I’ve received a rare gift: A three day weekend off work with all of my children. This is a blessing I’ll not squander. I’m signing off until Monday. I know all twenty of you will be heartbroken.
I’ve put great pressure on myself to write against all odds over the past year, and I’ve become better for it. Sometimes I’ve probably done too much, between family and work, but the worthwhile things are not the easy ones. My site traffic has grown, and while I’ve experienced ups and downs, much like the arc of history, it bends towards something.
I hope you’ll read the archives if you haven’t already. This isn’t something that happens as often as I like. Every once in a while I view the metrics and notice someone catching up, or engaging in discovery. That’s a nice process to witness. Uncommon, but nice.
Events global, local, and personal have granted me even more perspective. Unlike building character, which I am absolutely done with (when someone pulls out that old zinger, I always reply with, “I already have way more character than I’ll ever need.”), perspective is something that always needs refilling. It’s not an accomplishment, it’s a fuel tank, and if insulated from circumstance, we’re susceptible to tunnel vision.
I don’t know if I’m chronicling the fall of Western civilization, as I have so often quipped. I am chronicling the last days of Bob Talbot, long may they be, because anything we record has potential to stand as our final accessible thought. Here it is, on my own website. I hope someone pays the bill after I’m gone. I hope there’s a bill to be paid.
If I had one request, it would be that when you see something you like here, or something that rings true, you share it with a friend. That’s all. I get no money from this endeavor and I don’t want any. All I’ve ever wanted is for people to read what I write.
This sounds a bit morbid, so let me assure you, I am fine, or as fine as anyone can be. These are perilous times, and Bea is here asking for a hug. “Hold me,” she said. I picked her up and told her I have to finish writing one thing and then I’ll play with her all weekend. “I think you want to play with me,” she said. “Can you get Hungry Hippo out of the closet?” I did.
I’m already screwing up my pledge so I’ll sign off here. It can’t always be kid time, but when it is, it is. The bills will get paid when they get paid. Work will wait. The rush beckons, for it needs participants to be considered a stampede. If everyone stayed home for the weekend, what bustle would there be?
Today on the day of the General Strike, which never got legs as far as I can tell, in the middle of February when things seem uncertain, the sun is out, and it’s unseasonably warm, a harbinger of what’s to follow. We have light and life today. There are dandelions for Cora to pick and pile. I’ll call the lawn man soon, and we’ll start over.
Have a good weekend, dear reader. Thank you for your time. It is precious.