Blossoms in the wilderness

The original essay appeared in San Angelo Standard-Times, under my byline, back in 2010. Additional material, written for this update, may seemingly bear little relevance to the 2010 piece, though I would ask you to consider it, primarily with regard to hard-won freedom [Juneteenth].

*****

   The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;... Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way. Say to those with fearful hearts: Be strong, do not fear; your God will come  to save you. (Isaiah 35: 1-3)

   I'd read that passage and reflected on it for several days, wondering how it could be tied to this month's holiday observances and my next column. June has several holidays: Flag Day, observed across the nation; Fathers Day, well known and much celebrated; and Juneteenth, perhaps less well-known and observed than the other two.

   Some fathers of our acquaintance are still full of vigor; they help wobbly toddlers, bail us out of bad situations, coach sports. Others are in physical or mental decline, relying upon the strength of younger generations. Fathers Day is, quite rightly, an occasion to gather with family and honor the patriarch of the clan.

   I'm not sure if there's a card acknowledging Juneteenth; if there isn't, there needs to be. The holiday dates back to the Emancipation Proclamation. To slaves, the proclamation  must indeed have seemed like a blossom in the wilderness. It is a bloom which needs to be nurtured so its beauty will not fade.

   Slavery takes many forms: addictions; bad domestic situations; stifling jobs; but freedom is not always a matter of will power or walking away. Then, there may be a "frying pan to fire" outcome to consider.

   Some use religion as an ostrich uses sand and some tell the less fortunate their troubles would go away if they just had faith. It has been my experience that while faith does not, in and of itself, eliminate burdens, it may provide strength to make them bearable.

   Maybe your dad cannot help your situation; our Heavenly Father can. That is not to say evil and misfortune will magically disappear; we must use our God-given free will to make wise choices, to battle and overcome oppression, depression and whatever evils beset us.

   Be assured; the wilderness is blooming all around us and the beauty waits for us to see, acknowledge and appreciate.

   Meanwhile, you can make a start by taking your dad to a Juneteenth celebration, wave your flag, proclaiming your patriotism and, should you be so inclined, lift high the banner of Christ.

***

[2019]
   On any given day, news stories involve: a rise in homelessness; greater frequency of drug abuse; suicides, particularly among LGBTQ persons; a dearth of affordable housing; mass incarceration of minority populations, etc. If one cares about humanity in the least, it is heartbreaking. It isn't even extraordinary for one person to be affected by several of these circumstances. This is just a "f'r instance" but not at all outside the realm of possibility: a minority kid comes out as trans, gets kicked out of parental home, purchases a small amount of controlled substance and gets arrested. Without money for bail, chances of any kind of future [outside "corrections" system] are pretty grim.
   Several of the Democrats who have decided to run for President of United States, have made affordable housing part of their platforms. I'm glad it is getting attention and dare to hope it will bear significant fruit. Listening to NPR recently, I heard it reported that there are several occurrences of people who become homeless because they simply can no longer afford the rent. They did not start taking drugs or buy a new car or suffer a catastrophic illness - it was just their wages did not increase commensurately with expenses.
   It is my belief these circumstances occur with greater regularity in a "right to work" economy. Getting rid of unions, which protect workers, and making everything about "what's good for business" is a sorry-ass way to run an economy or a country. Short-sighted people cannot seem to comprehend that what is good for business is to make sure workers are well taken care of. Workers are also consumers: they require a living wage so they can purchase the goods they make. They need job security; the assurance they won't be downsized because it is more profitable for their overlords to transfer jobs to a country so poor that what amounts to slave wages in the country of origin seems like a bonus to inhabitants of the more economically impoverished country. We simply must evolve into a global society, focused on taking care of each other; a society in which everyone has a place to live, enough food to eat, body autonomy: in plain language, human rights.
   Right now, we are using resources at an alarming rate and destroying many which cannot be replenished. We must discipline ourselves to become responsible consumers, instead of gluttons. It has been said before, and is probably more true now than ever: the life you save, may be your own.

Politics ain't polite

16 June, 2019
   Anymore, elections seem to run together. United States needs to adopt European ways; in England, persons running for office can only campaign for six weeks. I say if you can't sell yourself in that length of time, then too bloody bad.
   As I continue to find old essays in my archives, I am happy to share them.

*****

9 June, 2012   

   Checked Facebook, evening of 31 May [2012]; a friend had posted a networking opportunity occurring that very night. The event was BEER WITH BLOGGERS. So, I went and met some very interesting people.

   Because this is an election year and because of the times in which we live, many of the bloggers have a political agenda, which, I suppose, can be said of us all. One fellow had been in Wisconsin so long, he was qualified to pass petitions there. He has a vested interest in their election. Since Michigan is a neighboring state, the recall attempt is making big news here too.

   I spent a couple hours just listening, seeing what I could find out. One can glean quite a bit, when people are *ripe for the picking,* so to speak. The subject of unemployment and some side effects was under discussion. A fellow, affiliated with local Gray Panthers, was saying homeless shelters in the area turn away a thousand people a day, on average! That represents a lot of needy people. It seems pretty much the same all over.

   I often wonder what keeps the "haves" from sharing their abundance with the "have nots." Not just the "obscenely" wealthy, though they would never even miss it. Even those of us who think we are "poor" live in what many would rightly deem luxury.

   At work the next morning, made conversation with the night watchman. We spoke of killing machines. At the blogger meeting, one fellow said, If you kill someone with a knife, it's personal. A gun is a little more removed. Next morning, Noel and I spoke of drones which require only "the push of a button" to become activated.

    Killing is now impersonal, sanitized. That is a grave danger, because it robs people of their worth and dignity. At the same time, it absolves the perpetrator of consequence and/or guilt. I believe much of what is wrong with the world stems from the apathy toward the inherent value of individuals.

   We are killing ourselves in to the bargain. When we have little or no regard for our fellow planet-dwellers, our own sense of worth becomes inevitably diminished. It begins by being distorted.

   Many in the Baby Boomer generation feel as if we are in a time warp. There are things we perhaps only imagined, such as cellphones and computers. Other things which seemed a "given," like a weekly newspaper, are slowly disappearing.

   Invariably someone argues this is the price of progress. I would submit not all change is "progress," just as it is not inherently evil. But really, people, let's think these things through!

   But, I digress. We were talking about distortion, so-called progress and the value of life. The point I really want to make is this: those who do not hold the same ideals are no less human than we are. Therefore, we cannot indiscriminately kill them.

   Life in all its glorious diversity should be celebrated, revered, cherished. Can we please just do that? Thanks for trying and for hearing me out.

***

   My late sister's take on progress was, "Onward, forward, ever downward." Sadly, there is still a deplorable lack of affordable housing. A recent statistic shows that many people are homeless because their rents were higher than their incomes. We need unions and living wages.

Ancient Mysteries, Timeless Magic

This story was written many years ago, when I had met an extraordinary young man in Texas. He had some self-esteem issues and set about changing himself. He sort of *fell off the face of the earth,* and did not come back on the scene for quite sometime. Since he had disappeared without a word, I had no idea he was re-inventing himself. I moved on, physically and emotionally: that damned "Catholic timing" left me in a *place* where I felt like the emotional equivalent of a homeless person, sleeping outside a hotel. I still have fond memories.

*****

   Several years ago, a Highlands woman gave birth to a great, bonny boy. The child was christened with the name borne by the eldest son in each generation of his clan, Hamish MacAffee. To avoid confusing the multiple Hamishes, the lad was known throughout the village as Jamie. His great-grandsire was Hamish the Elder, his grand-da was known as Hamish the Younger and his father was called James.

   Young Jamie possessed an attribute not fully appreciated by either his family or the local populace. He had a brilliant mind that went beyond a mere capacity for the acquisition and retention of book knowledge - he figured out how and why things work as they do. Sometimes this was accomplished by deconstructing and rebuilding things around the house or the surrounding area, hence the lack of appreciation and enthusiasm for Jamie's talent. But as often seems the way of things, such a gift is sometimes accompanied by something less desirable. Jamie's curse was a touch of madness brought on by the voices in his head. They were loyal companions, who wished him no harm - and though he never mentioned them, Jamie thought everyone heard voices inside their mind.

   Jamie grew to be a very stout and sturdy lad, who longed to play rugby and cricket with his mates at school, but his mother feared that her only child would sustain an injury, so she forbade it. This avenue of social contact thwarted, Jamie withdrew from his fellow students and spent more time in conversation with The Voices.

   Still, in the usual course of events, he met a young woman who accepted his affections. She was rather pretty, slight of form and stature, and Jamie was in love, altogether smitten. The two wed and, about a year later, his bride bore twins - a bonny little lass and a fine, ruddy boy. Unfortunately, the woman to whom Jamie had given his heart proved unkind: she broke it and the damage seemed irreparable. Wounded and bewildered, Jamie tried to gather the remnants of his life and put them back together, but shattered dreams are very fragile. This fragility seemed incongruous to one so physically strong.

   Jamie moved to a cabin on his grandfather's property, leaving his children to live with their mother in the home he had built for them. He walked into town every day to work, earning what he needed to support his family. Finding him alone, The Voices again came to reside inside his head. They did not chide him for having abandoned them whilst he dwelt in a state of marital bliss, being only too glad to come fill his emptiness and make the interminable silence a bit more bearable.

   Quite some time later, Jamie heard of a wee, fey woman born many generations past to the people of the North Country. She lived a goodly distance away in a quiet village in the Lowlands of one of the eastern counties. Jamie had seen her image, and perceived that she had a comely smile and kind, hazel eyes. He also noticed she had chestnut-colored hair and a soft, amply-endowed figure. He had heard her voice, and was intrigued by its sultry melody. The Voices, too, heard the musical lilt and concurred that here was a woman who would understand them.

   Jamie began a correspondence with Bella Blum, for that was the faerie woman's name, and after several weeks, it seemed time to arrange a meeting. Now, this decision was not without risk: Jamie feared that his sheer enormity, he stood six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed twenty-five stone, i.e., about 350 lbs, might overwhelm or perhaps offend the woman. For her part, Bella wondered if her advancing years would discourage gentlemanly attentions. Loneliness persuaded them to take a chance and they appointed a time. Jamie had business with one of the Lowlands merchants, during the second week of the following month. Concluding his errand, MacAffee followed the directions Miss Blum had given him and called at her house.

   Inviting her guest in, Bella offered him a glass of iced tea. They sat and talked for a while, of nothing in particular. Then Jamie said he would like to go down to the creek he recalled from his youth, as some distantly related kinfolks resided in the area and he'd visited the region before.

   Bella packed a hamper with several thick slices of homemade bread, six slices of smoked ham, the remains of a peach cobbler, and a gallon of hard cider. Taking a worn blanket from a cedar chest, she patted her hound and left her at home as the poor, wee beastie was old, arthritic and nearly blind.

   Jamie set the hamper in back, as Bella climbed into his truck, then he got in and they drove off. It was a few miles to the creek and Jamie commented that the surrounding countryside was not as he remembered it and he told her how things had been when he was a boy.

   Following a path frequented by campers, they found a secluded, shady spot high on the bank. They spread the blanket and settled themselves to enjoy their picnic in relative silence, now and then commenting on some inconsequential thing or another, as the cider mellowed them.

   With the warmth resulting from sun and drink, came a growing desire to touch each other. Brushing a crumb of bread from Jamie's mustache, Bella's hand lingered a moment and she leaned in to kiss him. Surprised at her boldness, she blushed and started to back away. Jamie drew her close, returning the kiss and sliding a hand inside the scooped neck of her peasant blouse. She smiled becomingly and yielded to him as his kisses trailed down her neck onto her pale, creamy breasts. Desire kindled long-suppressed memories: was she not one of Goddess' own priestesses, and did she not bear the mark of the crescent moon upon her breast? Bella had lived within the confines of this society's pleasure-smothering  mores for so long, she had all but forgotten Goddess was honored by the art of earthly love.

   It had been such a long time since Bella had experienced the touch of a man; knowing he wanted her. She drew her knees up and Jamie knew it for what it was - an invitation for him to explore under her skirt. Instinctively, their bodies moved is the sensual nuances of a dance as old as time, leaving garments cast off. Whispers and kisses filled the afternoon. Time lost its relevance, seeming to expand. Hands grasped yielding flesh, faces were pressed into intimate places, and the heady perfume of musk was intoxicating, as well as invigorating. Bella's full, pendulous breasts, hung over Jamie's face, the taut nipples inviting his mouth. Her own mouth sought his swelling manhood, and she eagerly received the oblation of his masculinity. As he laid her on her back, seeking entry to her depths, he paid homage, kissing the mark of yin and yang, below her navel. It still surprised her to find it there, though she had tended what was, in reality, a burn scar, anointing it with aloe, to help it heal.

   There were lulls in conversation, filled by the whispers of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around them. Jamie even spoke of the voices he had heard most of his life, Bella smiled and inquired about them. Mildly astonished and somewhat pleased that she accepted their existence, he spoke of them quite matter-of-factly, saying they served him variously as counselors, advisers, and friends. He told her on occasion, especially when he was tired or perplexed, they did not seem quite so benevolent. Not so much that they nagged or scolded, just that they would not be still long enough for him to think.

   A passerby might have seen what appeared to be a swarm of dragonflies hovering about, but it was The Voices. They were delighted to realize that this fey woman knew Them, understood Them: not merely as a corporate entity, but individually! There were lights dappling the water too, but it was not a reflection of the sun, as some might suppose: it was a sacred entity, awakened by sacramental copulation. The Voices rejoiced that Bella would not banish Them but would welcome Them. They recognized in this unprepossessing woman the presence of ancient wisdom and blissful sensuality of women like Igraine, Morgana LaFey and the priestesses of the mystic Isle of Avalon. Indeed, Bella had read the old stories and was very fond of them. She found magic in the commonplace because she sought it, knowing it was there, if one truly wanted to find it. Indeed, she held the belief that the Goddess was honored by enjoying sensual pleasures. It had been a long time since opportunity presented, and the mores of the times in which she lived had dulled her passions. Those passions needed only a bit of tinder, to re-ignite.

   The man and woman passed the time most comfortably, pleased to have found in each other a kindred spirit who was good company. Just passing the time without having to do anything particular, Jamie noted that Bella, though no longer a maiden, evinced a youthful character that kept her young at heart. He found her easy, musical, laughter enchanting; her body enticing, and he experienced a lightheartedness he had not felt for some time.

   For her part, Bella, who had a fondness and an affinity for wild creatures, found Jamie's ursine qualities rather endearing and she loved taking his great, shaggy head into her lap. Thinking again of how his thick red beard had felt against her fleshy thighs, Bella shivered and felt her nipples harden. Later, she would touch herself, thinking of how she felt with his mouth on her clitoris, of him turning her over, swatting her bottom and entering her from behind.

   The pair realized the passage of time when they observed the nearly transparent image of the full moon in the twilit sky. Gathering things, and pulling her disheveled self together, Bella commented that the lunar orb had seemed to retain its fullness a couple days longer this month. Jamie smiled, saying he had also noticed. They got into the truck and drove back to town, silently content to see the moon take on a deep, rusty-orange hue, as it dominated the horizon. The emerging stars were complemented by the twinkling of fireflies.

   Home again, Bella asked Jamie to sit on the porch swing with her and take a cup of tea before leaving. Etiquette deigned that each thank the other for a lovely day and when Bella extended her hand for Jamie to shake, he brought it to his lips and ever-so-gently kissed it. She smiled and stood on her toes so she could brush her lips against his. Even though he'd spent the afternoon in intimate, carnal knowledge of her ample, desirable flesh, he blushed, and got into his truck. Before he left, he said he would like to return, if he may. She replied she hoped he would come back soon.

   Taking her dog out for a short evening stroll, Bella pondered musingly on the spark, which might well become a consuming flame. Bella had known the great, roaring blaze of passion, and was not averse to the notion of being so consumed yet again. She began to look forward to Jamie's next visit, whenever that might be.

Of diamonds and dragons

10 June, 2019
I knew I had written a piece several years ago, which was again seasonally relevant. Searching my archives, I found it.

*****

6/6/2012

   By the time this posts, my sixtieth birthday will have come and gone. It has been my good fortune never to have dreaded my age. I think I never shall - I enjoy life and it's all good. The first thing that marked start of June was schlepping rent check over to the office, then putting new tags on my car. Gotta stay legal. Saturday night, I went out and sang karaoke. It was the first time in a couple years I'd been to a karaoke joint and I had fun.

   Sunday, 3 June, after church, I went down to visit Mom and Dad. Had a nice little visit and shared a brownie as sort of a birthday celebration. That night, there was an email from my Argentine correspondent, asking that I please post all blog entries on one site, to avoid confusion. I readily acceded to his request, as it had seemed somewhat ill contrived anyway.

   After work Monday, stopped at St. Joe's Hospital and got lab work done. Tech asked if I had an arm preference for her to draw blood. Kind of wished I was an octopus. She did wish me happy birthday. Got home and changed clothes. Dropped off water payment and saw Antonio, one of the maintenance crew. He said he was just admiring the clouds, and commented that not enough people take time to appreciate the beauty around them. Definitely agreed with him on that point. He has a poet's soul.

   Then went shopping for a new blouse - my roomie's birthday present to me. Made out great: three pretty T-shirts and a pair of denim capris. Then we had lunch at Applebee's. Came home and received calls from my two out-of-state sisters. Then had to put phone back on charger - between the two of them, must have talked about three hours. Laughter and tears: they season one's life.

   One has to admire a classy dame like Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Not wanting to tromp on my birthday, her Diamond Jubilee was scheduled for 5 June. Oh, you and I both realize I didn't even enter the equation, but I hope it brought you a smile.

   I got to thinking, if the Queen were 84, instead of 86, she would be a Dragon, like myself. Then I realized she's the same age as Dad and is, therefore, a Tiger. Quite auspicious, I believe, as Her Majesty is guarded by two powerful totems. Born in Year of the Tiger and crowned in Year of the Dragon.

   Thanks to my Facebook friends, I received greetings from around the world. I felt nearly as celebrated as the Queen. I wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's, because I would miss all of you.

   Missed Full Moon - I would at least have howled. Hope Goddess of Night sky did not feel slighted. Saw Moon in afternoon sky as it started to wane.

   Tuesday night's agenda was Opera on Tap at Frenchie's in Depot Town in Ypsi (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw County, Michigan). Theme was "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Good music and good food. How sweet is that? Had hoped to be joined by friends, but had a burger, a beer and a very good time. If only I were famous, I could have had my meal comped. Events of this nature will head the list of things I will miss when I move. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy them to the fullest.

  The very recognizable "Habanera," from Bizet's Carmen was the second number in the first set. The second set was sung primarily in English. Included were: "So In Love" - from Cole Porter's Kiss Me, Kate; "Embraceable You" - Gershwin's Girl Crazy and "If You Go Away" - Jacques Brel.

   Admittedly, I had difficulty making the connection to the evening's theme, but that may have been because I couldn't hear the introduction.Nevertheless, I passed an enjoyable evening. Maybe a number from Damn Yankees would have tied it together. Next show is scheduled for 3 July, the theme is Dog Days of Summer.

   The Dragon presides over the remainder of the year and Queen Elizabeth II's Diamond Jubilee has been noted for posterity. Every day is cause for celebration.

________________

This year, eve of my birthday marked the New Moon. I am not your typical anglophile, but I sincerely wish Her Majesty continued good health. God save the Queen.

Dueling proboscis

7 June, 2019
Hello my dear,
   While driving toward trail where I take my morning hike, a mosquito came into my field of vision. Wasn't sure my swat was effective until a glance at my T-shirt revealed, not a booger but the corpus delecti of my would-be assailant. Guess I showed that little bloodsucker. Upon arrival at my destination, noticed a couple other vehicles in the car park. I exited my conveyance, unloaded my walker, and set off along the trail. Occupants of other vehicles met and one asked the other, "Why have you got the truck?" The reply involved a spouse getting an oil change and some minor grousing about the inconvenience of not being able to drive one's own automobile. I made a comment of thanks for pointing out an upside to single life: not having to drive someone else's car. Speaker added, "I bet you didn't have to get somebody's dirty underwear off the bed, either. Stick with me; I'll give you a whole list of advantages." Since I figure I'm doomed to "life in solitary," I'm always looking for levity in the situation.
   Proceeding in a southwesterly direction, my goal was to traverse the distance between Green and Occidental Highways, on part of a bike trail in Lenawee County, Michigan. Though unsure of the distance walked, it was accomplished in about fifty minutes: this included time to phone and check a sibling's location; swat at a few mosquitoes; see a baby bunny; and notice a toad. There was also a fellow of indeterminate age that I would have mistaken for the elder of my two brothers but the dog with him was not a schnoodle, and besides, the color was wrong.
   Around nine o'clock, I made it back to the car and went about the day's other activities. High on my list of priorities was changing socks and shoes. Then, laundry and pick up produce from the vegie truck. Early in the afternoon, I indulged in a bit of "self-medication" - which, anymore, consists of red wine and dark chocolate.
   This evening, there was a community potluck, at which I ate my fill, without overindulging. I managed to talk myself out of a meat sale at Busch's, telling myself I would be healthier if I reduced the amount of animal flesh in my diet. Whether that is actually true or not, I do believe it is inarguable that eating more plant-based food is in my best interests.
   Just came indoors a few minutes ago, before the mosquitoes got thick enough to be a hazard. My invited guest has made her way home and leftovers are stored in the fridge. May have a cup of tea, prior to retiring for the night. On weekend agenda: lunch with a friend; taking delivery of three dozen eggs; updating the travel bag kept in the car; wash dishes (definitely low priority); visit the old homestead and inhabitants thereof; make a significant dent in the correspondence demanding reply.
   And now, as Fagin's troupe of orphan's sang in Oliver! -"So long, fare thee well; pip-pip, cheery-oh," (be back soon)

Jo

Remembering when ...

Memories from 2015, previously sent as a cyber letter.

***

Ah my dear,
   Sometimes I want so much to see your face, kiss your cheek, hug your neck, breathe in the smell of another human, I could weep with longing. But really, what would that accomplish? - Naught but red puffy eyes and clogged sinus passages. Who needs that?
   On a recent visit to see Dad, I marveled, both at how much and how little the place had changed during the six decades of my memory. Landscape has been altered vastly over the years, as has the layout of the structure itself. Dad built the stairways to upstairs, which used to be just attic space, and to basement. Latter included a removable bottom step, which impeded toddler escape. When I was a child, the front yard had raspberry briars, where my grandmother would leave hair taken from her brush, that birds might use in building their nests. There was a hickory tree that yielded hard little nuts for us to eat, after we had exerted ourselves, breaking their shells. Decades ago, tons of earth had been moved, to create outside access to the basement. My younger siblings are now the only ones who can navigate the steps to either basement or upstairs floor; Dad has not been off ground level in years.
   That is not uncommon. Years ago, while married to a quadriplegic, I realized the obstacle stairs pose to navigability. Seeing churches designed with great flights of steps, because up represented "closeness to God," make me sad [and maybe a tad angry] to think of those denied access. Anymore, I spend a lot of time thinking about "privilege," and how to make life better for more people.
   After spending a couple hours with Dad, talking during muted commercials of whatever *How Do They Do That?* program one of the science channels offered, I got ready to leave. Outside, spent a few minutes visiting with Sister. She spoke of facilitating a butterfly hatching. A Monarch cocoon had been attached to the house, but was in partial shade. She realized it would not get warm enough long enough, for butterfly to emerge. So she bent some metal, creating reflectors; that did the trick. Then she used a bunch of clover to entice it off the house, and carried it to a patch of milkweed. Not everyone has a sister who is a butterfly midwife.
   Confessed to sometimes feeling bad that I am not more in tune with family dynamic. She gently shook her head and told me not to worry about it. We spoke of aging not being the *horror* some perceive it to be, and I told her how it seems life rewards me for being grateful. We made mention of Pontiff's visit to United States and his admonition that comfort is the enemy. We share this belief: it is excessive comfort that is humanity's downfall. People cannot be content with a mere sufficiency - they feel compelled to demand more. It is that primary evil, Greed, rearing its ugly head. Greed will be the death of us, and when humans finally destroy themselves, Earth can heal.

Alright my darling, know that I miss you and love you and will soon write again,
Jo

What's for lunch?

   Four years ago, I had already been in my HUD-subsidized apartment for one year. Reminiscence is a lovely practice and I hope you will do your own "time-traveling," after you have read mine.

*****

6-6-15

   Such is today, my heart is positively singing! Last night at dinner, Connie remarked we would not have to worry about cooking Saturday supper, as we had been invited to a graduation open house. She did concede we may need to fix breakfast, whereupon I mused on possibility of receiving invitation to breakfast. and don't you know - that is exactly what happened. As buddy Cecil regularly affirms, life is good. So today, all niggling aches, pains, and disappointments, though not totally forgotten, are at least pushed to bottom of the pile; which is where they definitely belong.

   Reviewing old correspondence, electronic and paper - (some going back a quarter century!) - I see it has been a while since I last wrote. These trips down memory lane are delightful, sometimes poignant, excursions; reading messages written to and received by my much younger self. There are: letters from cousins who served in Vietnam; Christmas cards from people known from community theater days; cards and letters from family; and missives from foreign penpals. In this age of Facebook, several people have posted to my "Timeline," links about letter-writing.

   There are a handful of us who still practice the art and it is one of my life goals to see the practice revived. I have been told it is making a resurgence and that makes me glad. Perhaps World War Two was the last great era of written correspondence, but I can assure you, there is a special bond between individuals who give themselves to this form of communication. Keeping old cards and letters has enabled me to reconnect with long lost acquaintances - such a delight in a culture that seems to withdraw from personal involvement. Last time I was at an airport, I remember talking to a child; my sister said, "You can't do that, Jo - people will think you're a predator." How sad.

   Anyway, hope you are making the most of any opportunities presented. This isn't a long letter, but know that it is jam-packed with love.

   The ocean could draw me away from Michigan; the Atlantic, more than the Pacific - though Oregon and Washington have their attractions. Still, the Carolinas speak my language. It is probably a nonsensical language, the type one speaks to imaginary friends: of chairs on porches, a cup of tea at sunrise, a gentle breeze that whispers in a soft Southern drawl.
   Thinking about I will set up in my new apartment: writing desk with all my stamps, stationery and address book, room for teapot because, as a lady of leisure, I shall write letters and drink tea, or sip wine, while listening to chimes and watching birds and bees flit among flowers. I go through the backlog of my material, searching out *pearls of wisdom* with which to decorate my letters.
I have been invited to visit the South and explore a vocation of "loafering." This noble pastime is vastly misunderstood, denigrated by non-practitioners. One of our more lamentable traits is to demonize those things we do not understand. In a very short time, I have come to think of my new-found friend Eddie as a brother, a kindred spirit, and a 'cohort' - the latter in only the kindest of ways, like two kids who grow up as best friends, exploring the vast, wonder-filled world, inadvertently getting into harmless mischief.

   Hey, didn't mean to sound like an ingrate, referring to Council of Government [in a previous missive] as "damned idiots;" it's just that it seems foolish to insist that we serve meals based on nutrition needs of a 51-yr-old male and then say that our program is geared to needs of "persons over 60." Also, the median age of our participants is probably about 83 and more than half are women. (Anyway, the main "ingredient", or "seasoning" these folks are looking for in a meal is the company.) The [alleged] nutritionist obviously used a "one from column A and two from column B" approach to her meal planning. (I already told you about the chili dog/sweet potato fiasco.) Many of the people who come to the Center can't eat as big a meal as we serve and there are also things we throw out a lot of when we do have it on the menu. Especially mixed greens - no amount of pepper sauce can change them into anything else. (I'm telling you, if Jesus came to dinner, your dad would probably ask if he would please change the greens into gravy and add that half the work was already done since they both begin with "gr.") Then there are those times when soup is on the menu: it's not a real problem on-site, but we are supposed to send the home-delivered meals in a 3-compartment aluminum tray! Who are they trying to kid? So, while I do appreciate the fact that without government subsidy we would be out of business, and I'd have to find another job, [not easy, over age 50], I also feel strongly that some additional thought could have gone into the planning. Perhaps it would be less harsh to refer to the Council as "well-intentioned, but seriously misguided idiots."

Very well - I'll get off my soapbox. Hope y'all have a good weekend.

JoAnn