“Pronoic” is the opposite of “paranoic.” A “paranoic” is a person who believes the world conspires against them. A “pronoic” believes the world conspires to do them good.
Such was I this last fall weekend: a pronoic. The world was out to do me, or us (Ginnie was with me) good. I had been invited to my hometown of Monroe, Iowa to do a “Meet the Author and Book Signing” at the Monroe Public Library for my new book, “Task Force IED.” What an honor! The wife of my former high school history teacher, Suzanne Johnson, made the arrangements and baked up a truckload of treats for the occasion.
The only problem was that, at first, no one showed up. There we were, sitting and waiting, and no people. How humiliating! I tried to hide the sick feeling in my gut by gobbling down Suzanne's chocolaty treats with coffee, which made me sweat. Brenda, the Librarian, said, “I knew better than to schedule this for a Saturday morning. People are busy.” Ugh.
I think God plays these little tricks just to test faith. Lo-and-behold, about half an agonizing hour after the event was supposed to start, people trooped in—old classmates, townspeople I hadn't seen in years, and even a few strangers. Brenda, instead of advertising the book signing to start at 10:00 am, had listed it as 10:00 am – 12:00. So people naturally thought they could drop in anytime within that time range. So be it. Bill it and they will come.
The book signing was a success. Books were signed, questions asked, and handshakes and hugs offered and accepted. One of the townspeople went home, read the book overnight, and posted on social media that it was the best book he ever read. Fantastic!
Following the book signing, my high school graduating class of '66 had a class reunion at a classmate's, Karlin and Darrell's, rural home. What a nice event, with food and desserts to last from here to Sunday. “Get your kix with the class of '66.” (My weight scales wasn't so kind after that. Grrr!)
The class reunion was held next to where I grew up: Maple Hill. One of my high school buddies, John, offered to take Ginnie and me for a UTV ride through the timber, creek bottom, and fields where I used to hunt, fish and tramp around. Ginnie and I jumped at the opportunity. It was such a beautiful fall day, with corn stalks, hay fields, and a bullhead-filled pond transporting me back to my youth. I saw myself, at 13, sitting in a locust tree, pumping on a fox call, trying to avoid the three-inch thorns. The Indian-Summer sun set the hardwoods ablaze with color—reds, golds, silver. The world was showing us her beauty.
Then it was “Light and Fight” night in Monroe with live music, food and games at the town “square.” The town “square” had the same feeling as it did over fifty years ago when Herb Bosch flooded a section for ice skating.
It was after dark, and now, in 40° weather, there were fire department games, where two opposing teams tried to water blast a lighted barrel on a zip line against each other. It was like a contest of wills, or good vs evil. Water over sprayed us in the chilly night air. But it was refreshing, exhilarating actually, as the world swirled in laughter, music, and fire-engine sirens. Once again, it was as if the world was conspiring to do us good.
Ginnie and I spent the night with a couple of my old classmates, Mark and Jane, then went to church with them the following Sunday morning. The church service was in the K P of Al building, whatever that means. When we were in high school we called it the “KP Hall” and had dances there. It's where I did my first twist. So many memories, so many good feelings.
The world conspires to do you good when you allow it.
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