Hmmm!

Well, if you remember last week, you know I unveiled a plan to cut back on my posts.  Rather than submit something for your erudition each week, as I have been for about the past two years, I would write only if some event in my world had impressed me as particularly humorous.  It is a gift of mine, or curse depending on your perspective, writer or reader, that I find some element of absurdity in almost everything I witness.  To me, absurd equals funny.  If there is a creator, and I’m not taking a stand on that issue for discussion purposes at this place or time, you design your own philosophy, then that creator would be known by the name, “The Great Farceur.”  Look it up; I’m not getting paid to teach you French!

Now this news was probably received with a sigh of relief by many of you; perhaps even a sense of elation.  I could feel your thoughts in the ether.  “No more three page blogs!”  “I can throw away my dictionary!”  “It will be safe to open my e-mail on Thursdays after lunch!”  “The gas bag has run out of air (figuratively) at last!”

You thought you were free.  But then a lone voice cried out from the wilderness, “Dale, you can’t deprive those of us who look forward to your wisdom and the little spark of joy it brings into our dark, lonely lives.  Please!”  Well, I may have paraphrased there just a bit.  But the essential meaning of the plaint was the same.  And to underscore her point, she impugned my manhood!  Her words jolted me into a realization that no author is an island and every action should be considered for its impact on all humankind.

So even as it may bring joy to only one set of eyes while boring the hell out of everyone else, I must push forward for the sake that one, poor soul.  Because, actually, she is the toughest person I know and I’m afraid to disappoint her.  Because disappointment leads to unrest, unrest leads to violence, and it’s been so long since I’ve had an ass whoopin’, I’m not sure I’d enjoy it the way I used to.

I will not publish the name of this hero of literature.  I can imagine such a reversal of fortune might agitate the villagers, and a riot is an ugly thing.  But among the champions of literature, her anonymity looms large.