Thunder clapped in the early hours of the morning. It woke Mylo and me up. The sound of a summer storm. Today it is cooler. Not cool but cooler. Nice for meteorological summer. It is not the heat, it is the humidity. Some fellows from Texas, a couple of years back, wondered how I stood the humidity. They were not accustomed to such high humidity in Texas. We visited El Paso many times when Uncle Merle and Aunt Lauretta were alive. It was hot and hotter than anything in our neck of the woods. They had a Cooler on the roof of their home. It put moisture in the air. They shut it off at dark, and it was a miserable night. I asked Aunt Lauretta if I could borrow her fan for our bedroom, as I could not sleep. MJ welcomed the breeze, although she did not want me to ask for it.

We stand on the precipice, looking out at the valley of Change. None of us likes it, and all of us need it. We can not grow if we do not change. Change arrives in house slippers or combat boots. At times we have a while to acclimate ourselves to the new digs, while at others we are thrown into the malestrom. Our weather is changing in real time. To deny it is to throw rocks at the Sun. The Earth is not flat, we really landed on the Moon, and Climate Change is real.

I watched a fascinating movie the other night where a psychiatrist is counseling a little boy. He is obsessed with drawing pictures of future events that transpire. The psychiatrist is professional in her understanding that the boy is troubled until the pictures he drew about her came to pass. The boy’s former psychatrist before her had attempted to set himself on fire and had succeded resuting in burns across much of his body. He was under supervised care and cautioned the female psychiatrist that she would either have to kill the boy or the boy would kill her. The boy tells her that he is god and that what he draws comes to pass. He goes on to explain that he puts the words she says and the thoughts she has in her mouth and head. The female psychiatrist is speaking with another psychiatrist, who is analyzing what she is saying as she tells him that they live in the boy’s mind and have no existence outside of it.

We live in the mind of God, do we not? Are our steps preordained, or are we free moral agents? Are we the products of nature or nurture? Is Schrodinger’s cat in the box if we do not open the box to see it? If a tree falls in the forest and no one sees it, did it really fall?

Political life in the United States has changed dramatically. Change is happening all around us. Does a red hat make us better, or must it say, ‘Make America Great Again?’

The path we are on is enjoyable and arduous. Some of us are happy with the results of the New Normal, while others are troubled. Christ’s heart was for the poor among us. His message was for the marginalized and those who have no voice and who are unseen. There is a through line in the midst of change.

‘We have little since your Dad left, but we will survive,’ Neva J said. ‘I am going to take classes in photography at the Lincoln School on State Street,’ Neva J continued. ‘It will be powdered milk and split pea soup for now, but better days are ahead,’ Neva J danced an Irish Jig.

So, we thought we would try a different hotel in St. Louis. We had stayed in one with the same name several years ago and liked it. It had two rooms and a kitchen in the middle. Clean with nice amenities. Last night’s hotel was not the same. I harkened back to the Great Southern Vacation we took with Neva J and Earl in the mid-90s. Earl was paying for the lodging, and he had a very low cap on what he was willing to pay. The television was fastened to the wall with an elaborate metal shelf with sharp edges. MJ got up in the night and hit her head on the immovable metal TV shelf and uttered words thus far hidden from our son’s ears. It was a Motel From Hell. Yesterday’s motel was worse. When we entered, there was a large bag of trash in the middle of the dirty floor. The room had a sink and a stove, but no cookware or dishes. No coffee anywhere. A broken recliner, the phone was broken, and a thin mattress upon the spartan bed. The air conditioner worked well, but we were cold all night. I imagined a story regarding the hotel from hell, akin to a Twilight Zone episode. I told MJ at one point what if this were Heaven and this room was our big surprise? MJ said that if that were the case, she would accept the leftover eggs in a carton that the cleaning lady offered us as she cleaned out the food someone had left in the refrigerator tomorrow.

I reflected on our one-night accommodations. Many people would love to have what we had for a roof over their heads. Indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and a bed with a duvet would be heavenly compared to their meager circumstances. Surprises await us around every corner. We do not have the preioscope of my youth, where, due to a bend in the plastic design, you could see a little around a corner if you held it just right. Suspense is our master. What we think is going to happen and what really happens can be quite different. The difference between a luxurious two-room suite and a Hovel from the Twilight Zone.

We set our hopes on how many dollars we can accumulate. Money is a gentleman’s agreement that paper or coin has value because we all agree on its value. The Great Depression of 1929 illustrated the vaporization of our love for money.

So much of our lives balances on the tightrope of capitalism. Certain hopes and security can be wiped out quicker than riches. Faith is a bulwark against surprise. Believing in the eternal is important to us spiritual creatures. We take a step at a time. Patience preserves our souls. Paul of the Bible said he knew the feeling of abasement and abundance. My life story.

MJ and I stopped by Paper Source today. We bought more cards. I love going to Paper Source and thinking about upcoming birthdays and Christmas. Surprises that I know are around the corner. Oh, the joys of the simple life and coffee in my hotel room…

The evening is warm and muggy, with a hint of rain to come, though it is not yet revealed. So we humans tussle with believing we are the masters of our domain, even as the ground we walk on is holy. We come from the earth, and to it we return. We are made of holy stuff. Sometimes we do not realize it. Since we are members in good standing of the Holy Ground Club, how do we decide some get the rich dirt while others get what is left?

If we accept that God created the heavens and the earth and the earth was without form or void, and darkness covered the deep, did he have lush plantations for his favorites and 40 acres and a mule for those who were somehow lesser? Could it be that when we look into the eyes of another human, we look into the eyes of God?

‘It sure is hot this evening,’ James said. ‘No breeze except what this funeral home fan can produce,’ James continued. ‘Mama stands in front of the ice box for a chill,’ James laughed. ‘She told me I can sleep on the screened-in porch to help stay cool,’ Jame winked. ‘Lord, have mercy, a shower would be welcome,’ James mused as he drank his beer. ‘I saw Jewel in the middle of the street crying for her son,’ Jame noted. ‘Her cry pierced my soul,’ Jame whispered. ‘He was running through folks’ backyards fleeing a gang that told him they would kill him,’ James said. ‘He hid in the pool house next to an inground swimming pool, and when the police came, he was frightened to come out,’ James noted.

‘Are you ready for church, dear?’ Donald called his wife. ‘We must not be late as I am the scripture reader this morning,’ Donald continued. ‘We have the fundraiser this afternoon for the Library, I hope they fixed the air conditioning,’ Donald mentioned. ‘I swear the last time we were there I perspired,’ Donald smirked. ‘I hope the panhandler is not by the restaurant door this Sunday as she was last Sunday. It is upsetting and hurts my appetite,’ Donald mused to himself.

The people were happy in the Woods. They had gathered to hear a dynamic woman preacher preach. Her feet were bare as the ground was Holy.

The land is glad for a drink. Soft rain falls. Soft rain is delightful. Refreshing and cleansing is the rain that falls upon the ground. A beckoning call for peace and understanding. Our coarse society is fond of the cudgel. Politics has degenerated into a blood sport. How can we embarrass and demoralize the opponent? A wrestling venue on the lawn of the White House is in line with our values of success as vanguishment and body slams.

Contrary to a popular slogan, the Press is not fake news. Freedom of the press is protected in the Constitution of the United States. The key to success is for politicians to support logical, systematic policies that they understand and are not afraid to defend to the press. Policies that are not based in reality, the product of magical thinking, are problematic when it comes to answering questions regarding them. Reversals and lies are hard to defend to the press. Going to war for a narcissistic reason is hard to validate.

Becoming angry and stalking off is not a good answer to hard questions that you do not want to answer. That is a smoke cloud of distraction. Magicians have understood this trick for a long time. The interesting thing regarding freedom of the press is that it extends to all. Some decry the fake news until they want their turn at rhetoric not based in reality.

We search for a club and cleavers when we need pruning shears and gardeners’ gloves. The soft rain nurtures. The birds are singing. Crickets are chirping. Truth is truth, even if it does not have high ratings. Lies are lies, even when they are loved and embraced by millions of excited followers and adherents. We all benefit from the soft rain. We contemplate peace as the sky opens for all of us. Nature does not recognize political parties.

So the press has its finger in the dyke, attempting to prevent the dyke from bursting and a flood coming. Countries that do not have a free press do not have those who support the autocratic leader as citizens of abundance. On the contrary, once the dictator has firm control, all eat the same gruel dished out by the State. When there is no longer a place to hear the truth, darkness covers the land. The truth is turned on its head. Black is white up in down, and two plus two is five. The emperor is naked. Sycophants tell him with great passion that his attire is made by the gods. ‘You are altogether lovely, your every word is captured for posterity, and gold statues are erected to your brilliance,’ the Emporers Throng attest. ‘Sleep if you like slumber on, we will tell you what you need to know,’ the Emperor’s Throng continues. ‘Your hair is beautiful, you are in perfect shape, we have brought perfumeed ointment for your feet, the ET said. ‘Those who do not agree with you are stupid or crooked or both. Here is a golden mirror that we will now fasten to your collar so that you may behold the golden brilliance that you bless us with each day,’ the ET shouted with tears in their eyes and snot running down their cheeks. ‘We should partake of his body and blood as we do in communion,’ the ET offered with a frenzy! ‘If we imbibe his essence, we shall be like he is,’ the ET cried!

‘Ow, you bit me, the Emperor cried!

Pastor Meg spoke of Abraham taking a step at a time to follow God’s promise to him. Neither a road map nor GPS. No plan disclosed, nor how to find one. Faith. Difficult to do for the planners among us.

Such is life. We travel unexpected roads. We find unimagined destinations. As the philosopher Forrest Gump told us, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.’

The evening shadows gather. A June Day goes by so quickly. One week in, and there are only 30 days. Two beavers hustled across the yard. They are in search of a good nap.

The President stormed off an interview on Meet the Press. When confronted with simple questions involving facts or the lack of them, he develops anxiety…angry anxiety. He may have a bad stomach and need Tums. I have never felt satisfied with being angry. I always feel I have lost.

A step at a time leads to calm thoughts. Nothing to prove, no keeping us with the Joneses. Not caring what people think lifts a heavy burden.

Great accomplishments begin with a first step. When I became a manager at Southern Illinois University, I felt ill-equipped. Yet, with each step, it became a little easier. The comfort or courage did not come overnight. Often, it took me a year to feel somewhat prepared for what a job required. The rewards for taking one step at a time are wonderful.

Our safety requires truth tellers. People who are not afraid to speak truth to power. Kristen Welker was not afraid this morning on Meet the Press. Scott Pelly fired by CBS for asking direct questions about management’s dismissal of a brilliant journalist who was not afraid to speak truth to power. We desperately need more who will speak truth to power.

The Bullfrogs are tuning up for their performance. They are in good voice this evening. The Lead Bass singer in the quartet told the Old Man that if everyone would practice taking a step out of their comfort zone, many of our problems would be over.

I was informed yesterday through this blog website that I’ve now been writing blogs for 13 years. So cheers to 13 years! Looking back to 2013 until …

Walking Works of Art

Saturday is fitting like a pair of comfortable shoes. The Old Man has finished his Woods Walk. Summer is all around. The lull of life is appreciated. New ventures call our name. The Old Man could hear the strange call of two Wood animals talking with each other this morning. The guttural sounds they made were alien. They were having quite a conversation. I had heard the sound before in another life.

I wonder what the animals think when we humans converse. We are speaking of simple things, while they may hear words of danger. Perhaps the Woods Family hears a call to arms when we are discussing where to build the campfire. Misunderstandings happen. Have you spoken to someone, and they only heard select words? What they heard makes for an interesting conclusion.

Peace comes to the seeker. We each hold the key to peace. No one has the market on peace. It is a free gift. Politicans tell us that we will have peace through strength. The words of Christ are compassion and empathy; the poor are mentioned time and again. Jesus was focused on the poor, those who have no voice, the unseen among us. He did not minister with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s biceps and carrying an AK 47. He was not John Wayne with a Colt revolver strapped on his side. Jesus did not say, ” Follow me, and I will make you rich.

The Aliens kept speaking with each other in the Woods. Mr. Mole told the Old Man that they were talking about him. Mr. Mole said he spoke a little Alien. The Aliens were planning a conquest of Earth, capturing humans to take back to the Andromeda Galaxy for study. Mr. Mole said they were discussing whether we would allow them to feel us as they had no eyes.

The tiny visitors became friends with the old man and Mr Mole. They felt peace in each other’s presence

June will soon be a week old. Neva J often reminded me how fast summer is. In my halcyon days, this would be a Friday evening, and it would be a good time to enjoy a movie at the Orpheum Theatre. It might be a vampire movie or a Frankenstein feature. Escape from the muggy weather. Thoughts of the power of a cross in repelling Dracula. Or a musing on who the real monster was in Frankenstein. It stayed light until 9:00, and the possibilities were many. There were pretty girls and fast cars. I learned of hemis and Funny Cars. Ben Franklin Dime Store had shelves of car models, paint, and glue to put them together. There was Stony the soldier, Johnny West, and Chief Cherokee. GI Joes had not taken their place of leadership at the time.

Eldorado was a working person’s community. Folks were serious about life and enjoyed a good time on Friday night. A dry town, but liquor could be obtained at the package store in the tiny village of Muddy, 3 miles away. One Christmas season, Lanny gave me a couple of swigs of Peppermint Schnapps, and I felt festive. My world swirled a bit, and the movie that Friday night was especially enjoyable.

Eldorado was full of churches. Most folks attended one of them. After the Honky Tonk on Friday and Saturday night a little church was in order. Neva J’s sisters and mother attended church on Thursday night, Saturday night, and twice on Sunday. Neva J and I did not. I attended the movie on Sunday, and Neva J read books. Everyone read books in those days. Television was fun in black and white on three channels, and two of the stations were fuzzy.

We had a party line for our telephone. Most of the time, when you picked up the receiver, someone was talking. If you had an emergency call, you would ask the Gabby Gusses and Gertrudes to give you a moment to make it. Often when you got the precious use of the phone, you could hear a member of the Party listening in on the Party Line. If the stealth listener felt you had spoken too long, they would clear their throat or ask you how much longer you intended to tie up the phone. Long-distance calls cost extra. They were considered frivolous unless they had to be made.

Cash was the coin of the realm. Credit cards were for the rich. Of course, Dracula preferred blood.

The birds are playing tag. They have a cedar tree to frolic in. From their point of view, the world is well-ordered and good. Two squirrels are playing near the pond. They have no regrets, only the energy of a day in June.

We worry about many things while the plot escapes our notice. We will never do it all or be it all. On Friday in June, we see our lines in the play of life. We learn when to enter the stage and where to stand while we deliver our part. We are vital to the production.

Another pleasant evening. A calm rest is in the air. I gaze at my neighbor’s elaborate bird fountain. He has been gone for years, but the bird fountain remains. The sun is soft, and the light is blue-green. Turn around once, and it will be dark this time of day. Our beloved images are affected by light. Shadows emerge as the sun retreats.

Shadows fall over much of our world. Some in government lie as second nature. They are members of the need-to-know club. In their bylaws, the rest of us do not need to know. The arrogance/banality of power is that they think we do not see them in the shadows.

Light mixed with colors makes a kaleidoscope. We are members of the simple and complex grand design. When the light magnifies and illuminates the panoply of colors, our eyes widen, and our hearts beat for joy. We were meant to soar with the angels. Our feet are firmly on Earth, terra firma, in the shadows. About the time we are ready to try out our wings, clouds cover us. The Earth looks different in the dark. We bump into things searching for the light switch. We stub our toe going to the restroom in the dark.

The frogs are singing. They know sunset is coming. The cat walks through his yard on an evening inspection. The little boy walks his dog. The easy breeze of June is compelling. Crickets are singing a summer song. The grass and sky look different. The Sun is lower in the sky. The pond is a mirror. The reflections change. Everything we see is fleeting. The same landscape changes all day long. The perfect photos are luck and chance. Miss the first chance, and the photo is gone. The kaleidoscope is turning.

A good day to be alive. A special day. It is the first day of the rest of our lives. The significance can not be oversold. The older I become I see my friends and colleagues pass the Veil. I wish I had known them better. We all have a temporary Visa to a magnificent realm. I saw Mr. Racoon today. We took each other’s measure. He then walked slowly away, looking for something more interesting. He had a serene countenance. Mr. Racoon wondered if I had taken the wrong fork in the road.

What a journey we are on together. The Old Man was once young in Chicago. He lived on a street that reminded him of the Leave It To Beaver television show. Friends along the street and one who gave Marionette Shows. The Old Man was intrigued by the Marionettes. They had a life of their own. The Old Man thought they were real. Neva J played badminton with her buddy Ivy. George and Helen joined Neva J and Bill and the young Old Man for summer cookouts. Life was good, peaceful and regular until it was not.

The road has many hills and curves. We sneak ahead and look around the next curve. Our past and future destination is ahead and over the next hill. The Old Man sees himself with his sons and wife around the Christmas Tree in front of the humongous picture window.

Ahead, we wonder whether we will reach the end of the journey or if it is the beginning. Our hearts are full, and we have learned a little along the way. We learned to share our toys. Nap time is good. Don’t buck the line or your place in the queue. Everyone hurts. Everyone loves. Help others. Seek no reward. Play nice in the sandbox. We all want to be seen. We all want to be heard. We all want to tell someone our good ideas.

When we began seeking, it seemed time had no end. First was school, then work, and the Golden Years. All whisked by like a weaver’s shuttle. Could it be that indeed time has no end?