I’m sitting in the lower level of the Indiana Free Library on a chilly Spring day in Western Pennsylvania, wondering what to tell you in this, my inaugural post as I launch my foray into the world of blogging.
I’ll start with what this is not. I am not writing a blog on any one subject; I’m not going to give expert (or even inexpert) opinions on politics or sports or education or anything else (you don’t want to get me started!); and I’m certainly not going to give you a rundown on what I did today or what I ate for dinner (believe me, it’s boring).
What I am going to is tell stories, true and fiction: vignettes I come across as I walk the streets of Jimmy Stewart’s birthplace; snapshots of the people I speak to through my work as a reporter (identities concealed, of course); tales slowly spinning out in my mind as I hang socks on our back-yard clothesline or born from the places I see. Sometimes they might even be about my own life, but not often.
And so I dedicate these stories to Lynn, the daughter I was only allowed to hold once. These are the stories I’d have told you as you grew old enough to understand them; maybe God will let you read them here. I miss you, sweetheart, as much as that April day I said hello and good-bye two years ago. I look forward to telling these all to you in person. Someday.