TIME AND THE WISDOM OF KNOWLEDGE

TIME IS THE MOST MYSTERIOUS PART OF A LIFETIME; NEITHER THE YOUNG OR OLD CAN EXPLAIN IT CLEARLY AND BY THE SAME TOKEN, IT,S SAFE TO SAY THAT NEITHER THE OLD OR THE YOUNG OWN MORE OF IT THAN THE OTHER. THERE IS A WISDOM ABOUT TIME, HOWEVER, POSSESSED BY ONLY THE OLD; IT IS A WISDOM THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO GAIN IN YOUTH. AND THAT IS GOOD IN THAT IT GIVES EACH PERSON EQUAL WISDOM IN DUE TIME. NO YOUTH CAN COMPREHEND THE REALITY OF TIME IN THE WAY ONE WHO IS THREE SCORE AND TEN. TIME, IT IS A REALITY THAT IS SO DECEPTIVE TO ONE AND ALL. THE DECEPTION WILL ALWAYS BE REALIZED LATER THAN SOONER; AND THAT IS THE SAD PART. BUT SINCE TIME CANNOT BE SAVED IN A BOTTLE OR A VAULT, IT IS MORE OR LESS IRRELEVANT. YOUTH SPENDS TIME AS IF IT WILL NEVER END WHILE THE ELDERLY HANG ON TO EACH DAY, FAR INTO THE SUNSET AND ONLY LET GO RELUCTANTLY. YOUTH RARELY, IF EVER, SIT AND GAZE OUT WINDOWS AT BYGONE DAYS WITH REMORSE. FOR THE AGED, REMORSE QUITE OFTEN HELPS THEM WHILE AWAY THEIR TIME IS A MOROSE FASHION. TOO TIRED AND STIFF TO RUN OVER HILL AND DALE OR GO EXPLORING IN THE WOODS, THOSE SAD REGRETS WILL OCCUPY THEIR TIME; IF IT DOESN'T, KNITTING OR PAINTING PICTURES OFTEN SUFFICES QUITE WELL.

those old neighborhood estate sales of long ago

those old neighborhood estate sales of long ago are making a comeback, or so they say...I have noticed I am missing a lot of books somebody said I would never have time to read...missing too are old American Artist and American History magazines published before paper became necessary to ration out...I miss those glossy covers I promised I would read sometime, someday...to the sibings of my offspring...I wonder if they would have enjoyed them as much as I would have had if...I taken time...yes, time, to stop long enough to read them...

A BRIEF MENTION ABOUT MY LIFE AND TIMES IN YOKOHAMA by R.L.HUFFSTUTTER

MY LIFE AND TIMES IN YOKOHAMA could have gone on forever. They should have, but they didn't. It was a time when almost everything was perfect, yet at the same time, totally screwed up. Their was a lot of unrest in southeast Asia; there was much going on that I knew nothing about. Had I been able to predict the events of the next few years, I could have become an Admiral. I was young. Who hasn't been at one time or another? There are good times to be young and bad times to be young. I would have preferred to have delayed my youth. That is to say, extended it for as long as it was necessary to get my mind focused on the distant future. Looking back on those times, I am glad I experienced them. Among those days and nights exists a memory that has sustained me in times of deep despondency, in times when I felt I had left all on a pier on cloudy morning in December of 1963. Images somehow return with age and seem nearer now than then. It's strange how much closer I feel to that yesterday today than I did when it was so much closer to real time. Has my heart and mind been healed by time? Perhaps. And I have no guarantee that I will not be going back to that pier someday and resume what had to be delayed. Such is the mystery of love and yesterday. Yokohama, you were there when I needed you and there you have remained, your gardens, coffee shops and little places in Motomatchi remain for return in the hours before dawn when my restless soul seeks to escape back, back to another time and another place.

THE DAY OF THE ESTATE AND REAL ESTATE SALE

THEIR IS NO THOUGHT AND CAREFUL PLANNING BEHIND THIS ILLUSTRATION. IT IS SIMPLY AN IMAGE AND NOTHING MORE.
THERE'S A CHAIR OR TWO, A COUPLE OF WINDOW FRAMES THAT WOULD LOOK GOOD ON ANOTHER WINDOW IN SOME OTHER SCENE. SIGNS ABOUT A SALE, AN ESTATE SALE. THERE ARE OLD FLOWER POTS, SOME BRAND NEW WHILE OTHERS HAVE TRACES OF OLD SOIL AND DIRT FROM GARDENS OF THE PAST. AND AMONG THE ITEMS SCHEDULED TO BE SOLD, A FEW BARS OF GOLD, OLD MEMORIES OF ANOTHER TIME BUT NOT ANOTHER PLACE. THE PLACE WHERE IT ALL HAPPENED, NO LONGER NEEDED, IT HAS GROWN TOO OLD. IT WILL BE SOLD. AND SO IT WAS AND SO IT GOES, TIME AND AGAIN, DAY AFTER DAY, UNCLES AND AUNTS PERSONAL ITEMS, NO LONGER NEEDED, NOT OUTGROWN, JUST NO LONGER NEEDED. THE AUNT USUALLY GOES LAST.

THE DOOR THAT WOULD NOT BE UNLOCKED UNTIL...

IT WAS THE DOOR THAT WAS
LOCKED FROM THE DAY
THE DOOR WAS CLOSED. HOW MANY MEN WOULD WALK ALONG THE ROAD TO FIND THE DOOR LOCKED, HOW MANY MEN WOULD DARE TO LINGER IN THE DAYLIGHT TO PRETEND A KEY WAS IN THEIR CHARGE? HOW MANY MEN WOULD DARE TO RETURN IN THE NIGHT TO GIVE THE DOOR A SECOND CHANCE TO OPEN EASY WITHOUT A SCENE OF UNEASY PRETENSE? WHAT TREASURES WOULD THEY FIND INSIDE THE ROOMS BEHIND THE DOOR THEY DARE NOT OPEN IN THE LIGHT? THERE IS NO NEED TO ASK THE MEN; THEY ARE NOT ALIVE NOW AND LIVED ONLY LONG ENOUGH TO ENTER IN THE NIGHT. THEY NEVER HEARD, THE STORY GOES, THE DOOR LOCK ONCE THEY WERE INSIDE. SO THE STORY GOES. I DO NOT KNOW. LIKE OTHERS WHO STILL WONDER, I WON'T EVEN PEER INSIDE THE DUSTY WINDOW PANES TO SEE WHATEVER REMAINS. BY ROBERT L. HUFFSTUTTER

IMAGES THAT ATTRACT EYE APPEAL

THERE ARE IMAGES THAT REVILE, IMAGES THAT INSPIRE, IMAGES THAT ENDURE AND IMAGES THAT SEPERATE THE BODY FROM THE SOUL. IMAGES CREATED BY LINES DIVIDE THE MIND INTO BALANCED QUARTERS, FORE, HIND AND SIDES. LINES LIKE THOSE OF KLEE, CHAGALL AND BUFFY ARE SO LINEAR.

PLAGUED BY POLITICAL JUNK

IT WAS MUCH MORE THAN A SIMPLE SPRING CLEANING THAT ARISES FROM ANNUAL SURGES OF ENERGY, IT WAS AN ACCUMULATION OF ALL THE VITRIOLIC TRASH THAT HAD ACCUMULATED WITHIN EACH NOOK AND CRANNY OF MY ABODE THROUGHOUT THE PAST FEW MONTHS OF POLITICAL CAMPAIGNING. OUT OF MY LIFE ONCE AND FOR ALL. I HAD THE NEWSPAPERS REMOVED BY MEN WHO WOULD NOT REMOVE SUCH RUBBISH WITHOUT ORANGE RUBBER GLOVES. I TOLD THEM IT WAS ONLY NEWSPAPERS THAT HAD NOT BEEN CONTAMINATED BY TOXIC FERTILIZER OR MARGINAL WEED AND INSECT SPRAYS. THEY CHUCKLED AND SMILED; THEY WERE MUCH WISER THAN MOST WHO DEALT WITH SUCH. "WORDS, JUST WORDS, " I SAID. THEY NODDED AND SAID "THEY ARE THE WORST, THE WORDS ARE THE HARDEST TO WASH AWAY NO MATTER HOW HARD ONE SCRUBS. WORDS, JUST WORDS, SO HARD TO WASH AWAY."