Favorite Friends

Love is the reason for it all.

Dorothy Fields
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I have some more thank yous to pass out. I was very impressed by some of the comments I received about the last entry I made before the disaster, Enlightened Ebbing, Because of the computer trouble I wasn't able to read them until last Tuesday evening. I'm grateful for the good thinking of the commenters. I am also very pleased with the responses from people who are glad I'm back on line.

I was talking with someone the other day about former friends. We have all known people who have passed from our lives, not always necessarily for good reasons. I was thinking about people I used to know and thought that I had more former friends than I have friends. But then there's a strong possibility that there are friends I haven't met yet.

Friendship is a difficult thing to measure. Good time friends are fun. But when the dangers and fears of life start to threaten is when real friendship is tested.

One of the hardest things about my recent trouble was that I could not tell anyone why I wasn't communicating any more. Along with that came the rage over the injustice of not being able to put down my ideas and explore the ideas of others. It may seem like a small matter considering how much some people are suffering, but a wrong is wrong no matter how big or small it is. And no one should have to abide them.

The purpose of my journals has always been to share and exchange, not to complain, pass harsh judgement or be abusive to anyone. It is a practice of love that prompts it. To be deprived of that practice for a stupid reason, or for any reason, is not acceptable to me or the world.

When I signed on to my computer October 13 the first thing it said was that it could not connect with Windows. I called Verizon and was told to insert the Windows CD. That didn't work. I then called Dell who while attempting to fix it discovered that I could not get on the Internet. He advised me to call Verizon. Thus began a series of phone calls, some of which were 3 to 5 hours long, as one technician after another tried to fix the problem. Picture me with feathers flying back and forth across a net.

I discovered today that by a stroke of good thinking I had saved all of my stories on one of my journals. Everything is there, including all of "Brian and Christine." The only one missing is the tale about Blackie the Bristol Python. But I know I printed that one out.

Simple joys are best.
DB - The Vagabond