Dear Lauren Kessler,

Shortly after reading your yearend missive about the failure of words as replacement for action, I heard an all too familiar knocking at the front door of my psyche. “Oh Randy, have you been using words carelessly again?, the voice on the porch whispered” You see - I love words.  I love wordplay.  Action, however, is, for me – well - it is somewhat hard to pin a tail on that donkey.

You and I are of similar age and have been a part of the same rising and falling tides of history.  You, more so than me, have also been able to swing opinion and sway perception by your gifts as a wordsmith, your compelling storytelling, and your honest, careful, courageous research.  You have remained fit, curious, and daring throughout your life, maybe even more so now, later in life.   On the other hand, my world has shrunk, in my old age.  I am a double amputee who must always leave the house, when I leave the house, on a short bus in my wheelchair. My days of climbing ladders, picking peaches, canning tomatoes on a Five Acres and Independence piece of Oregon heaven are long past. I cannot organize or march for social justice although the modern world’s continued injustice leaves a constant acrid taste in my mouth. I cannot walk a Camino, let alone five. 

But, I can be your friend.  I can be a good reader.  I can be loyal to you and enthusiastic to share my experience with you, I have tried to share the good, the bad, and the ugly.  But - all I have are Words. Words about gardens past. Words about Niobrara County, Nebraska and Walden, Colorado.  Words about Oregon.  Words about my days spent in Oregon’s prisons.  Words about my children and grandchildren.

I agree with you.  “Words heal. Words wound. Words capture memories. Words create—and destroy—connections.”

We live in a time where carnival barkers and snake oil salesmen hold sway.  In a world that has monetized everything and normalized the world of The Hidden Persuaders, the volume of words uttered senselessly to sell everything make me want to cover my ears and speak no more.  Where is a good cloistered monastery when you need one?  I know – Spain.  At any rate, I hope I may continue to count you as a friend.  I hope I have never left you hanging on a dangling promise or participle, for that matter.  I admire you a great deal.  I want you to know you have enriched my world.  And, you have done so with your Words which have always illuminated your actions.  And that is my ‘Final Word’ for today.