seen them before perhaps in a dream,’ Jane mused.

‘It seems there is a Halloween Reversal in the HH,’ Billy B said. ‘There is a 8 millimeter film playing in the Theatre showing a news reel of Frankenstein as President,’ Billy B informed with saucer eyes.

When I change age I say I am that age for a while…then I begin owning the next age. One of my many oddities. So, I feel 69 and that is the front porch of 70. How did it happen? One day at a time. I used to see folks at University who worked until my ripe old age and wondered how they did it. Now it does not seem so old. When they told me it happens quick I had no idea how quick. I have heard with age comes wisdom…I cannot tell. Wisdom is elusive. It dawned on me a few years ago that I was born a week before Halloween. Hence my love for fall and Halloween Stories.

I saw a 8 millimeter film of me at my first Birthday Party. The kids around the table were laughing and eating cake and I was crying. Perhaps I thought I was in a Halloween Story. We lived in Chicago. I thought we always would. The neighborhood reminded me of Leave It To Beaver. Dad rode a Harley Davidson motorcycle and looked like a mobster. Mom looked like a model. Mom liked to do the Twist. She Twisted daily. Dad liked to watch Gunsmoke. Westerns and combat programs were the taste of the day. I had a cowboy outfit and a holster for my toy revolver.

We moved to Eldorado. Our first house was a haunted Victorian. Mom and Dad moved in a vain attempt to put their marriage back together. I remember the cold of my first birthday in Eldorado. The house was cold and scary…the long wrap around front porch was cold. I got warm by standing by the fire in the fireplace. Soon it was Neva J and me. We figured it out. I discovered you do not have to have much to be happy. Happiness is a decision. It is inside you.

So, 69 Is Mighty Fine. 70 is just around the corner.

Fall was in the air today. Thirty degrees cooler than yesterday. A gentle reminder that furnace time is on the way. The deer watched the Old Man as he watched the deer. The deer know change is afoot. Leaves are holding on for dear life. Christmas bells are ringing softly in the distance. A cool down means a calm down. Summer was hot…September was hot.

Seeking solace from sycophants is a delicate proposition. Mr. sycophant by nature is concerned about kissing up. His eyes are fixed on the ladder of success and the posterior in his face. Many of these sycophantic folks are in positions of power. We look to them for help. Their business plan is to help those from whom they can gain. The strange look of good institutions morphed into a grotesque shadow of their former self is a bit Halloween.

‘There is the rarified air of the rich and powerful, then the real air we all breathe,’ Chet said. ‘We understand we are in the struggle together,’ Chet grinned. ‘The elitist attitude of rich and powerful wannabes is in some churches as well,’ Chet noted. ‘Some preachers say that if you are gaining money you are in favor with God and if you are poor you are not doing it right,’ Chet continued. ‘These groups gain many sycophants as favor with the minster is considered favor with God,’ Chet laughed.

The Woods is not governed by such silliness. ‘We are members of a settled society,’ Mr. Badger said. ‘When the fall comes we gather for winter,’ Mr. Badger noted. ‘Equal members of the great experiment,’ Mr. Badger laughed. ‘Leaders are Servant/Leaders their job is to help those they lead,’ Mr. Badger smiled. ‘There is an order to all things…autumn is here and a great time for messing around on boats,’ Badger laughed.

They are putting on quite a show…leaves in the wind. Fall will soon be a month old. Thanksgiving is just around the corner. The Old Man has seen several autumns but each is new. The mystery of life on earth. Each year has new diverse experiences. Life is a constant surprise. Like a kaleidoscope each turn of the prism reveals a brand new vision.

Democratic government is supposed to help its constituents not hurt them. Hate and frugality are not synonymous. Indeed frugality is in the eye of the beholder. No money for the poor…let the poor pick shit with the chickens. No money for the arts…plenty of money for a Ballroom or a botched job reflecting pool. ‘Let us give the rich more money…the poor and hungry can get off their butts and take care of themselves,’ the christian nationalist says with a pious smile. Mental illness is rampant in our stressed society. Let’s close mental health facilities and focus on cosmetic surgery and enhancement. Those with Medicare can find another doctor…our health care is golden,’ the Politician says with a burp after a fine meal.

Yet, we walk forward with hope. There is a reality beyond the rhetoric. We do not feel the need to embellish our past…are credentials…our passion. A confident sense of place presents the genuine article. It is not good to say you are an attorney if you are not one. The stock in perception versus reality only goes so far. The President makes light of we poor folks who are concerned about affordability. All is not well.

Fall leaves in the wind is a beautiful thing. What goes around comes around. We will sit at our Thanksgiving Table and rejoice in another year. The wind has caused us to dance.

We do not talk with each other. For years we have a relationship with our screens. Groups of us sit around the restaurant table with the best food and drink…in a lovely atmosphere yet have nothing to say or the time to say it…we must be looking at the next post. Now we are quickly moving to having conversations with a pleasant friend who cares about us and wants the best for us…agreeing with us…who is not there. Artificial Intelligence is overtaking us. An introverts delight. Yet, we have lost so much.

Some attest that the Chat Bot relationship is more relevant…fulfilling than a human connection. Seeking sameness. Someone who agrees with me. Someone who sees it my way. Romance without friction.

The baby turkeys have grown up. Just in time to run from the pilgrims knife. They watch the world go by from their woods home. The kids hear of a feast in November. Mom says it will be grand. Vegetarian with pecan and pumpkin pie.

‘Hurry we do not want to be late for the Feast,’ Tom said. ‘Douglas Deer and the Deer family are coming as well as Mr. Mole Mr. Badger and Mr. Toad,’ Tom continued. ‘The President will join us this year…he had no where to go for Thanksgiving,’ Tom noted with a wink. ‘Some of his aids are accompanying him and will be surprised when they discover the Feast is Vegan,’ Tom laughed.

The crispness of October. Halloween is near. One house on the block had elaborate Halloween decorations. A bit like the Griswold house in Christmas Vacation. If you glanced you would think the festooned home had early Christmas decorations. A widow lived there. She was morose . When she was putting up the decorations she had a sour look. If you waved she stared blankly. Her deceased husband was a curmudgeon. He was known for keeping to himself. People whispered that he had shrunken heads. He lived in a place that he learned the art of shrinking heads. For a price he would show you.

‘Let’s visit the decorated house for Halloween,’ Chet said. ‘I have always wanted to see a shrunken head,’ Chet laughed. ‘I have seen people with small heads but not shrunken…as far as I know,’ Chet noted. ‘I would buy one if the price was right,’ Chet offered. ‘When Tommy went missing a few Halloweens ago it was rumored that he went into the shrunken head house and never came out,’ Chet winked.

‘Look at the little goblins and ghouls,’ the morose woman said with a wicked laugh. ‘Here is a full coke and candy bar…come in and I will fill up your plastic Jack-O-Lanterns, the Morose Woman grinned. ‘I have quite a Halloween collection,’ she said. ‘Egbert keeps his shrunken head collection down stairs…follow me,’ Morose Woman said.

‘Hey guys…good to see you,’ Tommy said in a small voice. ‘People come in from time to time but no one I know…the Morose Woman has a separate reality from the rest of the world,’ Tommy said. ‘Time runs backward in this house…the rooms are endless…much liminal space,’ Tommy exclaimed. ‘There is neither day nor night here…the glow of the Halloween lights come through the windows,’ Tommy observed. ‘I think I have been gone for some time…it is very hard to tell,’ Tommy observed. ‘I have noticed I have white hair…when I entered the house my hair was jet black,’ Tommy laughed.

‘Well, that was a little weird kid,’ Neva J said. ‘I have not experienced anything like it…I am glad we got out of there with no ill effects,’ Neva J laughed. ‘It was a scary visit…I feel different,’ Neva J observed.