This Big Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine

It would have been dark if not for the full moon.

If that moon had been a musical instrument, it’d have been blaring. It caused me to think of the poet Tom Hennen’s book titled “Darkness Sticks to Everything.” It failed to stick on a bright night.

I went for a walk in the moonlight. I needed to walk because I had stopped at a bakery and a meat market earlier in the day. I took in over 739 calories just by inhaling deeply in those two places.

As I put one foot in front of another, I heard the neighbor’s rooster crow. The chicken had been inspired to give voice by the lunar brightness. I used to raise chickens. I enjoyed having the poultry around. When a chicken walked by, I’d say, “There goes a chicken.” I miss saying that.

As I stood at the end of my drive, a moonlit van covered in unreadable bumper stickers passed by. I suffered from drive-by sticker shock. I’ve always been more of a duct-tape guy than a bumper-sticker guy. Bumper stickers are temporary tattoos for automobiles. I enjoy a good bumper sticker, but the van had more than an ample sufficiency. The van carried a video player that glowed eerily, like a will-o’-the-wisp, as the vehicle sped away. A will-o’-the-wisp is an atmospheric ghost light seen at night, especially in marshy areas. It resembles a flickering lantern that retreats if approached to draw weary travelers from safe paths. Someone told me the only way to make the haunting spirit go away was by throwing a handful of dirt from a graveyard at it. I’d seen will-o’-the-wisps during my boyhood years, and not once did I have a handful of graveyard dirt with me. The chemical reaction of natural gases produced by decaying organic matter creates a hovering glow.

I flashbacked to a day of youth and sunshine when I was having lunch with my father at Vivian’s Cafe. The worst food I ever had there was excellent. As I listened to my father and his cronies, I thought of the Austin TV station KMMT, commonly referred to as Channel 6, and Buff Setterquist, known as Uncle Rob. He joined the station in 1963 and started a program called “The Uncle Rob Show” and/or “Uncle Rob’s Funny Company.” It appealed to anyone who could laugh. The station changed its call letters to KAUS in 1968 and to KAAL in 1974. Flashlights acting as spotlights showcased a clubhouse and bleachers. It was a peanut gallery that was popular in those days, such as the one on Bart’s Clubhouse on Channel 3, KGLO in Mason City, from 1958 to 1976. Uncle Rob’s favorite drink was Blurp Cola, and he was on a quest to find the perfect peanut butter sandwich. There was a safe named Sidney. Kids sent in hundreds of combinations, but the safe was never opened. Rob’s pet, Terrible Thomas the Termite, received letters containing toothpicks for food. Rob, who later became a radio personality of note named Rob Sherwood, played the piano and sang, “Ah, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you.”

I receive mailings extolling the virtues of companies providing financial services for my meager weekly allowance. Financial planning wasn’t a big deal during my childhood. My family focused on the financial basics, concentrating on things like turning off the lights. I’d barely freed myself of a room when my father reminded me, “Turn off that light. I don’t work for the electric company.”

I’d turn it off, but stung by the command, I considered waiting until I detected father’s snoring, quietly getting out of bed and turning that light back on. I’d snigger devilishly while committing the wicked act. The light would burn all night. Dad couldn’t prove I was the perpetrator of the heinous deed. I’d planned to toss a nickel onto the coins spread over the top of his bedroom dresser to cover the cost of the extra electricity. I did none of that. Had I realized it was a foolish thing to do, or did my conscience get to me? No, some things just aren’t worth doing.

Looking at a full moon is.

It’s a sweet mystery of life.