I’ve noticed that from time to time bloggers will invite other writers, or non-writers, to present their take on an incident or event. It seems like a clever idea, the readers get a view from angle by which they perhaps hadn’t yet examined the subject at hand, the writer gets to connect with a new and different audience and, probably most important of all, the blog owner gets a mini-vacay.
But I began to think about other people; folks who don’t want change. Those who sit down, tippity-tap their particulars into the internet machine, and rather than finding their favorite blogger blogging away; they find a rather alarmed entomologist detailing the infestation of the Somethingo In Latinus beetle and what it might mean to the banjo-neck industry.
Then, quite by accident, I found what for me represents for me, the guest-blogger sweet spot: a writer who is funny and engaging in his own right and sheds some light on where a certain Baroness picked up some of the links in her DNA chain. My grandfather, Oliver Cleon, “Jack” to his friends and family, may not be the same quick-witted, pun-loving man I knew during my childhood, primarily due to his death some twenty years ago, but what he wrote before the ultimate writer’s block set in is worth sharing.
Just the other day I came across something he put together following an apparently adventure filled bus trip with his daughter’s girl scout troop in 1958. I plan to present the entire travelogue in the near future, but until then please enjoy, in all its type-written, Courier font glory, part one of Senior Girl Scout Bust Strip.
(Warning: It’s not my place to apologize for another writer, so I won’t. But I will say that in 1958 there were things apparently considered funny, or at least acceptable, that today are neither. I’m presenting this in its entirety, but some portions are exceedingly cringe-worthy and I’m happy and relieved to report that the elements responsible for them did not make it into my aforementioned DNA chain.)