October 27, 2015 is the anniversary of my first blog entry on WordPress (or anywhere else for that matter). I learned the definition of the word “blog” from an episode of my once and forever bride Vera’s favorite television show: NCIS. So I was seriously behind the curve. This posting will make a baker’s dozen, so I have actually averaged one per month as I enter year 2 of this undertaking. If you read my first posting you know that for me it is all about spontaiety and eclecticism. I hope that you have found some things of interest. I’ll always write about things that I find fascinating and that I think could be fascinating to others. Or which will cast me in the role my father pretty much marked me for: teacher. For over forty years I have scribbled bits and pieces of flotsam and jetsam and gone back later to flesh them out. Whether it is an hour later or a year. What all of these electronic devices have added to the process is the ability to make the scribbling neater and more easily available. Below is an example of something I wrote and saved about a year ago and put to the side, not quite sure it was ready to publish. I came back tonight and looked at it again. I realized, as I sometimes did “back in the day” that it didn’t need any additional tweaking. So, to celebrate one year of being “officially” in the public eye, here are my musings on the circumstances of who and what I am and came to be.
I was certainly no accident, celestial or otherwise. When you try for 14 years and then finally become with child (ah the 1950’s) at the age of 38, for the first (and what would prove to be the only) time, it is not an accident. A life changing event perhaps, and possibly not the best idea for my mother’s physical and medical health, but without a doubt, not an accident. I have stated before that I feel truly blessed to have been born. I did not know then (none of us do) just how big a deal, and how unusual an event it was. These days it is pretty common place. But 58 years ago? A woman of my mother’s age who had yet to conceive was pretty much looked on the same as Elizabeth; the Virgin Mary’s cousin. i. e. barren. I’m certainly not John the Baptist (these days I’m not even Vernon the Baptist since I am a convert to Catholocism). I am just glad that my parents decided that I was a blessing and not a probable, if not curse, at least unneeded burden. Even back then there were ways of terminating a pregnancy. The fact that they did not choose that path to me speaks volumes about their faith, quiet and understated–at least in dad’s case–though it may have been. That faith, powerful in its own right, was passed along to their only child. I’m sure that those of you have read my posts know that I quote my father frequently on matters both profound and prosaic. I have a good friend from my (our) high school days who I have reconnected with in recent months after a 40 year lag. The time in between has truly felt as if we were traveling in the Enterprise, or given my belief in The Force, perhaps I should say the Millennium Falcon. The time feels as if it never happened, our conversations still feel like we are waiting for the bell to ring for our next class. He has likened my own brand of belief as “spiritual, not dogmatic.” And I completely agree with his assessment. I have strong personal opinions. I will share some of them here as time goes by. But I am motivated not by an unfailing belief that I am right, so much as a desire to promote the possibility that we can disagree without being disagreeable. I believe that God did not make us sheep for a reason. She wanted us to think for ourselves (yes, I did say “She” and yes that is an example of thinking for myself).