You’ve probably noticed that I’ve been moving around quite a lot lately. Here and there. Every Tuesday in Poing, and last week some massive oversharing while I took this show on the road. While in Berlin, I scattered plenty of photos, visited tea shops/tearooms and generally tried to entertain the lot of you with things I would’ve probably been doing anyway.

Regardless of all that, I’d like to make a desperate plea. One that probably sounds rather rich coming from the likes of me. But before I do so, I’d like to introduce you to Patsy.

Some bloggers have the foresight to alter close friends’ monikers before splaying their names all over the place. To protect the innocent and everything. Well, I hate to say it, but it’s too late for all of that when it comes to Patsy. Not that I’ll be divulging her surname. What, do you think I’m completely insane? Might be better if you don’t answer that just yet.

To adequately describe who Patsy is, I could easily go back to one of the darkest times in my life when I lived for a short time in her house. We’d sit on her porch and drink coffee and solve the many problems of the world, because to be perfectly honest that’s what one does while sitting on the porch drinking coffee with Patsy.

I could just as easily go back many years before that when I was a wee little boy and my mother and Patsy were friends, and we’d go on adventures. Me and Patsy.

Where would we go? Well, exciting, faraway locales like the neighbourhood super market. I’m not kidding. She was so full of verve, that my dear Patsy could make a trip of such drudgery into an adventure. Years later, I’d accompany her to the same neighbourhood super market. It was my habit to grab that week’s New Yorker magazine, and proceed to read it aloud to her as we made our way from the fresh produce, through the frozen foods and on to the salsa and Mexican Food aisle.

It was not only a pleasure to read to her, but it was my small way of saying thank you to her for all that above-average adventuring that we’d had when I’d been little. She knew about my thank you.

She knew, because I told her.

So, I can hear you asking, ‘What about this desperate plea? We want to hear more about the desperate plea.’

It’s quite simple, as many of the best things are. And it’s something I learned from Patsy while sitting on her porch drinking coffee and solving the world’s problems. As one is wont to do. So, rather than take even a morsel of credit for this one, I’ll let Patsy tell it in her own words:

‘See Ken,’ she’d say, ‘You can either go out and see the world. Or if you stay in one place, and wait patiently enough, the world will eventually come to you.’

Let me get ahead of you logical sorts who dissect and disprove simple brilliance at every opportunity. Don’t take this so damned literally. For once, can’t you just enjoy a bit of illogical, improbable wonder?

One needn’t go to Berlin. Or that trip to Peurto Vallarta you were considering? Not necessary. Not at all. The Himalayas can wait…they’re not going anywhere, after all.

Just sit quietly and wait. The world’s going to come stumbling by soon enough. You wouldn’t want to miss that now, would you?

The title of this, incidentally, can be translated as ‘somewhere‘ or ‘anywhere‘ or best of all: ‘nowhere special‘. Kind of perfect, don’t you think?


  1. So many young people dismiss older folks and that is a Damn shame. There is much to be learned just by listening as you did. Not that everything is a pearl of wisdom, but the chance is there.

    1. I’ve always gotten along rather well with older people. No idea why, but I’m fascinated by not only how things were but how those who’ve been around a while see things today.

  2. I need to start being more “surprise!” over here and not spoiler-alerting you on Twitter that I’ve read these and how much I’ve liked them before I even comment. I always do things backward.

    This is beautiful, and at first, I was just reading along, thinking, “this is beautiful, I love this,” and then it got deep AND beautiful, so I cried a little. Dammit.

    Also, you do realize that sometimes – for the lucky among us, at least – someone shows up who brings us the world, right?

    Thanks for bringing us the world, Ken.

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