My mind is such that it happily wanders from here to there and back again in no apparent order or rhythm. It seems like a bee flitting from flower to flower although I have no doubt that the bees are really quite scientific about it all.
In one of these myriad flits, my thoughts alighted on this little blog space that I tend and upon who reads it and whose blogs I read. It suddenly struck me how almost everyone is younger than I, far younger in fact. I wondered why — for about a half a second — before realizing that nobody my age blogs.
Granted, that's not totally true. There are one or two out there. Both Tim and Norma appear to be my age or older, for example. But there aren't many. Most bloggers whom I read and who read me seem to be in their thirties: mere children really (take that as a compliment!).
It's amazing to reflect how the written word has the power to erase time barriers. Many, for example, read ancient spiritual text each day to fortify their spirits and commune with another reality. To them, their daily reading is totally relevant, even vital. When I read your blogs, it is without a sense of your age or my age. You are simply another mature human expressing what is on your mind.
I think it's splendid that we read of the thoughts and lives of different age cohorts and find commonality in our reflections, values, and struggles. I'm thrilled that all of you younger ones are out there because blogdom would be a pretty empty, bleak place without you. I'm not sure why you would bother to read the ravings of a BOF (Big Old Fart) such as I, but I'm pleased that you do.
We inhabit together some sort of functional community: one that doesn't replace real flesh and blood but forms some sort of an adjunct nonetheless. Although it is unlikely that we will ever meet in the flesh (so to speak), we do maintain a relationship of sorts. Kept in perspective, this BOF thinks that is a fine thing.