Dearest Betsy,

It's been a long while since I last wrote. Way too long and for that I am deeply regretful. Today is the seventh anniversary of your departure, of which I still grieve daily. You are still sorely missed – by all. As is Blue. And Whit (Sanford Columbus Whitaker). How is our erudite redneck Architect friend coping in his new environment? I hope there cigars and armagnac aplenty up there.

Our friend Reubin (Harle) recently texted me from Viet Nam at 8:54 AM (my time):

"In a bar, Wild Horse Saloon! Band playing 'Me and you and a dog named Blue'."

I did so want to declare the sun over the yardarm in order that I could join him in a drink to you and Blue. Actually, Roland Kent LaVoie, better known by the stage name Lobo, who wrote the song called his dog Boo, but that does not deter Reubin and me from dropping a tear in our beer.

As the song says: “Oh, how I wish we were back on the road again.”

Ruby, your little princess, misses you too. She is not doing so well in her 15th year. She is showing the same signs of the crippling arthritis that afflicted Blue. She’s as deaf as a post – worse than me, but we manage quite well with sign language and your old bos’n’s pipe. She’s become quite a seadog – sitting with me at the helm of Archangele on our now infrequent adventures.

Unless there is a different process for ultra liberal democrats. your good friend Patti Armstrong should have joined you already. I only discovered this accidentally, by writing to her son’s Facebook wall.

Jess Epps wrote (frivolously) Hey Straud,How's your Mom's back doing? I haven't heard from her in a long while. I kinda miss her chewing my ass out.

Straud Armstrong wrote (seriously) Jess,Sorry for not getting back to you. There were complications during surgery. She didn't make it. Guess you can join the boat with the rest of us missing her.

"Their toils are past, their work is done, And they are fullest blest;

They fought the fight, the victory won And entered into rest."

__________________________________________________________

The Creation of Adam. Michelangelo. 1508-1512

Fresco. Sistine Chapel, Vatican

◀“Architects believe that not only do

they sit at the right hand of God, but that if God ever gets up, they take

the chair.”

— Karen Moyer__________________________________________________________

Ruby teaches JSE2 to sail

All architecture is great architecture after sunset; perhaps architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of

fireworks."

— G.K. Chesterton

01 November 2011 The Bayou Packet # 40 Page 1 of 3An irregular irreverent confabulation for the edification and delectation of podjos, friends, brothers, kith and kin of Jess Epps

A ∴ A ∴ S ∴ R ∴

My dear mother, as was her wonted custom, would often say: “Well, smell me.”

I recently attended the Inauguration of officers meeting of the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite (AASR), Valley of Galveston, the Mother Consistory of Texas, Orient of Texas, and discovered, by reading the program, that I had been appointed as one of them: the “Expert.” A surprise, and an honor, of which, I very proud. I know not, in what field I am considered an expert, nor what my duties are, but I am eager to serve.

Since then, I have furthered my Freemasonry education and advanced my Freemasonry credentials by petitioning and completing the following Appendant Bodies:

Four York Rite Capitular degrees, resulting in being accepted as a Companion in Park Place Chapter No. 458 Royal Arch Masons

Three York Rite Cryptic degrees, resulting in being accepted as a Companion in Park Place Council No. 373 Royal & Select Masters

I have foregone the Chivalric (Commandery) Orders that are Christian in their character and scope, essentially agreeing with Thomas Paine in his essays on “The Origin of Freemasonry,” and “Age of Reason”:

"I believe in one God, and no more; and I hope for happiness beyond this life."

A ∴ F ∴ & A ∴ M ∴

I am in the "progressive line" at Clear Lake Lodge # 1417 in El Lago, Texas,which is also known as "going through the chairs," This line of succession moves up one position at a time from one year to the next, eventually (in just two more years) to that of Worshipful Master. I have been previously appointed as Tyler, Junior Deacon and Senior Deacon. After being examined and awarded a “C” Certificate by the Grand Lodge of Texas, I was recently elected as Junior Warden, which is a position similar to a Vice-President.

Having a “C” Certificate means that I now know and can teach all questions and answers from all three (Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft and Master Mason) Degrees, the Tiler’s Oath, and how to open, close, and call to and from labor all three (Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft and Master Mason) Lodges and the Master Mason’s Lodge of Sorrow. I am honored and quite proud of myself.

"The lips of wisdom are closed except to the ears of understanding."

— The Kybalion

Calm Waters

Calm waters of my protective covewas where I could be found.

Until the light burned up the fogand, I began to look around.

And when my eyes did set uponthat expanse of open blue.With hoisted sail I set outto catch a breeze or two.

With surprise I glided easilymy anchors left behind.

With canvas full the ocean sprayawoke my weary mind.

And now I know that I can livewithout my pain and strife.

'Cause this is where I'm happiest.Sailing the winds of life.

A Solution to Our Current Political Problem from the

1920-30’s

01 November 2011 The Bayou Packet # 40 Page 2 of 3An irregular irreverent confabulation for the edification and delectation of podjos, friends, brothers, kith and kin of Jess Epps

A Whole Lot of Cooing Going On

In addition to the myriad of doves, including several ring-necks, our aviary now has Red-winged blackbirds, a cardinal family, one large woodpecker, one small woodpecker and five or so hummingbirds, all being a delight to watch. And, a magnificent male Yellow-crowned Night-Heron (Nycticorax violaceus). An occasional hawk. Also, a few unwanted grackles.

Our menagerie is also growing. In addition to the plethora of squirrels, we now have several ducks that I theorize are refugees from the Sundance Grill, which was destroyed by hurricane Ike. And recently a buck deer walked into the vacant lot across the street while several of us were sitting on the front deck. Some folk are somewhat skeptical upon hearing this, but small herds of deer are occasionally seen on our evening walks.

Fabled Three-Story Privy

In its Jefferson Masonic lodge #100, Bryant Pond, Maine has a rare three-story outhouse, evolutionary superior of the two-story model next door.

The lodge and its retro facilities, were state of the art in the mid-1800s when they were constructed. This skyscraper privy is a simple pine board with a hole in it. Anything dropped through falls two complete stories until it smacks the earth. Venerated by some, abhorred by others, the three-holer was finally supplemented by real indoor plumbing in the year 2000 - a flush toilet and everything. But only on the ground floor; the second and third stories remain as they were.

If you hadn't been tipped this was an outhouse, you would never have noticed it. No visual clues; it looks like an enclosed stairwell against the back of the town's Masonic Hall. The structure once facilitated simultaneous triple tier evacuation; modern Masons are encouraged to frequent the newer bathrooms.

The Grange Hall next door has a two-story outhouse, similarly unspectacular. The halls (and outhouses) are only open when there are Grange meetings, usually one Monday a month.

I don't mind revealing my age by saying that where I grew up in Oak Cliff, Texas, our neighbors had an outdoor privy – but only the unimaginative single-story model. And yes, old Sears & Roebuck catalogs were available.

America is like a three story outhouse: The Democrats on the top story, the Republicans on the second story and the rest of us on the bottom where the odor is so intense it is hard to feel a lot of sympathy for the occupants above.

My Living Will

Recently, my daughter Lesley and I were sitting in the living room and I said to her, 'I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle. If that ever happens, just pull the plug.'

She got up, unplugged the computer, and threw out my Black Bush Irish whiskey.

Your Loving Husband: Jess

Yellow-crowned Night-Heron in tree across 5th Street where former neighbor Karen’s house was destroyed by hurricane Ike

_____________________________

_____________________________

AF&AM Sky-Crapper

01 November 2011 The Bayou Packet # 40 Page 3 of 3An irregular irreverent confabulation for the edification and delectation of podjos, friends, brothers, kith and kin of Jess Epps