I am an occasional participant, but far more frequently I am simply a voyeur. I comment from time to time, but usually I just watch and absorb and wish my life were a little more like the ones I observe. “Wish in one hand and spit in the other…”
The subject of my musing this morning is a blog called Me and You and Ellie, a piece of internet real estate I stumbled on several years ago. I don’t recall how I came across the blog, but I remember how entranced I was by it, especially by the posts made by Ellie, one of three contributors. Ellie and her husband, who she calls “Mistah,” were in the midst of wanderlust at the time. They had been wandering the U.S. and Mexico in their Westy since January 2001, stopping in various places along the way to observe, participate, and have fun. Somewhere along the way, Ellie’s father needed a kidney transplant. Ellie was a match. And that was all she needed to know. Her kidney was harvested and her father got a needed new kidney.
My memory is unreliable, but I think I first encountered Ellie when she and Mistah lived in (or had recently left) Fort Davis, Texas. She posted pictures of the house they lived in and wrote a bit about their adventures. Ellie uses photographs extensively in her posts; that’s why hers generally are much more visually appealing than mine, though that’s not the only reason. Some time later, when my wife and I took a vacation in and around Big Bend National Park, we drove to Fort Davis and searched out Ellie’s and Mistah’s house. We found it and I took photos of it. I posted pictures of it on my blog at the time. I operated that blog under the pseudonym of Springer Kneeblood. (I used a pseudonym because I wanted to be able to safely say what I thought of some of my clients; even though I did not name them, it would have been apparent, had they read what I posted and discovered my name attached to it.) Ellie and I commented back and forth on our respective blogs at the time. It was great fun.
At any rate, Ellie and Mistah ended their grand adventure by returning to Connecticut and settling in New London, Connecticut. As I recall, Ellie went to work in a cool bar. Mistah went to work writing and reporting. After they settled in, I learned about the Hygienic Art Show and the Ledge Light (or, as Ellie calls it, Ledgie) lighthouse and the joys of living in and around Connecticut.
Since they returned to Connecticut, I’ve followed Mistah (AKA Bill) and Ellie on a more or less frequent basis. I keep up to date with their family and friend happenings, including the painful loss of Ellie’s father and marriages and birthdays and celebrations and visits and on and on and on. I suppose my fairly frequent following of Ellie’s posts is a little (or a lot) like living vicariously through a distant acquaintanceship. I feel like I know a lot about New London and about its art scene and the festival-like atmosphere that accompanies the transitions between the seasons.
The fact that Bob the Dog is on his way to Connecticut is probably what prompted me to think about Ellie this morning. I hope Bob (or whatever his new humans name him) is able to make Ellie’s acquaintance, or vice versa. That’s an odd thought, I suppose, but I am admittedly an odd person. Another friend who, like Ellie, I have never met might call the Connecticut parallels an example of synchronicity.
One of these days, I hope to find myself in New London. If so, I hope to meet Ellie and Bill. That meeting would add to the list of bloggers and blog followers and Facebookers I’ve met after “meeting” them online: Kathy Withcats, Teresa, Roger, Robin, Tara, Juan, Kathy, Larry, and more. One of these days had better come soon, though. All days eventually come to an end.
CORRECTION: It wasn’t a trip to Big Bend with my wife, it was a trip to West Texas with one of my brothers. It was in 2013. I found the reference and the photo of Bill’s and Ellie’s house on this blog post.
Thanks, Larry. For some reason, your comment got thrown into spam, but I retrieved it. I hope WordPress does not do that to you again!
I enjoyed the read. Thank You.