Here’s what happens so often. A person becomes an adult, marries, has children, grows ill or old, and dies. Then the family of the deceased comes together to grieve, and to then plan the funeral. The flower shop gets notified to send flowers, and they all attend the service where the bouquets are usually on display. Afterwards, they often follow the casket to the burial site and watch attentively as the flowers they ordered are placed on the grave. Then the family slowly and mournfully walks away, to grieve and attempt to somehow get on with their lives again. Putting the pieces back together somehow, so they can begin living day to day. But without the one they lost.

We live in an age that is obsessed with things. We fill our homes with the latest gadgets and fashions and then, when we run out of space, rent a storage unit.

I have always liked the acronym K.I.S.S. It stands for “Keep It Simple, Stupid” and it’s a reminder that simple is better. I used to write KISS in the margin of my notebook paper when I was in college and law school as a not-sosubtle brain whack, reminding me to keep things simple. Because you see, I have a strong tendency to not keep things simple. I always think I can get more things done than is realistic. And I have to constantly fight against this tendency.

Seems like I am noticing a trend – and not a healthy one. As a whole, our nation is losing the ability to pronounce some words. In fact, people seem to have forgotten some words exist in the English language. Phrases like, “Thank you,” “Thanks so much,” “I appreciate that,” seem to have slid into a dark hole somewhere and vanished. And if you do hear those magic words spoken, it is more of an auto-reply rather than a sincere response.

You know time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years. It seems like yesterday that I was young, just married, and embarking on my new life with my mate.

Halloween is Friday night and Philip Gulley shared the thoughts of many of us when he wrote the following: For nine years, my wife and I lived in the city, down a long lane, next to the Quaker meeting I pastored. Our first Halloween, we loaded up on candy, anticipating a horde of pirates, ghosts, and witches. But the lane was dark and spooky and not one kid showed up, so for the next month, we ate mini Snickers for dessert at every meal, even breakfast. Then we moved to a small town, and carloads of urchins mobbed our home at Halloween, swarming our front door like rats on raw meat. After the first hour, we were out of candy and began emptying our cupboard to beat back the mob, doling out squares of baking chocolate, sugar cubes, packets of Sweet’N Low. When we ran out of treats, they began TP’ing our trees, soaping our windows, and igniting paper sacks of manure on our porch. It was wonderfully nostalgic, reminding me of my childhood, and I went to bed happy.

This year will be the 58th year since my graduation. I can still do everything I did in high school (in my mind).