Jan. 26, 2002 - 15:37 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Mosaic

Even in my limited view of the world, all I can see is a vast interlaced intricacy. So many lives, so many different people who have different outlooks on things.

Yet, I feel connected to each one that I read and/or exchange e-mails with. There is something in common between us, more than just a liking to communicate. There seems to be an openness, honesty and willingness to let others of a like mind into the circle.

Some of us acknowledge the ills amd orthopedic problems of old age, comparing notes and cheering each other on.

There are babies over a year old now who I heard about while they were still riding shotgun in their Mom's tummy. I see their pictures fairly frequently as they become people -- on past being infants. I saw a picture of one young lady who is, I think in her third trimester showing her bare belly, front and side views of a woman in her glory. Makes me remember Heather at that stage, all five times. The first time when she had a teddy bear type coat comes to mind. The times I felt one of our babies moving inside her. Not too long ago I was able to feel a baby moving in my granddaughter's tummy, who turned out to be a little boy last night.

So many folks pretty much like I am and so many more that I wish I could be like. A woman who can't seem to carry a baby to term and spent quite a long time in Viet Nam in the process of adopting a baby.

A woman and husband who adopted a baby and then lost it because the birth parent wanted the child back. They had a baby just long enough to love it completely.

A woman in Utah with six kids, home schooling them. Andrea in New Brunswick home schooling her four. Then there is Jim who knows computers and computer systems in and out, who travels worldwide teaching people his companies systems, but still finds the time to make deeply interesting entries, sharing his travels and outlook on things.

There is Jaeme who brings us fantastic pictures of the Great Smoky Mountain country and shares tales about it, works a job and does his share of pickin' an' grinnin' and even stops into visit others who roam the net such as Becky, Wendy, Sandy and Mr. Phred as he passes through.

The Old Grey Poet who writes a journal from Somerset, England whose poetry, stories and humorous outlook from where he surveys the world makes his, "Journal Of A Writing Man," a fantastic read. Yet what he has to say strikes responsive chords in most of us. I often say to myself, "Yeah, I'm like that, that's how I see it, oh man, what a hummer that was. ROTFLMAO, remembering the time recently when he and Graham set in motion a noisy display of some animated thing or other and walked away before anyone could come over and gripe at them about it. Don't know exactly what it was, but a counter full of yapping cuckoo clocks comes to mind.

Sophisticates or down to earth types, we seem to meet and meld a good part of the time. And beautifully agree to disagree at other times with a grin and a wave on the way by.

And If I Die Bob with his kids and his love of them and his wife, Rob of Darn Tootin' and his adorable lady baby, Al Schroeder and his journal, "Nova Notes," grieving the boy he lost - with us, and showing his love of his kids and wife. He writes fantastic entries and stories.

Two things seem to stand out to me about journalers, one is a love to communicate and the other is a general love of others and a desire to pass it on.

To ascend to great heights is my desire and to look down and observe the picture that journalists present to a higher power. It must be a most gorgeous Mosaic . . . . .

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