It has been way more fun than I ever expected, even as the focus has shifted over the last year from a travelogue to observations about books, movies, politics and life. My dream had long been by this stage in my life to have retired to the southwestern United States, have purchased a small weekly newspaper and be writing outrageous editorials to stir up the locals. A blog is better. I can stay in a semi-metropolitan area that has an art theater, concerts and plays to entertain me, can still write outrageous pieces and don't have to worry about advertisers pulling their business. (Nevertheless, the Southwest maintains its romantic appeal to my imagination.) I have made many new friends, none of whom I have met in the flesh, but who drop by and leave comments and whose blog sites I keep track of. Many old friends have been kind enough to read my ramblings and leave comments, on the blog or by private emails. Thanks to all of you. Your feedback is what makes this effort worthwhile for me.
I would be remiss if I didn't comment on a couple of other recent significant anniversary mileposts. On August 12 and 13, about 130 of us gathered in Flint, MI to celebrate and renew acquaintances with people who had been there 40 years ago for one reason or another. For me and about 20 others, we had been there to do our public service in hospitals and Goodwill Industries as conscientious objectors. There were others who had just lived in the area and there were a significant number of girls who were there because there were a lot of single boys there. Flint in those days was a much more vibrant place than it is now, with a population about twice what it is now. (See Michael Moore's movie, Roger and Me for details, although things have gotten even worse since that movie was made in 1989.) I had not seen any of the people, except my three friends with whom I get together every October, and their spouses and another friend and his spouse in 40 years. This was a grass roots reunion, the idea for which my friends and I hatched up last October while drinking beer on a back porch outside Atlanta. We started out with hardly any contact information, put together what we had on a spread sheet and then started circulating the spread sheet to everyone who might know someone and gradually the names and addresses got filled in. We had a pig roast on Saturday evening, a concert by our friends, the Whitfords, who are also Flint alumni, and lots of visiting.
The Flint weekend was also the occasion to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. Our wedding was a small affair, in the back yard with only immediate family present. I think my wife has always missed the hoopla of a big wedding with legions of attendants. So, I decided to do hoopla for the anniversary and rented the biggest limousine I have ever seen to take our friends and us to dinner and dancing afterwards. 
These are our friends, Milt, Mary, Carlene, Marv, Donna and Earl. The men were all in Flint 40 years ago and stayed loosely in touch, but not as a group until two years ago when we started having annual get togethers. All of the men, except Earl, started out life as little Amish boys. At the reunion we sang a song called "Amish Country Blues," a parody of Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash. The parody was originally done by The Electric Amish, a band which used to be on the Bob and Tom radio show out of Indianapolis. I added a couple of verses. Here is the text of the song and then I will conclude this too long post.I hear that buggy coming,
It’s rolling round the bend.
And I ain’t seen a TV,
Since; I don’t know when.
I’m stuck in Amish country,
And time keeps draggin’ on.
And I won’t ever have call waiting,
I got no telephone.
When I was just a baby,
my Momma told me “Son,
Don’t ever use der engine
To make your buggy run.”
But I drove a car in Goshen
Just to watch it go.
If the preacher hadn’t caught me,
I’d be in Kokomo.
There’s lots of funky people,
Out there a driving cars,
Probably playing CD’s
And watching VCR’s.
But I guess I’m glad I’m Amish,
I got no bills to pay.
Still I wish I had a tractor,
To help me haul this hay.
When I turned 18,
My draft board told me “Son,
You’re gonna give me 2 years
No more having fun.”
But I got a job in Flint,
And soon the time went by,
And then I was a wondring,
Where did it fly.
Well I sold my horse and buggy,
And bought me a big screen TV,
I sat in my Lay–Z-Boy,
And watched MTV.
And I gained 50 pounds,
And had a heart attack.
If I had just stayed Amish,
I wouldn’t have to go back.
Oh, one last thing and then I'll go, I promise. Last week was the occasion of yet another anniversary, the anniversary of my birth, 60 years ago. I was born exactly nine months after my parents' wedding date. Please, don't anyone wish me a "Happy Birthday." I'm too old to enjoy the idea of yet another birthday having snuck up on me.
