My Follower of One...

Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention. Seeing is believing. Don’t wait, don’t hesitate. Get your ticket for the greatest show on earth which is about to begin. Never before seen by the general public. Be one of the firsts. The lucky few to view. All for the price of one thin dime. The line forms here. No pushing or butting in line, there’s room for everyone in the tent.

The most incredible stained glass window in Notre Dame, Paris, 2017...

I have a follower. Not in a scary-stalking way. My one and only blog fan. I know, I’m as surprised as you. There’s one soul out there somewhere who patiently waits, then reads my posts. And comments on every post. When he’s able. My blogging app tends to be a sensitive wench. Occasionally won’t allow me to add pictures before I hit publish or allow my adoring masses to comment. I mean my one guy. He’s not on Facebook and I can’t convince him to join, if but for the single reason to read my blog on it. I’ve told him several times, he’s seriously missing out on the best part of my blog. The comments on Facebook after I post a story. But the neat comments have not been enough to entice him. I guess he routinely goes to Storyteller from a One-Stoplight-Town to see when and if I’ve posted a new installment.

Starting in back, Shirlee, Char, Pam with me in front. Notice how crazy I’m holding my left hand, so John’s class ring is visible. Ha-ha...

I believe my one fan deserves a name don’t you? His name is Paul. He’s read every one of my stories. Twice. I’m not kidding. (Dude is a glutton for punishment). This is my 190th post. (Hard to believe. Never thought I would write this much or this long. Some of you are now pleading, please stop for everything that’s sacred. Sorry, no can do yet). Paul then started all over and read them again. Twice-as in 2 times. I’ve gotten to know him as a friend through his comments which are kind and insightful. Posting comments on a blog post (not on Facebook) is nothing short of miraculous. I know because I always try and answer Paul’s comments. Sometimes I’ve answered him and hit publish, the whole comment just disappears into thin air. This has happened to Paul so often, I wonder why he even bothers anymore. Very frustrating. It’s so much harder than commenting on Facebook, yet he persists. (Thanks Paul)

I LOVE this picture. My Dad, snoozing after supper. I stuck one of my dolls in his arm, 1960...

But it was one of Paul’s casual comments a month ago which caused me pause. He’s muddled his way through my blog (for the second time) from June, 2014 to the end of 2017. Approximately 180’s worth of boring, angry, mundane, sad-sack, misspelled words, bad punctuation, piss-poor sentence structure posts, with just enough lightheartedness to stop him from chewing off his own arm out of sheer, tear worthy boredom.

Shannon on tippy toes giving my dad a kiss, 1973. She loved my mom and dad so much...

It all started with that dang Facebook challenge to post a black and white photo once a day for a week. Pictures without people or nary a word of explanation about my life. Just about killed me. (Thanks again for that Anne. But this time I really mean it). First I couldn’t come up with a decent picture worthy of no explanation, however after day 3, I was dreading day 7 because I was not near done with pictures about my life. Since Paul is not on Facebook he never knew how crazy this simple challenge made me. Here’s his comment about my story, My life-1 Snapshot at a Time. From Paul: “enjoyed the picture show even though I had already viewed at least 75% of them.” (Ouch) He knows and remembers.

Josh was a dedicated biker, with or without clothes, 1977...

Depending on my story, if I’m recounting something that happened when Shannon was 10, I start searching for an accompanying picture. As soon as I spot an appropriate picture, that’s the one I use, instead of looking for another 15 minutes. I’m not very orderly with my scads of pictures. I have boo-koo albums, all titled. The boys, Early days, The Falls, Jovi, and so on, but still it seems like I’m searching forever for a certain picture that’s already in my head. If it’s not in the right spot, it means I’ve got to go through all 4,000.

Great picture of the Hubs in 1978, Spencer, Iowa...

Thus I’m doing another story about my life in pictures. To be sure I’ve never used any of these pictures before, I should carefully go through each story, documenting each photo so there’s absolutely no chance of any repeats. Now that’s really a challenge. Not gonna happen Paul. I’m lazy, and if I start reading my stories from the beginning again, well that’s just not time I have right now. Besides over half my stories still make me cry, no matter how many times I’ve read them. Makes me an emotional mess. Not always a sad cry, just a strong memory inducing moment. Don’t know if I’ll ever get over that part of writing. How powerful what I’ve written still makes me feel. Not the power of writing, but the emotion of the memory. Yawn, sorry.

Dad, surrounded by a mountain of empty beer cans. Sure he used this shot in his prison ministry...

Since my first story about snapshots of my life, I thought maybe for the next installment, a theme would make better subject matter. Perhaps places I’ve been for one, early days, my children, grands etc. But the pics I’ve picked here are just a mish-mash because I’m trying to use never before seen pictures to please my whole fan base. Of one. If this weren’t so pitiful, it would be funny.

One of my favorites. Peyton’s first pair of pointe shoes a couple years ago...

Now I’m gonna backtrack and insert some goofy pictures with short captions to make this somewhat tolerable. And thanks Paul from the bottom of my heart for giving this old gal the time of day. You are unique and I really appreciate your faithfulness...

Good grief, it’s Freddy Krueger. Alas, it’s only me after nose repair (Hubs broke unintentionally showing me a wrestling move) 1967...