Cold weather has settled in for a winter’s nap. Christmas has come and gone, and the New Year is growing older. Thoughts of Valentine’s Day and Easter are dancing in our heads. One week ago, we were on Amtrak returning from New Orleans. The holiday we had experienced left us happy and full of wonder. People danced and sang for the joy of art. Hope reigned in the teeth of fear. Life thrived without a authoritarian influence or government. People reached for Heaven while their feet stood on Earth.

When I was a child, television and magazines advertised X-Ray Glasses. These glasses gave you the ability to see the bones of those you met. I think we had a bit of X-Ray spectacles on in the French Quarter. All was not as it seemed. There was a story behind the story. Spirits were watching the dancing, singing, and music. There was a stairway for the young and an escalator for the Golden Year Crowd between Heaven and Earth. Angels and humans ascending and descending while the jazz music played and the congregation danced.

‘I have never seen anything like this nor felt like I do,’ Jane said. ‘There is a joy and peace here that is encompassing,’ Jane continued. ‘The lovely woman singing on the corner has a voice like rushing water and a face of perfect joy,’ Jane observed. ‘I spoke to her before she began performing and she told me of the many hard years of her life, the suffering and tears,’ Jane noted with tears in her eyes. ‘Her singing is directly from her experiences,’ Jane whispered. ‘She told me that she found peace in the French Quarter among kind people,’ Jane said. ‘Here are the Seekers, the woman with the intoxicating voice told me,’ Jane said. ‘People do not judge each other, they seek to help and to live in harmony with Heaven,’ Jane mused.

‘I have been the Head Bartender at the Carousel Bar for the past ten years,’ Ezra said. ‘I see a lot of people, and many are unhappy or searching for peace outside their minds,’ Ezra continued. ‘Some seek the answers to their lack of place and unhappiness in another drink,’ Ezra noted. ‘They look for outside magic when magic comes first from within,’ Ezra explained. ‘Other people experience the leaping of their souls when the spirit hits them, and they rejoice for the communion between them and the angels,’ Ezra laughed with joy. ‘When you are touched by the spirit of God, you experience something extraordinary,’ Ezra smiled. ‘Then you see what it is all about and why you’re here,’ Ezra danced behind the bar.

‘The man danced in the street in a state of bliss,’ Chet said. ‘He was in another world,’ Chet continued. ‘The spirit of his art captivated those who watched him,’ Chet noted. ‘He seemed to be praying through his dance,’ Chet explained. ‘There are many ways to talk to God,’ Chet smiled.

It was a cold Woods Walk today. The Old Man has gone from spring to winter in a week. In fact, it got a little warm in New Orleans most of the time we were there. MJ reminded me of a week ago, when we took our tour of the National World War II Museum, and then we had the good fortune of obtaining four seats together at the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter. We had lain in wait for four seats together but were unsuccessful on a couple of occassions. The Carousel is historically famous. It completes a round of its rotation every twenty minutes. The happy, frenetic activity of the experience was fun.

I often speculate on the possibilities of alternate universes and found one in the French Quarter. People intrigue me. The people of the French Quarter fascinated me. There is a spiritual ambiance in the Quarter. A lack of concern for rhetoric and a focus on life. Have you ever danced in the street? They do in the French Quarter. The debate of what is truth and what is fake news melts in the hope of playing music and singing songs with the Angels as your audience.

Here we are, embarking on the journey through 2026. We knew it would be special in 2025. Time for a sense of place and something new. A year for traditions and new customs. We have instituted Sunday Game Day on the first Sunday of each month. Also, a plan to play Bingo on Wednesday evenings. Plans are in the works for a return to the French Quarter. It is a place we had fun, and that is no small thing for the Old Man.

Life is a magic mysterious journey. We live it once and should seek to understand it from the Angel’s View.

I have adjusted to winter twice after returning from New Orleans. What I was accustomed to is a shock to the system. When I looked at my calendar and saw that we are halfway through January, I was a bit suprised. So it goes in the drumbeat of life. Beginnings turn into middles and middles turn into endings. You need to hold on to your hat to ensure it stays on your head.

The percussive beat of joy we found in New Orleans, we wear like a fine porkpie hat. ‘Nice hat,’ the coat check gentleman told me at the Hotel Monteleone. You see a lot of porkpie hats in the French Quarter. To be in the Monteleone is to want to write. A nationally recognized Literary Hotel. Creativity seeps from every corner. At breakfast Sunday morning, we enjoyed a lovely duet of a Bass Violin and a clarinet alternating with a Tenor Saxaphone next to our table. I played the Tenor Saxaphone in sixth grade and admired the Saxaphonist Boots Randolph.

We visited an Art Gallery with a beautiful floor. They had their Grand Opening Saturday night. Music is everywhere and often free except for a donation as the spirit moves you. If you are enjoying an adult drink or need one for the road, you can carry it along the cobbled sidewalks of the Quarter.

Light and darkness walk arm in arm in the French Quarter. Exuberant people seeking unity with the Angels and homeless sleeping on sidewalks. There is a Spirit that is not easily categorized or described in the French Quarter. A Spirit of acceptance and love, family and home. A unique mixture of human beings, diverse and spiritually attuned, on their way back to Jerusalem. Music brings a leaping of the soul!

A lovely black woman sang on the corner. Flawless with the voice of an angel. People stopped what they were doing in their daily pursuits to listen. She knew her mission, she knew her gift. She sang to no one, she sang to everyone. There is nothing like music from the singer’s soul. Our Souls know the real thing when they hear it, they know it when they feel it. Often, we see things on the surface, but through the grit and sweat of the day. There is a higher purpose and calling. Life is made of the spiritual, and we live in earthly bodies, struggling to understand the meaning.

Well, we are all pumped up! Back from New Orleans with especially glowing memories. We rode Amtrak fourteen hours there and back. When we got on last Tuesday morning at 2:00 A.M., our Roomettes had the beds made for us. MJ slept in the top bunk. It is a different feeling to lie in a bed that is going down the tracks. A bit surreal. The lights of the towns and hamlets of Southern Illinois soon changed to the lights of the little towns of Kentucky. Then breakfast in the dining car. Hot and tasty. The Train rocked more than a cruise liner.

New Orleans was our cup of tea. Its artistic mindset and wonderful jazz music were a balm for our souls. The rhythm of life is unique to the Big Easy and the French Quarter. A different drummer was setting the beat. The Doorman at the Hotel Monteleone greeted us warmly and announced ‘I will be your Doorman.’ It is the first Hotel that I have experienced a doorman, and I thought of the Doorman on Seinfeld. Our Doorman was of great assistance in opening the doors to our Uber cars and helping us unload and load our luggage. As we were leaving, our Doorman asked us how cold it gets in winter where we live, and when we told him teens and twenties, he shivered and replied that New Orleanians are cold when the temperature reaches 60. He wore a neck scarf, a woolen hat, and gloves when he assisted us, and the temperature was in the 60s.

The spiritual light in the eyes of those we met in the French Quarter was inspiring. The lady owner of the Brass Monkey treated us like family and gave Jonathon a 20% discount on some wonderful Limoge keepsakes. The music transported me. I believe that in the French Quarter, two realities collide in happy unison.

Parades, when the stoic among us might ask what are we celebrating? I discerned the French Quarter residents were celebrating the union of Heaven and Earth, the unbroken connection between life and death. The hope of Heaven was walking with the Earth Angels.

Blithe Spirit at Le Petite Theatre brought cool water of laughter to a thirsty worried audience. Authoritarianism brings sadness and suffering. Art brings joy and hope for the future. Theatre speaks truth to power.

Being human is a unique dynamic in the universe. We are made in God’s image, the Bible tells us. Politics has nothing to do with our creation. We seek to soar on the wings of the angels. We want to understand the unknowable. We want to see the face of God. We wait for Godot, and at times he appears in New Orleans.

Well, we visited the World War II Museum in New Orleans in 2013 and again last week. What a moving, immersive experience. I felt as though I had traveled back in time to the days of World War II. MJ’s Dad, Berl, and her uncle, Merle, were soldiers in WWII. Brock and my father in the Pacific Theatre. When I was born, the War had been over for 12 years. In those halcyon days, everyone knew a World War II vet. They were the greatest generation. Dad brought back hand-carved wooden boxes from the islands. Neva J ruminated as to whether Dad had a Pacific Island girlfriend. They married soon after his return from the War.

Anne Frank captured my imagination. Her photos resemble Neva J when she was a girl. The WWII Museum caused me to feel I was there with the Frank family, of which only the father, Otto, survived. He published the Diary Of A Young Girl in 1947. Otto moved the family to his Amsterdam office, where he had a hidden annex behind a bookcase that the family hid from 1942 to 1944. Neva J spoke of Anne Fank often as I grew up. Her affinity for her was extraordinary.

New Orleans is a city of etheral presence. The presence of another unseen world is palpable. The residents of the French Quarter realize this fact and celebrate it. There is more that we do not see than what we see. New Orleanians would not live anywhere else. I video recorded a band at our hotel that moved me to tears. I wondered why I was so moved until I considered that my experience was special and singular in my life. Angels walk among us in human form. We feel it from time to time. We know it in our hearts. Something is happening that unites Heaven and Earth, and we are in the middle of the Union.

Anne Frank hoped for the opportunity to grow and live the joining of Heaven and Earth. She dreamed of life outside her family’s hideaway behind the bookshelf. She wrote in her diary of the more that awaited her in the coming years. As I stood in the Anne Frank presentation at the World War II Museum, I knew she was there watching and smiling.

In the midst of our revelries, when our spirits were at their zenith, we gathered at Le Petite Theatre to see Blithe Spirit. Le Petite Theatre has been operating since 1916 and is one of ‘the nation’s longest running community theatres.’ The Theatre is known as one of the most haunted theatres in the world. A good venue for Blithe Spirit. Noel Coward wrote Blithe Spirit to bring laughter to people burdened with the sadness of World War II.

We four took our ticketed seats in the first row of the balcony next to the iron fence designed to protect the patrons from falling over the edge. Having my recurring knee pain, I asked if I could sit where I might stretch out the offending leg. The performance was wonderful with an ending that suprised even the Old Man. Being in the presence of artistic people always enlivens my mind. The optimism of living above the current woe of totalitarianism is refreshing.

New Orleans is a city of Ghosts. The presence of Spirits can be felt wherever you walk in the French Quarter. The residents are determined to live their lives dedicated to art. It is an unswerving dedication to searching for a higher meaning than riches and power. The uplifting spirit of those you meet brings a smile to your face. No longer are you shackled by the yoke of expectation. Nothing to prove, just be. The jazz music quickens your steps and lightens the load of worry and care. Thoughts of world domination or being the most powerful are not found in the French Quarter. Thoughts of Good People and fellowship, a bit of dance and song. People live as they feel and are led by benevolent spirits. Each day is hope. Each night is a celebration of the hope that propels the earthly saints.

When a person dies, they are led to their resting place by a musical parade. The connection between the dead and living is seamless. No more hurrying through a short life, but the expectation of the next chapter.

The city of New Orleans is like another universe in comparison to the small city where I reside. My parents and brother and I recently took a train …

The Unique Universe of New Orleans

We are back from The Big Easy. It was fun. Staying in the French Quarter was an immersive experience. The weather was warm. Music on every street corner. Dancing, singing, and expressions of joy. Artists were there. The homeless were there. People are lying on the sidewalk. This was not always the case, but when you encounter a desperate person who has given up on hope, the images stay with you. The National Guard walked through the Hotel Lobby each day we were there. There was tension surrounding the unknown. The days leading to Mardi Gras have begun. They began on Twelfth Night. King’s Cakes are being baked. A woman sang with a heavenly voice.

We finally got a seat on the Carousel. The Carousel Bar is famous for being the only rotating bar in the city, located at the Hotel Monteleon. The Monteleon is one of only three National Literary Hotels in the nation. Truman Capote said he was born there and has a suite named after him. William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, and Eudora Welty spent time at the Monteleon. People waited in line for a seat of rotating bliss. We captured four by accident. The bartenders worked as fine artists. The jazz music played, and everyone laughed with joy at the party. The bartender asked us to shake hands and told us that he saw a lot of people, and he knew we were good people. It was a first for me to be called ‘Good People.’

Watching people is my hobby. People are endlessly intriguing. On Bourbon Street, a little man danced oblivious to anyone watching. Passerbys heard the music, but he heard the heavenly rendition. We went to a Cigar Bar, which is a favorite pastime. Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy were discussed amidst the circling smoke. The Big Easy is like nowhere I have been. There is great joy and profound suffering living cheek to jowl. A profound reaching for God, Heaven, and the Angels. The music is pure, creating joy and tears simultaneously.

New Orleans is not a city of sinners; it is an Oasis of earth angels reaching to touch hands with angels just above their heads. When the hands join, the heavens open, and enlightenment happens.

A train trip is in our future. We are going to The Big Easy. We have been there before in the heat of late spring. We board in the wee hours of the morning. Our last visit was a drive from Destin, Florida, to New Orleans. We stayed in an Airbnb and met Mr. Hurricane. He changed our day’s plans. We toured the cemeteries, but not after Mr. Hurricane. Mr. Hurricane is mind-expanding. Burials are in mauseloeums due to flooding. You walk among the dead.

Bats roam the skies at night. An interesting occurrence if you are not accustomed to bats other than Dracula. We heard the dueling pianos and witnessed the antics of several fraternity members as they danced and sang, and drank from a passed-around flask. They were in such high spirits that they did not notice the young woman who wanted to strike up a conversation with them. The busily danced on.

We are in the French Quarter at the Hotel Monteleone. The Hotel has been around since 1886. It has a Carousel Bar. With Mr. Hurricane, we did not need a Carousel.

So we begin 2026 with a little holiday after the holidays. A preference of mine for the fifteen-plus years of my retirement. Yes, I did say fifteen plus since I retired fifteen years ago at the end of 2010. Where have the years gone? Each year passes faster than the last. As MJ said the other day, it will be Christmas again before long. I retired early in hopes of beating the system a little. I had a lovely conversation with my barber this morning. She asked me what I was going to do after my haircut, and I replied, preparing to take a train trip to New Orleans. She was full of stories regarding New Orleans. She told her husband that when she died, she wanted a Parade just like the custom in New Orleans. Her command to her husband was, ‘Make it happen!’

The honors and celebrations of the deceased are to be desired in New Orleans, as well as Mexico’s Day of the Dead. Rather than fear, we should embrace the normal progression of our lives. We are here for a season, then we go to another place. When we arrive, we will wonder what we were worried about.

Mr. Hurricane might facilitate the transition…

A warm day for January 5th. It is supposed to be warm all week. The rhythms of life slowly return from their holiday break. Snow and ice are probably coming, but you can not tell it by today. MJ and I love the Billy Bob Thornton television series, Landman. In yesterday’s episode, the actor playing his Dad, Sam Elliott, fell into the swimming pool and was marooned until Billy Bob Thornton could help him out. Tommy Norris, the character name for Thornton, pays a stripper to give his Dad physical therapy because he states that his Dad can not say no to a beautiful woman. The stripper/physical therapist chose aqua therapy for Dad. She is seen holding him like a baby in the pool with a look of pure bliss on his face. As I have heard it said, getting old is not for sissies.

So we go forth into 2026, old and young. I saw another movie that intrigued me with Jim Gaffigan called Linoleum. His character, who is a television Mr. Science on a late-night cable TV station, insists that we each see the universe in our own way and that no two sightings are alike… a fingerprint of the universe, if you will. This resonated with me, as I have often wondered if we all perceive things in the same way. How could there be such a divergence of opinion if we are all receiving the same visual input? Are we in our own matrix, negotiating the Perils of Pauline on our own? What do the inhabitants of other planets see when they look at Earth?

Have you ever discovered what people perceive you to be, compared to who you truly are? What they have seen is different than what you intended. Indeed, we human locomotives travel on our own tracks. When analyzed by those watching us, we seem to be traveling in the opposite direction of where we are indeed going. Some see us as angels while others smell fire and brimstone. It is impossible to understand what another person is thinking.

We live in a mystery that we have written stories about to give us comfort and explain our reality to ourselves. A sense of place is vital to the journey. Who are we for this journey, and how can we help? Lovely people, wonderful people die young, and old crumudgeons live to be 100. The Grand Play is ongoing. I am reading Hamnet. William Shakespeare said all the world is a stage and we are players on it. We must learn our lines well. We have a mission and purpose and a reason for our existence. Others are counting on our performance. Shall we say we all see things differently, so what is the use? Or shall we agree from our sense of place that the message of Christ to love one another as I have loved you is fundamental?

We understand hunger when we see it. We see loneliness in the eyes of the marginalized. Pain is universal, and we all have felt its terror. The clarion call is clear. Include the marginalized and feed the hungry. Fight the oppression of human beings. Do not allow members of our human family to suffer. The universe is different for all of us, but the needs of our family are the same. We must pass the test that we were dropped into without our consent. We are in the auditorium with the teacher and monitors to ensure we are not seeking the answer to the test questions on our neighbor’s paper. We live in an orb of fog. We did not choose our arrival time nor the time of our departure. We must seek Peace.

‘They seem very unhappy,’ Little Girl said. ‘They like to use their army weapons and blow each other up,’ Little Girl continued. ‘When one gets a nice automobile their neighbor wants the same car or better,’ LG laughed. ‘When I first began watching them, they loved to attend church on Sunday, but now they prefer to golf or play bingo,’ Little Girl observed. ‘It appears the more I give them, the more they want, and they are never satisfied,’ LG noted. ‘The white people do not accept the black people nor any with skin color other than white,’ Little Girl said. ‘The cry for mercy, but do not extend mercy to others in need,’ LG explained. ‘Lately, there have been many fires in the sky and the president of one country boasting about oil riches and his power to make any country do what he wants,’ Little Girl said with tears in her eyes.

‘Come to dinner, my dear, we will decide what to do with your school project after supper,’ Mother said. ‘The humans are a dissatisfied lot,’ Mother continued. ‘Dad bought the Earth at the Universal Box Store on Jupiter and thought you could do something with the creatures in the shadows.’ Mother said. ‘Your father thought the humans would enjoy his projections of the universe on the bedroom ceiling,’ Mother noted.