I have lots of invisible friends on the internet. Most of you I've never met. Nor do you visit my site. In fact, it's incongruous to address you since you're never here. But I know you're out there somewhere.
There are lots of people I will meet someday that I don't know now. In some cases they're already beyond childhood. They're middle aged, or old. They're going about their lives, not thinking of me, I'm sure, but I'm thinking of them.
Whenever I hear of some old codger, like Tony Randall, marrying a woman 50 years younger than him, I think, hmm, who is there I'm going to know someday who isn't even born yet? Not to marry, because I'd rather keep it real. Such as having at least something in common.
But that doesn't mean I couldn't be an aquaintance, a confidante, a mentor, or a friend to someone much younger. Or much older. Look, I've got a 104 year old grandmother. I get along with her just fine. She sleeps a lot.
I might write in to the 700 Club and see if they can help me track down some of my magic friends. I was watching it one day and he knew about a guy out there with a sore knee and was sure that it was getting better. It's logical from my point of view. If he knows about something that specific, maybe he could help me too. You know, come to think of it, I had a cold that day and difficulty urinating. I wonder why he didn't single me out. Must have been pressed for time.
If you're reading this blog -- the brainchild that I gave birth to this morning -- then, please, let me ask you to pause for a minute. Could it be that we were meant to share this incredible friendship? Like two hitchhikers on the shoulder. Like two truck drivers buying the same eight track. Like two pieces of iron at the same foundry. Like two bullets in the same gun. Like two peas in the same can. Like two pilgrims at the same rock. Like bric and brac. Like Punch and Judy. Like a bowl and broth.