Boo Who?

Blog 1747 – 07.06.2020

Boo Who?

It is still several months before the annual celebration begins of Halloween but next up in order is “A Spooky Lift-the-Flap book” for your listing pleasure. I was staying at a very nice campground by Lake Monroe just outside Bloomington, Indiana when I recorded this one and I had just discovered that the large Swiss Chalet styled day room for guests was opened twenty-four hours a day, so I started using the space to record in the wee hours of the morning. The noise in the background is the huge A/C system running full blast.

Boo Who?

After quite a long time of staying in a twenty foot by eight foot camper trailer it was a novel and welcome pleasure to relax and spread out in such a well cooled, furnished and luxurious place. I felt like a king having it all to myself. For several years now I have realized that “It is all just for me and all mine to enjoy.” Yesterday, as I started my morning walk, early before sunrise, I noticed a beautiful full moon and so I decided to walk in the direction that it was most visible, so that I could view it longer. I whispered out loud, “All for me.” And one of my favorite mantras:

“I am so glad and grateful that everything that I could ever want or need is already mine and coming to me at just the right time and in just the right way from my loving and infinite source.”

For about twenty years or so along this adventure, during my blue period, I tried hard and unsuccessfully I might add to style myself an atheist with “Shit happens” for a mantra, but the whole business just stunk for me. Helen Steiner Rice’s famous poem begins: “God hath not promised skies always blue, flower strewn pathways all our lives through.” Many believe that to be true, but I have never found it to be so for me. Instead I find that, “He shall have flowers where very he goes” is more appropriate.

I am not selfish, so I will gladly share all my flowers and good fortune with you, at least till you realize, as well, that it is all just for you too. I recall when my son Jonathan was a small boy that his birthday, more than once, fell on a Saturday the beginning of baseball season at a neighborhood park near our home and that we stood on our porch, he in my arms, watching the teams parade up the street carrying banners and balloons on their way to the park to celebrate the beginning of baseball. I knew by the look in Jonathan’s eyes that he was sure that parade was all orchestrated for his birthday. And on some higher level it was, it was all for him, all for me, all for us.

Knock, Knock.

Who’s There?


Boo Who?

Don’t cry, Baby.

Throughout every bit of this wide wonderful world, and behind every door is waiting far more more treats than tricks and far more wonderful than wicked witches, ghosts, and goblins – all just for me and just for you to enjoy.

Your friend and fellow traveler,

David White

In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning

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