Why I Write This Blog

I have no idea why people come to this blog site.  I do know that many people come and return.  I am mystified both that a few people visit regularly and that millions don’t trample all over the site in a species’ quest for understanding.  But, I would write and post if no one came at all.

In my little office there are several filing cabinets.  More than one has drawers filled with notebooks and loose-leaf filled manila envelopes, file folders and boxes: diaries, personal reflections, poetry, other creative products.  Some of it dates back to the 1950s.  And every word, every drawing, every photograph was done to satisfy some question or inclination of my own.  It is not that I do not love you, dear reader, I just cannot for the life of me understand why anyone interested in these things wouldn’t be doing the explorations for themselves: thus my wonderment that anyone comes here at all and, at the same time, that ‘everyone’ doesn’t stop by to see if there might be something interesting.

I write to see the words laid out, and am charmed and appalled in the reading of them on the electronic page.  I also write and store the writing in this way so that someday my children will have a ready source to rediscover the man who was their father, a way of discovering the influences that hide in their lives, influences that guide them and trick them from behind the scenes.

And the last reason that I write and post these words is to add my little contribution to the patina on the forming sculpture of these times, the patina that colors and gives texture to great events beyond our insignificant existence.  Each molecule of oxygen that combines with the copper and other elements contributes in its own small measure to the final result.