I owe you an apology. I should not have thrown that first post out into the void without some explanation of its origin and significance. So, here goes.
I belong to a neighborhood book club. Thanatopsis, (yes, the club has a name–it also has T-Shirts, but that’s another story) was formed in 1984 and in the thirty-four years since has met once a month to discuss books. From the beginning Thanatopsis has operated on a six month calendar. Each six months a schedule of books to be read is put together and members of the club volunteer to host meetings and to lead discussions. That obviously requires some coordination and the person charged with that coordination has, for reasons lost in the mists of time, been referred to as “The Girl.” The Girl is also tasked with reminding members of upcoming meetings.
My wife was invited to join Thanatopsis shortly after we moved into the neighborhood in 1986. A few years later I expressed interest in attending and was invited to participate as the token male because while no rule exists regarding the sex of the members and men have been invited to become part of the club from time to time I am the only man foolish or brave enough to join the group. My involvement over the years has been spotty owing to work and other commitments; my wife has been a faithful attendee. Since my retirement four and a half years ago (ah, maybe the subject of another post) I have attended regularly. A year or so after my retirement, the member who was acting as The Girl expressed a desire to move on from that position. As I was retired and secure in my masculinity (toxic though it may be), I volunteered to become The Girl.
So every month I send out reminders of upcoming meetings and occasionally provide other information. I try to amuse myself when writing the reminders. I’m gratified when I’m able to amuse others as well.
My first post was the most recent reminder. It was more involved than most.