Post Camino #22 – Regrets, I’ve had a few…

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This afternoon I was driving back to my home town north west of Sydney, and I happened to look out the car window.

I was passing a small pine forest, and on the other side was a lake. I got a sudden and vivid flashback to a similar grove of pine trees outside of Logrono. It too overlooked a lake.

But what I remembered most clearly was the beautiful young Japanese lass sitting under a tree, having a rest stop. She'd started at St. Jean same day as me, and we'd seen each other on the Camino several times since.

Whenever we met she was always happy and laughing and gorgeous. But I didn't even know her name. She spoke very little English. And yet there'd developed something of a sweet friendship between us.

She saw me walking, and yelled out to me to join her. Laughing, she waved me over.

I'd had a hard time that morning. I'd left Viana early, and had already walked about 12kms. I wanted to get to Ventosa, another 20kms further on.

Not only that, but I was in a lot of pain, and the long paved walking track leading out of Logrono had aggravated my injuries.

I didn't want to stop, but I walked over. She had some food laid out, and she invited me to join her.

I declined. I wanted to keep walking, and I knew that because of the language barrier, any time spent with her would be fraught with communication difficulties.

As I drove past that pine forest this afternoon, I got a sudden pang of regret.

I should have stopped.

I should have joined her and taken fifteen or twenty minutes out to sit and chat, no matter what the language difficulties.

We saw each other again several times over the next few weeks, and I bumped into her in Santiago at the end, and we hugged.

I never did find out her name.

And I regret that too.

 

48 thoughts on “Post Camino #22 – Regrets, I’ve had a few…”

  1. Yes, I have many regrets also about things I could have said or done differently along the Camino. And I feel the purpose of regrets is to realize your sorrow, and to do things differently in future. So whenever you think you don’t have enough time to “stop and smell the roses” you will remember that event and you will stop and you’ll be renewed.

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    • Hi Donna, yes, there were a couple of instances where I wished I’d stopped and engaged with some people.

      Next time…

      😳

      Bill

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  2. Bill, what a beautiful memory, I wonder if knowing her name would have made it any better.

    All my life, I have had a challenge of remembering names, no matter how hard I try – it is not a talent of mine. I had decided pre Camino, not to ask for emails, instead if I felt a close connection that was equally shared, I handed them a single teabag of black tea with maple flavor. It had my name and email address on it and I placed the decision of getting in touch with me into the hands of the other person. So, yes, there are a few people who I would have wanted to touch base with, but haven’t. Most, to my surprise found me on facebook via pictures and are part of my Camino group. There is only 1, I wish I could know how he is faring. A young, full of himself, in your face American named Brad. We walked in a group from day one, he was the one that called me a cheater on walking out of Espinal, his comments hurt me immensely because I had been called out by the same group of pilgrims I walked over the mountains with 3x that day and thought he would be the one I could commiserate with and he simply told me that I had cheated by not carrying my mochilla. One of the first hard lessons I learned – not all pilgrims are nice. My first wish went out to the Camino – help them find tolerance within themselves and others. Then Brad got ill and I was able to help him get better. Whenever we met along the path, storming past me, he would call out “and how are you this morning, Ingrid my love” and I would call back “just wonderful Brad the Brat”. He was a brat through and through but the Camino , like forging iron over a slow fire was molding him into one heck of a pilgrim. We happened to be staying at the same Albergue in Los Arcos – the hippie place Casa Austria – when he approached me and said,
    ” you know, I am so hurt that you have never invited me to take part in your tea ceremonies – why?, I know I hurt you some weeks ago, I am sorry, I had no right to judge you, we all walk our own Camino.” In my heart I thanked the Camino who had granted my wish, and to Brad the Brat I simple explained that pilgrims will find their way to sit by me on their own accord, everyone is always welcome. That evening, as most evenings, I set out my tea set. Casa Austria has a gathering room in the front where the walls are full of names and notes from hundreds of pilgrims. You can feel the energy and the gurgling of the artificial pond somehow adds to the ambiance and the table was low enough for me to perform a proper, kneeling ceremony. I soon was surrounded by many pilgrims and Brad the Brat found his way, kneeled beside me and in a way that ceremony was for him and my acknowledgment that from now on he was Brad the Pilgrim. We met one more time very early morning sitting at the breakfast table, everyone was still asleep and he poured out his heart and I listened. Oh did he carry a big chip on his shoulders. We left together, but in his youthful way, stormed off with a happy Buen Camino Ingrid my love, to which I smilingly replied Buen Camino pilgrim Brad.

    We never saw each other again and I often wonder if he found his answer – I hope so and wish him well.

    We meet and loose pilgrims many times, the Camino gives and takes, but always gives what we need most at the time it is needed. La Magia del Camino. Ingrid

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    • Ingrid, what a beautiful touching story. It says so much, on so many levels.

      Yes, the Camino did work its way on Brad, but so did you. And he did on you, too.

      What a unique and sacred experience though, to be a part of your tea ceremony. How lucky is the pilgrim that stumbles onto that!

      Bill

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  3. Bill, i think we all had missed moments along the way. I guess that is natural. I very much regret that Jill and i could mot stay the course and finish together but her heel wouldnt let that happen. The experience was fabulous and I will likely go back sometime. I am fortunate in that I have no physical reminders like you do, but i am definitely going thru post Camino withdrawal. Steve

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    • Ah Steve, that was meant to be – you and Jill going your separate ways like that.

      It was meant to be for both of you.

      I now try to live by the code of “No regrets, no more.”

      Camino withdrawal? It’s a very real affliction! There’s nothing any of us can do for you with that one Steve, other than advise you to call up your travel agent tomorrow and start to plan your next one!

      Bill

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      • Maybe regret was not the right word. While I very much would have liked it if we could have finished together, I don’t doubt that things worked out the way they were best and we learned the most from that. So, I have a mixed feeling about that, and see the best in both alternatives. We shared a great six weeks together even though we were not together all of the time. Perhaps that even drew us closer. Steve

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  4. For some reason, this brought me to tears……I think of the regrets that occasionally burden me (ex: cancelling a visit with my mom one day, then finding out she died unexpectedly over the weekend). I have tried to train myself to remember the things I did do (I visited as often as I could…that one day wouldn’t have changed anything that happened….she knew I loved her.) Certainly, you believed you were doing the right thing for yourself at the time….and you are sharing with us now the regret………we are your students………via the Camino. I think what draws many of us here is your humility and ability to reflect on both the good and bad. You don’t sugar coat the spiritual experience like many writers. How are you coming on the book? 😉

    PS: I find it incredible the number of Asians who are attracted to the Camino. My son-in-law is Korean and his parents know about the Camino from a book that was published in Korean.

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    • Hi Julie – well, again thank you for saying those lovely things – I just try and write honestly and I don’t try and pretend to be anything I’m not. I don’t profess to have any deep spiritual understanding or knowledge – but I’m curious, and I have many questions. And I’m genuinely fascinated by people. I love people. I loved that woman carrying the water bottle at Manjarin. She had such extraordinary strength and dignity.

      Anyway, thank you.

      The ebook is coming along well. I’m now at 43,000 words, and I expect it will probably run about 65,000 words. (I’ve just got to the Mseta!) there will be editing, and then e physical publishing, so I hope it wil be done by August.

      This is not Booker/Pulitizer writing I can assure you! It’s fast stream-of-consciousness writing that I hope in some small way contributes to the vast store of writings on the Camino. It will have some photos too.

      I’ll let you know how it goes!

      Bill

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  5. Life is the Camino. To take the time for the pilgimage to Sanitago is a wonderful opportunity, kind of a microcosm of life, I am imagining. Or a respite from it maybe. At least a chance to reflect on the stuff life has deposited on our doorstep.

    Including the regrets.

    I lived in Switzerland for 10 years, where my two daughters were born. My husband passed away at age 33 of a brain thrombosis. He was in the hospital for several days in a coma. I visited him every day, driving from our alpine village home down winding mountain roads 40 minutes each way. Though he was in a coma, I spent hours reading to him, and praying with/for him. My daughters were only 3 and 6 years old at the time and I couldn’t take them with me to the hospital. It was a very traumatic period for all of us. One day I was just unable to go for the visit, I was just too exhausted and needed to be with the girls. I stood in our kitchen and said out loud, “God I just can’t go today, I just can’t do it”. I felt so guilty. A very clear voice said to me, “Don’t worry, I am with him”. I was so thankful of this reminder of God’s love and was able to go to sleep with an eased conscience. That night my husband passed away. Alone.
    The only thing that gives me comfort to this day, 22 years later, is that Jesus was truly there, the best Friend anyone can ever have. Who teaches us that the only thing that matters in life is love.

    My Dad told me many years ago, when I was spending my youth travelling around the world, that I should never forget that life is about relationships. I live by that now, every day (try to :). Because Love does not act in a vacuum, it acts in relationships.
    In the end, after all is over, love is all there is.

    I am sharing this with you all, and as I write it causes me to cry again.
    I guess that wound is not yet completely healed. I guess true complete healing comes later when “all tears will be wiped away”.

    Thank you for letting me share.

    Debra

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    • Debra, what a powerful story. Sometimes things happen just the way they are supposed to happen, even if it doesn’t look like the story we would write. Real life is a little messier than that, isn’t it? Blessings……..

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      • Julie, absolutely life delivers stuff, so often difficult and unwelcome, but I have learned (change that to “am learning” 🙂 that it is pretty much only a crisis that drives us to seek Help. No problems, no need for “outside” Help, right? Then where would we be? Blessings to you too

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    • Debra, many years ago a wise Sister said to me, “Remember, love is a verb.”So often we think of love as something to seek, and hopefully find; a ‘thing ‘ to give or take. Thinking of love as an action,instead , has enriched my life beyond words, and when I remember how important it is, I find I miss fewer opportunities to connect with others in a more meaningful way. That has translated into far fewer missed opportunities and richer memories, so I have a greater sense of peace about the people who have come and gone throughout my life.

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      • Sister, thankyou for this reminder on what love is. Too many times I feel that people look for love as something external and quantifiable, when, in fact, it manifests itself in what we do, what we say, what we think and what we believe.
        As a Catholic educator, I have had many discussions on this very topic, but you have made it so simple and understandable.
        Your postings on this blog of Bill’s and also on Steve Langham’s, have become an important part of my spiritual reflections. Thankyou very much. I would be honored to have you along on my Camino also. You will find my blog at alawah38.wordpress.com
        Blessings
        Anne

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        • Anne, thank you for such kind words! I would be happy to follow you on your Camino.Ill check out your blog as soon as I get home from Mass.
          Blessings!

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        • Anne, I am now following your blog now. Maybe the first of our blog group. Look forward to traveling with you. Give yourself some time in Leon. That was my favorite city. Steve

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    • All of these posts bring to mind the day on September 2, 1999 when my wife of 21 months was suddenly killed in a freak motorcycle accident, riding 8 inches behind me. She died waiting on lifeflight and I had a bruise on my back. Go figure. There was no reason to try to make sense of it, because there was no sense to it. There was no reason to feel singled out, because it is happening to someone in the world every second. We were no more or less special than anyone else. But the thing that brought the greatest, or maybe the only, peace to me was that there was nothing left unsaid. We both knew how we felt about each other, and the last time I had patted her leg and told her I loved her was about 10 minutes earlier. I don’t think we ever completely get over such events, but they are irreversible, so we learn to live with them and then go forward to live life. Life goes on with or without us. Jill helped me go forward, and for that I am very grateful. Steve

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      • Steve, what an extraordinary tragedy you’ve had to live with.

        I can’t imagine how that would affect someone. It would have crippled me psychologically, I’m sure.

        You’re a remarkable person to have come through that with he equanimity you now appear to have.

        Bill

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        • Bill, Thanks for that kind observation. Life is strange and at times difficult, but always worth living. When tragedy strikes, we have a choice of standing in front of a door that will never reopen or moving on to another door, painful though it may be. It helps that Jill knew Shelley, my deceased wife, so she in some ways shared my grief, and she knew what I was going through, My grieving might not have reached its full depth until after Jill and I were married. Jill always knew when I had a difficult moment and would understandingly squeeze my hand without feeling abandoned herself. She just knew and she understood. What more could one ask for. I am doubly blessed.

          Yes, the community you, Bill, have brought together is pretty powerful and I feel blessed and humbled to be part of it. All because one man wanted to record his journey and opened it up for anyone in the world who wanted to tag along. As I have told you before, I decided to do a blog after beginning to follow you, so you had a powerful influence on me. Otherwise, I might not have thought about it, and I would have missed out on so much. The process of writing my blog and following yours added immensely to my Camino. So, thank you sir. Steve

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          • Steve – it’s such a shame you’ve finished mate! Jen and I were loving your blogs, and Jill’s too!

            Of course we were always looking for little things to indicate if the Camino was working its special subtle magic, and of course it did. On both of you. Your photography perhaps said it most eloquently – but also your words.

            While I sit here writing this comment, my wife is sitting opposite me learning her “Spanish Word for the Day,” which she gets from the internet. It seems we have this forward connection to Spain, and to the Camino.

            I can now understand why some people walk the Camino twice in a year. I can’t wait to get back there, but I know it will be a while. I have to finish this eBook, I have to make the documentary on intuition (PGS), and I have to get my knee fixed up.

            But there is also more that I can post on this site – things that occur to me – and hopefully they will continue to generate discussion, because invariably what comes out in the comments is way more interesting than what I post!

            Bill

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          • I haven’t finished the blog, just the Camino, Round 1. I simply have not had time to write more in the last day or two, in no small part, to the time I spend in your blog. 🙂 I was never a big follower of facebook, and only looked at it when I got an email saying someone had posted something to my time line or whatever it is called. But, this blogging can be just as addictive. What would someone do if they had to work for a living, because it seems that the amount of time spent on here, there would not be much left for gainful employment. Steve

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      • Steve, you know what I thought the first time you told me about the accident?I thought, what a blessing for her to die, in love,next to the man she loved and knowing how much you loved her. I know its a painful episode-we all have them tucked away. But you gave her the greatest gift one human being can give to another, and thats cause for rejoicing.

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        • Sister, It would have been so different if we had an argument before hand or cross feelings. If we live our lives like each day is our last, one day it will be true, but in the meantime, we will attempt to let all others know how we feel about them. What a tragedy it would have been had Shelley and I not had that. It brings a degree of comfort from a tragic occurrence. I have experienced a lot of toil and chaos in my life, and to the extent possible, I refuse to allow it into my life today. This ties back to another earlier post by me talking about living without expectation, but learning to love and accept each day as it comes and find the blessings within. Thus, I don’t have to worry about whether or not Jill and I get back together. I simply prefer to believe that the right thing will happen and not set myself or her up by having an expectation as to what that should be. That has really freed me up in my life, and it has been a long time coming. Steve

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      • Steve I am very sorry for your loss. What a blessing to have had that beautiful moment before the accident happened, changing things forever. At my husband’s funeral his uncle came to me and said “I know it is supposed to be inappropriate to say so, but life does go on”. That turned out to be one of the most helpful things anyone said to me. Because it encouraged me not to give up. How wonderful that you and Jill found each other. Life is so short, but so long, and so very valuable.
        Debra

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        • Debra, As you know first hand, life does go on. A friend of mine who had lost his wife told me at the time that you simply learn to live with the memories, but move forward. I will never forget my time with Shelley and she will always be a part of my life, but that does not have to be at the detriment to Jill. Life seems to be an accumulation of many experiences, and to blot out one or another makes no sense. Everything we have experienced makes us who we are today, and nobody gets through life with only good experiences. Steve

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    • Dear Debra, firstly thank you for trusting the integrity of this blog to post such an intimate and deeply moving story.

      Perhaps Spirit wanted that time alone with him, before passing.

      It doesn’t though mitigate the regrets, the “what if’s,” the years of self recriminations.

      I was working on a movie when my father died. I was shooting the movie in New Orleans, but I’d had to fly to Paris in the middle of the shoot for visa reasons.

      It was a gruelling 3 day turnaround. I flew in to Paris and checked into my hotel. I did what I had to do for my visa and the next morning, I called my father. It was Sunday in Australia and I always called him on a Sunday.

      Then I went to the Notre Dame, and unusually for me, I prayed. Later that day I flew back to New Orleans. When I arrived back, I got a message that my father had died.

      I later estimated that he’d died about an hour after I called – a heart attack. It would have been when I was in the Notre Dame, praying.

      It gives me peace to this day, knowing that I’d made that call.

      So I can imagine what you’ve had to go through.

      Thank you for entrusting such a deeply personal story with us all – through sharing these intimate moments we each are in some way enriched.

      Bill

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      • Bill, thank you for your kind words, and thank you for that perspective!

        I had never thought that maybe I was not needed at that point in time, but as you say perhaps my husband needed some time alone with God. I only felt guilty for not being there. You have helped me, even now after all the years, feel a sense of peace about it!

        What a wonderful story you tell about your own father, and your connection. I am going to see my father tomorrow. He is 86, an old prairie farmer, but has Parkinson’s disease and is so reduced in ability. I am afraid he won’t be here much longer, though I hope.

        Thank you all for the little community here. We are scattered to all corners of the globe (I am sure) yet we are all connected to one another.

        I am so looking forward to the Camino. I have no idea how it will affect me- who knows- I might cry the whole way. Or laugh! Or just enjoy the peace and quiet. I grew up in the Canadian prairies to the sound of the wind and the meadowlarks, and the wild geese. I love the silence. and “the music of the spheres”. I loved the little video of the sound of walking. So simple.

        We shall see, all I know is I need simplicity and time for reflection. Still 2 months before I leave.

        Debra

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        • Dear Debra,

          When you said you got that clear message from God that he was with your husband, that’s what occurred to me – that your husband needed that special time alone, with God, for his move put of this world plane.

          And yes, it is an extraordinary group of eclectic people that come and go from this blog. It’s wonderful!

          Some very wise souls post here. I’m very fortunate to have them as friends, and guides.

          Bill

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        • Debra, it really is a great little community here, and I’m so grateful I found it.What I find so interesting is the way at first we talk about the Camino-which seems to be such a vehicle for the Spirit. Pretty soon we share our physical problems, and trade healing tips. Then one by one, we open up about some painful, or deeply spiritual time in our lives, and we jump to take care of each other then,too.Each of us receives and gives gifts via this blog nearly every day, and all because one day Bill thought maybe he’d share his Camino on a blog!Invisible threads connect each of us, and carry words and feelings across the world, and back again. What a phenomenal blessing for us all!
          Are you still on the Prairies?We may practically be neighbours!

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  6. Dear Sister – what a wonderful way of expressing what’s happening here!

    You really do have a fabulous facility not only to see clearly, and with insight, but to be able to communicate that in a way that touches and informs us all.

    There are times when someone posts something on this blog and because of its intimate or spiritual nature, I really don’t know how to respond – or I don’t feel as though I’m qualified to respond.

    Invariably you step in and say something that is profound and wise and full of compassion – and you provide an insight that I never could have. You are a very important part of this community, and I feel very blessed every time you contribute.

    Thank you.

    Bill

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    • I am really touched by your kind words, Bill.You have no idea how much they mean to me,or how much I enjoy coming to this blog every day.Thank you!

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      • Thank you Sister – and you too Steve.

        Next week this blog will hit 50,000 page views. That’s pretty amazing I think.

        Who’d have thought that a blog which set out to just record a walk for close family and friends, as you said Sister, could now be attracting about 300-500 visitors a day!

        Bill

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  7. Sister Simon Clare, no I am not still on the prairies, I live in BC. After my husband died in Switzerland I decided to come back to Canada so my children could have grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Their Swiss grandparents had died just a couple of years before their father, so we came back so they could have family. I moved here because my sister lived here. I remarried and raised 5 children together with my 2nd husband, his 3 and my 2. it has been a blessing to all of us, all wonderful young people. We have a dairy farm and make cheese on the farm. Life here is pretty relentless, for me to take several weeks to walk the Camino is going to take a small miracle! But I am going!!

    Where are you? Maybe we are neighbours!

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    • Well, I’m glad to hear that your life sounds rich and full of love.God takes care of us whether we are aware of it at the time, or not.As for neighbours-nationally, anyway.I’m in Ontario.Il be praying for your upcoming Camino. I hear there’s some wonderful cheese in that part of Spain!

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  8. Okay, now I’m caught up. And I’m not even a pilgrim — or at least not from the Camino. I am a sister to one, though, and that caught me with your blog, Bill, as well as Steve’s.

    I was thinking as I read your past six blog posts and comments, Bill , how much depth has come into these. The blog and comments have always been thought provoking and insightful, but these last ones moving from Joseph Campbell to family relationships to the trauma and moving forward through death of loved ones. And the layers peel back with such love and honesty and dignity and thoughtfulness and the responses are every bit as much so. And one persons opens up leads to another and another. So much love and healing.

    I think there’s something to that business of time alone with God before death. Our dad fell and had severe unrecoverable brain the morning of his 94th birthday. He nd Mom were visiting me at the time. He was in a coma for 7 days which gave Steve and our sister Lynn and others time to come. We were with him round the clock at the hospital. The day he died, I slipped out to play catch up at the office. The others went down to the hospital cafeteria to eat. Steve’s son Scott was still sitting quietly in the corner of the room. While we were all gone, Dad quietly drew his last breath. He was a Methodist minister and a man of great faith, so it’s nice to think this was an easy transition with his hand in God’s hand. That was 2010. Now my Mom, who is 96 and quite healthy, lives with me. He died 3 months before their 73rd wedding anniversary. That’s a whole other story. I was in college before I ever heard either say a cross word to the other and then it wasn’t very cross. Steve has mentioned in his blog that we had a remarkably loving childhood. It was.

    Getting to spend this time with Mom is joy and in recent month’s with Steve in Houston or east Texas, he also shares in that. We have our moments, but she is so healthy, smart and good spirited, she’s an inspiration to all she meets. I did not mean to go on so long.

    It is a pleasure and an honor to know each of you. What an interesting, caring, insightful group you are. Blessings shower from you and may they shower on you.

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    • Dear Barbara – well, firstly thank you giving me a deeper understanding of Steve and where he’s come from. 73 years of marriage is extraordinary. And the benefits to you and Steve of that level of stability cannot be measured. You are both very fortunate.

      Thank you also for your lovely words about this blog.

      Like you I’m amazed at how it’s begun to shift into something else – and as I said in another post, it’s a safe place for people to express personal and intimate things. It’s not Facebook, which is more visible. It feels like a private little enclave which of course is open to everyone, but only those that have like views will be attracted to it, and will stay.

      I’m enjoying seeing what other people post – and there are a few people who really challenge me, in a wonderful way!

      Steve’s done well hey? What a remarkable time it was for him, on the Camino. And Jill too. It was fabulous to see their posts each day.

      Again, thank you for making contact like this. And plea feel free to throw in your two cents worth, as they say in your country… 🙂

      Bill

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    • Never forget, Barb, that one of the things that makes this community so caring and open, is you!

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  9. Hello Bill and all the friends you have gathered through this Blog.
    What an amazing group this has become, brought together through mutual trust, respect, understanding, compassion and challenge. The posts have certainly moved to a very different level to what I was expecting. I only hope my blog can help me clarify my thoughts and share my Camino when the time comes.

    I have been off line for a few days and didn’t realise how much I would miss checking in each day. During the frustrations and challenges of trying to establish what was wrong with my usually very stable ADSL connection, I had many conversations with an offshore call centre. I must be honest in admitting that, at times, I was less than patient. On 2 separate occasions, I stopped mid sentence and asked myself “Why am I like this? Will the Camino help me to be more patient?” I certainly hope so. I think my lessons have begun.

    Reading all the comments about the impact of loss, death, separation and the ability to come to terms with what life deals out, I have shed a few tears, as perhaps others have also. They are tears of grief and also tears of joy, to be allowed a glimpse of the soul and heart. We all have sunshine and shadow, light and dark, joy and sorrow, strength and weakness, past and future, but all are lived in the present.
    When my very young father [44] collapsed and died suddenly, I was 7 years old and sitting on his knee. He left behind my mother and 6 small children. Mum is still a strong, independent woman at 87, who has devoted her life to family and community through many charitable works. The void I am sure she felt has been filled by trying to meet the needs of others.
    For me, there has always been a sense of loss in that special parent / child relationship. One day I will see the full wisdom of God’s plan in this.
    For now, blessings to all before my connection drops out.
    Anne

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    • Dear Anne – my goodness, 7 years old, sitting on your father’s knee, and he collapses and dies? How do you ever recover from that?

      You must be incredibly strong, and have an immutable faith.

      Thank you for saying those very kind things about the blog. It’s kind of like the Camino itself at times, isn’t it. It twists and turns and takes different guises.

      Ultimately though, it seems to attract wonderful people with a shared interest not only in the Camino, but in what the Camino represents, what the Camino throws up, and what the Camino can mean to them, should they walk it – because some people on this blog have yet to walk the Camino, and yet I feel very strongly that in previous lives, they’ve done so, and with distinction. They have such an affinity for it… Sister Clare being one… 🙂

      Isn’t it a drag when the internet goes down? We’ve become so dependent on it. And it can be a very powerful tool in bringing like-minded people together, like on this blog.

      Bill

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