69 Reasons You Are Losing Readers

Sometimes the emails and comments are sent with good intentions in which I am told it is them and not me who has changed and that is why they are giving up their subscription.

Those are placed against the ones in which I am told there is no reason to attack the finest president we have ever had and thus they must let me go.

And then there are the haters who want me to know I am the among the worst writers they have ever read.

I ask the latter group if that means a check, sexual favors or a testimonial are off the table but the responses aren’t fit to print here.

There is no single reason but if I had to choose one it is because they are so poorly written I would have to rewrite them and what fun would that be.

Don’t ask what happens with the second group because they aren’t smart enough to recognize their favorite author is a Taurus and they are wearing red.

That brings us to the first group and at this moment in time I am less concerned with how many readers I have or don’t have than I have been.

But that doesn’t stop the link bait headline now does it so maybe I care…a little.

Dad Called Me Back

Played an old voicemail of dad saying he was calling me back and called out to see whether something would happen.

Called out to see if maybe there was magic in the car but the old man didn’t respond to my saying “Dad” so I turned to using his real name.

“Orrie, calling Orrie. Come in Orrie.”

If you are not family you probably don’t know that calling dad by his name was a good way to get into trouble.

“I am your father, not your friend.”

Sometimes it was said with a growl and sometimes with nothing more than the kind of inflection only family recognizes as a sign he wasn’t happy.

I don’t know if the grandchildren know/knew what kind of murder they got away with anytime they called him Grandpa Orrie because he never cared if they used his name.

But I do remember the look of approval he gave me when my son called me Josh and I cut that short.

I didn’t do it because he was there, I did it because that is how I was raised and seven year-old boys haven’t earned the right to use my first name like that.

It is kind of funny to think about how arbitrary some of this is because there were times when we were out and I called him Orrie and he didn’t get upset.

Those moments were pretty well defined in that we were camping or wandering through some store and it was a way to make sure we connected so no one got lost.

You could call dad “Orrie” in those situations and he was ok with it.


In the 14 months that have passed a few friends have told me stories about dad or made comments about who they think he was and I have generally nodded and smiled.

Very few of them knew him as well as they think and that is ok.

The man changed as we all do and the guy I knew growing up was different than the one who I knew during my twenties and early to mid thirties.

His heart attack and triple bypass is a good demarcation for another change and so the guy I knew from 35-49 was different too.

It wasn’t necessarily a radical change either. In most and many ways he was the guy he had always been but there was a softening.

That is probably natural or so I suspect as our roles evolve over time. It must be a different ball game when all of your kids are married and your responsibilities are different.

Or so I suspect, I haven’t reached that place so it remains to be seen as to what experience I have.

Hideaway Time

Been a hell of a week so far and I am beginning to think about whether I am going to say screw it all and go find a quiet place in the woods or on the beach.

I have had enough and I am about ready to take the Hummer…

OTOH, I had something big happen in the early evening so maybe that is a sign that things are breaking the right way and I won’t have to break things.

Time will tell.

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