I stood frozen in the doorway of my suite at the Hotel Richmond staring at the source of my astonishment: my long lost uncle, John Carter, sitting in the foyer as if he was the cleaning lady pausing for a spot of tea. I had never been so flabbergasted and so delighted at the same time. I rushed up to hug him. My uncle stood up to meet me and returned my hug, but without the enthusiasm of past encounters. I was too excited to question it at the time. Instead, I asked how he came to be here right as I had need to speak with him. His only reply was that he was here because I willed it and I could pry no more explanation from his articulate lips.
In due time he motioned me to sit and then asked what he could do for me. Still in shock I began "As you know, uncle I've made my living as a writer for some time now and I am embarking on a new project. I am going to start writing a "blog" but have no inkling as how to build it or how to make it available to an audience. As in days past I have sought out your counsel in this. For though I've never heard you mention anything about "blogs" or "URLs" in your journals you have proven yourself time and again to be a man possessed of all manner of knowledge and hope that this will be no exception.
Uncle Jack, how does one blog"?
For long moments my uncle looked at me while, ostensibly, considering my question. The uncustomary silence did not put me at ease and just as it became interminable Uncle Jack did something I have never seen him do in all the years of my long, long life.
He put his hand out to me, turned upward in a seeming gesture of benevolent offering. And then immediately thereafter his face careened into his upturned palm with such force that I could scarce hold onto the arms of my wing back chair. His face remained in the palm of his hand when he next spoke.
"Nephew, if you would care to leave the protective confines of your home, walk out onto the pavement outside your door, stand among your fellow man and cry out 'I need help with a blog' I'm sure some child over the age of 12 will present himself and give you the assistance you desire. Does that answer your question?"
I didn't know what to say and merely nodded, silently.
"Good," said Captain Carter and rose from his chair. I took that as a signal that our audience was over and also stood up.
"I must leave now, Nephew. It was good seeing you again, but you know that Earth is no longer my home."
I tried to answer the good Captain, but the words caught in my throat. So, once more, I nodded.
"And if I may say so, Edgar, please resist the urge in the future of calling on me for a conference. I believe you have gone to that well one time too many, don't you?"
"I . . . suppose?" was all I could muster.
That last exchange seemed to at last meet with the good Captain's approval. For he let a hint of a smile play across his handsome, manly face and shot me that old wink that marked me as his favorite in the Burroughs clan. He then gave me a strong and loving farewell hug and my spirit was buoyed by the gesture. When he released me from his embrace he turned me toward the suite's door. And I found myself involuntarily walking out of the room. As if I was a marionette following the command of a master puppeteer. I regained my senses only after I had cleared the doorway. As my mind cleared I remembered I had something else to say to my dear old uncle, but I turned to see the suite's door shut locked behind me. And I with no key to open it. Only a useless plastic card.
-ERB
Next: The Long Road Home
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