As Moot Points Go...
Of the many blog posts I have kept balanced in my head over the past six months, as I waited for Terra Jean’s replacement to materialize, the hardest one to pull off is an account of a visit Annie and I received, from two delightful ladies who were traveling through the area, and wanted to meet the author of the blog, “Mark’s Work.”
Heart don’t stop. They wanted to meet me?
It seems that they had connected first with my blog, then with HappyDay Farms through my blog, and then finally with Casey, from whom they got my email address.
|Josie and Keri wanted to see the farm.|
Why is this post hard to write? Most of my posts are written off the top of my pointed little head, and there is rarely any need to consider anything other than my own convoluted mind. When I write about a specific event, then there is that pesky need for accuracy in my recollection process.
Accuracy? Uh, oh.
Now, as many of you know, I have an impeccable memory for events that occurred twenty years or longer ago, but my memory for events that occurred last week is not so on-point.
I could blame it on old age and probably get away with it; others might tend to put it on my prolific use of cannabis. Whatever. My issue is that whereas I remember the visit quite clearly, I am not as convinced I will be able to complete with any degree of certainty, a biographically accurate picture of our two visitors.
I went to high school and graduated in the same class as Josephine, heretofore referred to as Josie. Keri accompanied Josie, a gal about the same age as me and Josie, who hailed most recently from Florida. I never clearly understood how the two had met but it was immaterial.
Josie had stumbled upon my blog for the sole reason that I wrote a great deal about my military experiences early on. Having spent eighteen months in Missouri with her husband, who was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, she became hooked by my description of basic training at the same venue that she and her husband had been stationed at.
|I posted more than 100,000 words about my military|
experiences, under the heading of "Military Madness."
OK, hooked is my word but this is my account, so…
Josie liked my writing style, was aware that I had graduated from Bishop Amat Memorial High School in 1970 the same year that she did, and made her way gradually through large chunks of my blog. She knew about Terra Jean, my mood spectrum disorder and most points in between.
As if this was not amazing in and of itself, she had introduced my blog to her friend, Keri, who also liked my writing style. Keri found, though, that she struggled to access the writing by reading it electronically. I get that because I do not like to read on Annie’s Kindle, preferring books instead.
So Josie began reading the blog posts aloud to Keri.
I have to tell you I am flattered. I mean, the reality is that I can monitor the number of page-views that Terra Jean records as folks click on various posts, and they have added up. It goes without saying, however, that to click on a piece of writing is no guarantee that the piece gets completely read.
That’s not the point. If you have been to my blog before, and scrolled past the dozen or so colorful photos, then you more or less know what you are going to get. In the almost-five-years that I have been posting, close to 63,000 page-views have been recorded.
|I always have my antennae out for colorful pics.|
So either a limited number of folks are pounding my blog, or lots of folks take a cursory interest, in that they stop by when a topic appeals to them. I prefer to think it’s the latter. I ain’t proud, but I ain’t skeered either.
I have never made a nickel off of either my writing or my photos, nor have I tried. They’re hobbies. When I need to earn money, I work.
Therefore, it’s flattering to me, to know that there are at least two adults out there, who without being connected to me in any personal way, could become interested in my writing to the point that they wanted to meet me.
Had I to do our first meeting again, I would have simply invited them up to the farm. As it was, I fretted about making any assumptions about folks’ ability to navigate Bell Springs Road for the first time. Five miles of it. Folks not from around here. City folks.
So Annie and I made the thirty-five-minute run down to town one Saturday in February, to meet Josie and Keri. We met at Wheels for breakfast and spent a couple hours exchanging pleasantries, before deciding to go ahead and head up to the farm.
They followed us up and did fine, but afterwards Josie mentioned that she was glad for having had me lead the way. I told her about Annie’s Aunt Marie and her man, Blue, who were petrified the whole time they were on the dirt road, when made the single visit that they did.
Marie was having trouble articulating her fears, but I think they stemmed from the simple act of driving alongside a precipitous drop-off to the right-hand side, should Blue let their van creep too close to the edge. I can’t say how far down a guy would drop, but past a certain point, it becomes moot. As moot points go, it's kind of a biggee. That’s the only thing I can think of, anyway.
The four of us visited, we talked a lot and laughed, and it was enjoyable. They even made a return visit on their way back down the 101, five days later. One thing I never remembered to ask Josie, was if she remembered me specifically from high school, because I had no recollection of her.
Of course, there were no coed classes at Bishop Amat, just the presence of both genders on the same campus. There was an invisible line separating the girls’ classroom wings from those of the boys.
Oh yeah, we could eat lunch together.
I was nervous that Annie would not be very appreciative that two women, unknown commodities at that, had wanted to visit me, but she was good with it all. I think she was pretty amazed that the gals had taken such an interest in my blog also, but not in any kind of weird way.
One thing I took away from the whole experience, is the simple fact that if two people could derive that much enjoyment from reading my stuff, folks who did not know me, then there were others who would likely do so also.
Food for thought.