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I worry that so many bad things are happening now, and life has become so hard, that no magic is left in the universe to relieve our suffering.  I need to see a unicorn.

Unicorns are traditionally pure white magic.  They effect the forest around them, and no winter enters in as long as they dwell there.

And unicorns can be killed, but are otherwise immortal.  Their blessings last as long as we don’t kill them.

Surely a unicorn still lives somewhere… somewhen… somehow…

I need to see a unicorn.

Yep, the action figures all seem to agree with the dolls. It’s time to think about leaving Earth orbit and head for a new home among the stars.

Of course, if I agree with them, the only way I can follow them to infinity and beyond is to expire and leave my old body behind. That will make my wife happy. She can’t wait to have me cremated. Of course, I made a deal with her that she has to wait until I am provably deceased.

The truth is, I am getting tired of this world myself. I am not anxious to die. But Canada is on fire. Trump is indicted, but not necessarily out of the running to become Prexydent again. (Yes, I know it is spelled P-r-e-s-i-d-e-n-t. but for four years he was NEVER that.) My body still works and my heart is beating well, but every step is painful, all my joints hurt, and life is full of physical impediments that keep me from running in the human race.

There are too many things complicating my life and making it frustrating to keep taking steps on my particular life path. I am limping on two feet.

But I will not simply give up. The Darkness must defeat me. It just is a coming battle that I must dread for the probability of failure.

I have no idea how much longer I have to live on this Earth. By the odds, I should have died during the pandemic with the health problems I have. But I went to the doctor today for an annual check-up, and I am surprisingly good compared to where I should probably be with my six incurable diseases and conditions, as well as being a cancer survivor since 1983.

Walking 7,000 steps a day, measured by my Samsung fitness app, combined with a 1500-calories-a-day diet, is keeping me off insulin… at least until the the bloodwork comes back with my current A1C.

I have given up nudism, at least for now, since I have very few places to be naked in, and more places that bleed and must be kept covered and out of the sun on the thing I want to be naked with. I am no longer the boy in the illustration anywhere in reality other than my imagination and nightly dreams. I have given up travel. When my family travels to Florida to spend the July 4th holiday with my son in the Air Force, the dog and I will be staying home where long hours in a car won’t further cause stress and pain in my lower back.

But despite the long, slow degradation of my health due to age, I am doing well. My house is not in order. My body is a painful mess. But there is still sunshine and life to look forward to.

The circus acts of being a writer are all swiftly breaking down. The man spinning plates on spindles is dropping more and more of the cheap white circus plates. They, of course, are made of plastic so they cannot break. Arthritis keeps me from performing the simple juggling tasks of using the keyboard, erasing and retyping the mistakes, and formatting the pages and reformatting the pages when the computer fails to save those details.

And as things continue to break down, I have to notice the circus tents of being a writer have lost more than half of their population of clowns. It worries me when there is less laughter than moans and tears and heavy sighs. The ideas are still coming fast and furious. But they are not getting transformed into paragraphs and chapters.

So, I’m still trying. The words are coming slower. But they are still coming.

I am never going to be a famous writer. My family hasn’t even read my stories.

Time is running out. The elephants are starting to take down the big top tents.

The circus of being a writer is shutting down.

Yes, health problems and eye problems and depression problems are cutting into my writing time. Again.

I am battling. It is not the last battle. But it is bloody (in a metaphorical sense.)

I will recover. But suffering builds character. I wonder which character I am building. It is probably a ghost in the Haunted Toy Store.

This is a short soliloquy about giving up being a nudist and practicing nudism.

There are many complicated reasons why I have to give up practicing nudism. It certainly isn’t that I have given up on my love for the feeling of walking naked in the dappled sunshine and shade of the cool green forest floor, or swimming nude on a summer’s day with other nude people. (My memory of that revolves around kid friends at Duffy’s Creek and the swimming hole near the railroad bridge.)

But it does involve my malignant melanoma in 1983. My family has long been susceptible to skin cancer. And even slathered with sunscreen, I do have the problem of sun-damage in old age increasing my chances of a relapse.

And it does include the fact that every nudist camp or park is far away from home, and long drives are harder now to do alone. My wife refuses to entertain the possibility of visiting a nudist park, even if she didn’t have to take her own clothes off. That is a religious stance that she simply will not compromise. My children, while they were not opposed to skinny-dipping in the pool when they were young, are embarrassed by the memory of it now that they are all adults themselves. I have no one to share it with.

I used to have the back yard to sit outside under the trees wearing nothing but sunscreen, mosquito repellent, and a sun hat. I liked to read good books that way, and even edit my own books that way. But now the wind blew down a portion of the privacy fence, and public nudity in Texas is a serious offense in a Baptist and Catholic neighborhood.

I am not claiming that I am no longer a nudist. I am certainly still that. But I am now nothing but an indoor, only-in-the-bedroom nudist. And though it stings a little, I have to accept that new reality.

There comes a time when you stop and realize…

My heroes are now long gone.

No part of my crumbling carcass is working well, and most of it will soon be dust.

My energy is at the lowest of levels, the fuel tank is full of leaks.

My most important work in life is now almost all done and in the past.

So, I now have to take stock of the few tasks still ahead…

I must still be a parent until I am breathing no more.

There are still a few tales, wisdoms, and words that I can still share.

And I must still provide the world with the rest of the love in my heart until it finally stops.

Before you go into panic mode, let me clearly state: No college or high school was actually foolish enough to invite Mickey to give the commencement address to its graduates. So, don’t worry about a generation of our youth actually taking to heart the advice Mickey is about to give and ruining our world for the next twenty years. This is just the insane drivel that Mickey would say if some superintendent, principal, or college dean were actually stupid enough to ask.

The most impressive commencement speech I remember from my life in education was given in 1974 by my favorite high school English teacher, Mr. Sorum. He was a gifted speaker and told a mean joke whenever a joke was needed to make the point.

He talked for forty-five minutes about “Taking the next bite of the hot dog.”

Of course, he was talking about a metaphor where the hot dog was a life of being a good citizen and living in service to the greater good. High school graduation, in this speech, was the first bite of the hot dog. Some of us were listening to what Mr. Sorum was actually saying. My second bite of the hot dog was to get an English degree from Iowa State University. My third bite was a teaching degree from the University of Iowa. The fourth was choosing a life of service by being a public school English teacher. So, I followed his advice.

Most of my class, though, took that speech to mean life was all about eating hot dogs. Was I wrong? Do I need to rethink my life?

If I am going to give advice to today’s graduates, the advice I would have to give is, “For God’s sakes, don’t choose to be a public school teacher! Do you have any idea how hard that job is for how little reward (practically none of it in money?)”

So, what advice do I have for actually doing something with your life that helps with the common good?

The most important one; “After you go to the bathroom, flush! Gol dangit! And afterwards, wash your danged hands!“

You wouldn’t believe what kind of bacteriological nightmares are being placed in your hand daily if you have a job where you are supposed to regularly shake hands.

Another key recommendation;; “Stop being so gosh-darned ugly!”

Of course, you know that this is not a matter of whether you have a pretty face or you scare rats in dark rooms. This is a matter of behavior. A matter of how many people you hate and treat with scorn and injustice, as well as who you routinely hate, and why you hate them. Hating anyone for any reason is not good for their health and is even worse for yours.

And a final thought about how to improve the world; “Figure out what and who you love in this world. Everyone needs to have something and someone to love and work at sharing your life energy with.” People need other people and they need a purpose, even if they have to forge that purpose out cardboard, imagination, and thin air.

If, by chance, you can already handle all of these things that idiot Mickey is lecturing you about, especially if these things come naturally to you, then totally ignore that first dumb thing Mickey said. Think seriously about becoming a teacher. What you have we desperately need more of. And with your expertise passed on to others, we might just be able to make more of it.

There is a deal that will be voted on to prevent default. Of course, there are still threats to the process. The Republicans that are sane enough to avoid default will probably be punished for their sanity by the rabid base and MTG (I do appreciate how accurately the cartoonist above portrays her teeth-grinding madness.)

Of course, this doesn’t make the Republicans any less evil. They still desire to give all the plumbs to the wealthy elite and corporate heads. They have no mercy, empathy, or even pity for the rest of us.