People have told me for a long time that I have a talent for writing; I think, to some extent, that is true. And there are times when I like to just talk about things, to try and capture the feelings of a moment, the sincerity of a concern . . . to try and pass on someone’s thoughts and deeds to another.

I think one of the incidents that most moved me was when I wrote about a pilot who was shot down over German-occupied France in WWII. He was in a POW camp which was liberated by General Patton; he said the General looked at the men around him, pointed out that he did not look directly at him, and said, “Men, I’m proud of you.” He told me at that moment he would have followed Patton anywhere, anytime. Having a link to such a moment in history was sort of beyond the usual dimensions in which I live. It enlarged me.

But that wasn’t the part that moved me. That was when he told me of an experience he had after the article ran. He said he was up on his roof, fixing or checking something, and when he came down two young men were standing there . . . and they said, “We just want to shake your hand and thank you for what you did for us.”

Now, I thought that was something; that made me feel as if, in the smallest way, I had said “thank you” too.

But this blog, and others I have started . . . Why do I write? Yes, honestly, I guess it is part of me. But, most of all, I write for you, the one who does not read what I say here. I write because I hope you’ll get to know me maybe more thoroughly than you have before . . . Oh, shoot, now, when I need them most of all, words fail me.