This, is not a Blog.  I mean it.  While it may fall into the loose definition of a blog… a personal website (or web page) on which an individual records opinions, links to other sites, etc. on a regular basis…..  it simply is not.

I have called it a column at times, and it isn’t really that either.  And then it  hit me, just a few moments ago.  To me, it is more like a family.  Or a community.  It feels especially so, when there is a lot of yammering back and forth.  When I write something, and everyone has something to say.  I love it when this happens.

Maybe it is because I chose NOT to write about religion or politics this week.  And a  LOT of people responded to my discussion which wasn’t about religion or politics.

It is fun for me most of the time.  It is also a lot of work every night, at least for a couple of hours, once everything is written, once an image has been made, and the whole lot of it posted.  But it has become a part of me, somehow.  And there are times when, as I mentioned, it feels like some sort of family.

Like a cross between the Munsters, the Cleavers, the Bunkers, and Mrs. Gladys Kravitz.  THAT kind of family.

I don’t write a word of this until after 10 p.m. or so, when my day is pretty much done.  In fact, most of the time, I try not to actively think of a topic.

And that’s how it works.

But there certainly ARE times when it feels like community.  Like this morning…

My early day started around 5 a.m. on this Friday.  The dogs go out, come in, eat breakfast and hang out, while I do my morning things.  But this morning, Max and Frances wanted to go back out.  So I let them.

Around 7 a.m. Frances came back…. but no Max.  We live on about 40 acres.  And they stay mostly around the house, especially Max.  Most of the times, it does not worry me when they are out.  But when I saw France and no Maxie … I got nervous.

I started looking for her immediately.  Segue:  We are doing a Barn Restoration on our property.  This morning was concrete-pouring day.  I walked out to where the guy was working.  At this point, Mary had joined me.  I asked him if he had seen our little gray dog.  He said, “Sure.  She might be down in trench somewhere.  She went down there about an hour ago or so.”

WHAT?  I am a little upended on the inside.  I look down through the trench… where they will begin pouring concrete ANY TIME NOW…. looking for our deaf, blind, senile OLD dog.  Aaaaannnnd.  There she was.  Trapped underneath the rebar grid.  Belly to the ground, chin to the ground, sprawled eagle … nowhere to run or hide.

I got down in the trench and lifted her out, weaving her through the rebar …. and up to Mary.

We were only about 15 minutes away from the concrete truck getting here. What if I had not gone out?  Would old Elmo the Concrete Guy have remembered that there was a little dog down in the trench from an hour ago?  We would always have wondered what happened to little Max… and the tears would flow.  I would be out in that barn in a year or two… still thinking of her… never knowing what became of her… and THERE she would be…  alllll Jimmy Hoffa RIGHT UNDERNEATH MY FEET.

That little Maxine told me about the entire ordeal…. all the way back to the house.  And when I settled down… I said out loud… “I’m going to have to tell everybody about THIS ONE.”

And by everybody… I mean you…..and you.  And you.  The Blog Family.

Yep.  Just call us The Blogs.  And I love you for it.

…. …. and…. Thanks.

 

Respect is what we owe; love, what we give.
— Philip James Bailey

A person’s a person, no matter how small.
— Dr. Seuss

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.
— Meister Eckhart