Fragments From Floyd

You'll not notice the change, but I certainly do. Fragments is (at least largely) protected from uncontrollable spam now by Jay Allen's Blacklist. This is possible because a kind soul offered to upgrade my MT version and install the blacklist scripts. Why? Because, while we have never and likely will never meet face to face, we have gotten to know and care about each other by way of our weblogs. I truly wish I had been keeping a list over the past twenty four months of the kind words, the encouragement, the swift kick when and where needed, and the actual, tangible acts of friendship that have come this way from my dear, largely faceless, reader-friends.

I marvel at how things have turned out--and are still turning--since May of 2002. What seemed at the time like an ending and a featureless void for a future has morphed wonderfully into so many opportunities for exploration and creation and discovery. I could never have imagined. Two years ago I began to see myself not so much by what I do for a living as where it is that I do my living. I began to chronicle the extraordinary things in an ordinary life, frankly, because I did not know what else to do.

Now, I can't conceive of not having this journal and my reader-friends, some whom I have never heard from but know you are there visiting Goose Creek from time to time. And the best part--and the intended end of all this, insomuch as there were intentions--through the blog (and the radio essays that never would have happened if Fragments had not come along to evoke them) I am meeting people locally and getting involved in what I used to call "real" community. Now, I don't make such a hard-edged distinction, because what happens via the weblog is also real and is real community.

I am so very appreciative of the help over the past days to get past the comment spam. I owe you. I owe so many of you. I don't know what the next two years will bring. I do know I hope you'll stick around and keep me company. Who knows? Maybe we'll sit on the front porch here with a glass of lemonade and listen to wood thrush as the sun goes down. Or the screech owls. Anything but whippoorwills.