The Provo Museum of Postal Art

  I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. John. 14;18 Thy comfort comes in many ways To ease the pain of many days When bereft I feel so low on hope I want to just let go. Come to me this day, Divine, And let me see thy glory shine; And if the dull gray clouds remain – I’ll seek for joy in what’s mundane.

  Thursday.  July 31.  2025 Harken, varlets; I’m afflicted with Trump melancholia this morning.  And things started out so beautifully.  A sound night’s rest. A productive session on the throne. An illuminating scripture study.  Twenty dollars in my pocket from a generous poetry lover yesterday.  Then I had to start looking at CNN.  Here’s all I’ve got to say about Trump and immigration: Welcome. We don’t want you. Whoever you may be. You haven’t got the papers We like in this country. So step into this bus, friend. A plane awaits you, chum. You’ll be shot out of a cannon, Not granted asylum. I made blueberry pancakes yesterday afternoon.  They were very well received.  And since I already have the griddle down for my breakfast (grilled cheese sandwich, fried eggs, and a small bowl of kimchi) I’m going to leave it down and make some more grilled cheese sandwiches this afternoon – around four or so.  I’ll either give you a call or yo...

  And they began to rejoice over their brethren, saying: Behold the time is past, and the words of Samuel are not fulfilled; therefore, your joy and your faith concerning this thing hath been vain. 3 Nephi.  1:6 Are joy and faith in vain When I cannot explain Just how the heavens strive To keep my soul alive? No! I cannot deny Though I may not know why Or just exactly when The Christ will come again, That waiting on the Lord Will keep my soul restored.

  And it came to pass that he did teach and minister unto the children of the multitude of whom hath been spoken, and he did loose their tongues, and they did speak unto their fathers great and marvelous things , even greater than he had revealed unto the people; and he loosed their tongues that they could utter. 3 Nephi. Chapter 26. Verse 14. The beautiful words of my children Can come from the Savior direct. Oh Lord, help me know of their power And thy loving kindness detect!

  Well, my little poppits; It’s late in the day, for me. I’ve served up the spinach dill pickle soup and the chocolate cake, and in return I got 3 pieces of Dominoes pizza and two dollars and four cents.  Much to my surprise all the soup is gone.  I had 2 people turn up their noses at it, but everyone else had large bowls so I ladled it in like there was no tomorrow. And for me, there WILL be no tomorrow. For cooking, anyways.  I’m tired. I’m weary. I’m burnt out.  Today someone gave me several bunches of romain lettuce, and I ought to be able to think of something to do with them tomorrow. But I can’t.  The well is dry.  I’m out of funds for community meals until August. So no more cornbread or soups or stews or casseroles for the rest of this week.  I’m too pooped to pop. But don’t forget that this coming Sunday is our monthly Potluck.  So please bring something to share. Besides, I may very soon become filthy rich – so rich that Amy and I ...

  Tuesday.  July 29th.  2025.  Provo.  Utah.   Auditores honorati; I always check the weather in Woodbridge, Virginia, where Amy is staying to take care of our grandson. This morning Google weather has issued an excessive heat warning for Woodbridge and surrounding areas, with a high of 94, which will feel like 104 degrees because of the humidity. So I guess I won’t complain about how hot it’s been around here . . .  Although . . .  Our dry heat plays hob with my skin in the summer.  I went to the dermatologist two years ago, covered in an angry red rash and welts.  I thought it might be Hansens’s disease.  But the skin walker assured me it was just excessively dry skin.  So now I use a combination of baby oil, Vaseline, CeraVe, Palmer’s Cocoa Butter Formula, and a touch of hydrocortisone, to ease the discomfort of my mummy-like skin. For my sleep disorder I’ve been taking 3mgs of melatonin each night. Some nights it helps...

  Monday.  July 28th.  2025. Hello dere; Who now remembers that catch phrase . . . “Hello dere?”  Delivered by comedian Marty Allen, who was the funnier half of the comedy team Allen & Rossi. Back in the 1960’s they made regular appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show on Sunday nights. Hello dere, Marty – hope you’re in a good place now, my fellow humorist . . .  Down to business.  In the waning days of July an old man’s fancy turns to something smooth and easy and tasty to share with neighbors and friends. In other words, a Spanish Omelette .  It’s a dish that can be served hot, room temperature, or chilled.  Along with some good bread.  And I happen to have a loaf of Kneaders sour dough bread ready to slice and serve with my own version of the Spanish omelette.  My omelette  ingredients include: A dozen eggs. A quarter pound of diced ham. A pound of pork sausage. A pound of grated sharp cheddar cheese. Fried onions and garlic. Can...

  Sunday. July 27th.  2025. Dear Luddites; So I told everybody I saw yesterday, Saturday, that I was going to make grilled cheese sandwiches for the Sunday brunch today at 1:30. I even went so far as to buy two loaves of Sarah Lee whole wheat bread (they were on sale – two for five dollars.)  Then I got to thinkin’ ~ Making grilled cheese sandwiches is hard work, what with slicing cheese and buttering bread and watching the grill so the cheese melts but the bread doesn’t burn.  Why should I put myself out for a bunch of old geezers? So I put one loaf of Sarah Lee in the freezer and will use the other loaf to make myself ham sandwiches all this week.   I also told several people yesterday that I was gonna make lasagna today . . . but again, I had second thoughts.  Why should I spend all that money to make my special lasagna?  It costs a good twenty bucks to buy all the necessary ingredients.  And I don’t love my neighbors enough to spend twent...

  Saturday.  July 27th.  2025 Mine ærede venner; I get emails from friends all over the world.  Per my request, they send me photos of the exotic meals they prepare at home or enjoy at esoteric potlucks in places like Thailand and Hawaii. Which causes a great deal of food envy on my part. But for all their larb and poke salad and spring rolls and tom yum, I have one dish that beats ‘em all.  Cornbread.  Sweet and moist made-from-scratch cornbread. Baked in a cast iron skillet. With a can of creamed corn in it, and a handful of jalapeno slices. Topped with smoked paprika.  I’m making some right now, and plan on enjoying a savory slice for my breakfast this morning, with country gravy poured over it and some scallions as a relish. Then I’ll share the rest with youse guys this afternoon around 4pm – along with some home-made cabbage and potato soup. I’m still learning how to cook cabbage, by the way.  In the past I just boiled it down to a greenish m...

  Tuesday. July 22nd.  2025. My little chickadees . . .  The biography of Mark Twain I’m currently reading has finally given me the answer I’ve been looking for to solve this terrible physical separation between Amy and I.  She is in Woodbridge, Virginia, nursing our grandson Diesel, who was involved in a horrific shooting accident.  I am here in Provo, in our rent-controlled apartment, just blocks from the City Center temple, where she and I have spent many many blessed hours together. Last night I read about Twain’s success and obsession with his lecture tours.  He gloried in the performing and in the attention it garnered. Reading this, I got to thinking and then finally admitting to myself that I’m not through as a performer or focus of attention yet.  I have to have an audience – this business of taking my poetry sign out in public just doesn’t cut it.  Not enough action.  Not enough attention. Not enough challenge to my creativity. But ...