Every once in awhile, some silly little something happens that makes our day. My day was made, today, by just such a silly thing.
My two favorite books are The Universal History of Numbers by Georges Ifrah and Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Today, as I was going through the stats for my Monkees site, I was surprised to find two referrals from Neil Gaiman's Journal. Sometimes, I visit some of the more surprising referral pages listed, only to discover it's some kind of mistake... that there is no link to my site. But, sure enough, about half way down the page of his June 27, 2004 entries there's evidence that for the briefest moment, Neil Gaiman, co-author of one of my two all-time favorite books, was aware of the existence of something of MINE! WOW!
Sometimes, the feeling of "I'm just one insignificant person" can really drag us down and make us question whether we can make a difference. While this whole Gaiman linking to my Monkees site thing is completely unrelated to political activism, (mine or anyone else's) discovering that link was a good reminder that one person can, indeed, stand out in a crowd of millions, even if only for the briefest of moments. Thanks for the boost, Neil. That's two I owe ya!
While I'm indulging in a rare moment of personal discourse, I'd like to share one other, even sillier, thing with you.
I don't know what I was dreaming, to have any idea as to the context, but as I woke, a few days ago, I spoke something in my final moment of dreaming, that has stayed with me, since.
"The baby boomer generation was going to be the one to cure cancer, but the guy who was going to do it got drafted and was killed in 'Nam."
My tone was as though I was regurgitating well-established facts I had long since bored of repeating ..."Two plus two equals four. Blue and yellow make green. The cure for cancer died in a rice paddie. Water freezes at 32 degrees." Very odd.
Of course, there's no deeper meaning or truth to the statement. It's just something conjured in a sleeping mind. The sobering truth of our waking reality is that we'll never know what our fallen soldiers might have gone on to accomplish.