At the end of the day, I don’t want to read something harrowing or emotional, no predicted dystopian future or political warnings. I don’t want a cliff-hanger or a page-turner. I want something that is like a chat with an old friend. For the last many months, I have finished my reading night with this book of essays. I never knew what each chapter would bring, a foodie adventure or trip abroad, or references to places near to my Metro Detroit home.

I recognized the concerns of those who are sliding down the hump from middle age, the sighs and groans, the concerns about ladders. “Backward. Half the music on my iPod is forty years old. The major seniors in front of me remind me of what lies ahead. In this game, progress is remembering your former self, forestalling what’s next,” he thinks on the elliptical at the gym frequented by seniors.

Food is a major theme, the delights of eating in foreign countries, especially his wife’s native San Marino, American diets include “so much ready-to-eat garbage. I had not thought junk could sustain so many,” he quips, Dante via T. S. Eliot, on an essay on meatloaf. Don’t smirk! Apparently, the dish has a long history. And we all know Mom’s meatloaf is the best.

He writes about saving the neighbor’s leaning trees. The stricken fawn in the middle of Telegraph Road. Picking up a wheelchair bound hitchhiker. Sightseeing and auras and fit bits. How once the car windshield was spattered by bugs which have seemed to have disappeared. I never thought of that, but it’s true.

Bailey sometimes delves into his teacher voice in a paragraph or two. He circles around his theme, but returns with a subtle insight. His wife appears, often reading a book, and more often sharing a delicious meal.

Rick Bailey’s essays are entertaining, thoughtful, and subtle.

I received a free book from the author. My review is fair and unbiased. ( )