“Write like it matters. Someone’s listening. And chances are, they’ve been waiting.”

—Brent L. Kendrick (b. 1947). Essayist, Scholar, Reinventor (Naturally Wired to Talk), AND THEWIREDRESEARCHER.

Historians, sit up and take note. This blog just crossed the 10,000-view mark today—August 4, 2025, at precisely 08:16:07.389 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time (Verified by a suspiciously eager blogger with coffee in hand and Ruby—Chief Pawblicity Officer—standing witness.)

And get this. That number’s just for this calendar year, in case anyone’s counting.

Yes: I am. Yes: I saw it coming. And yes, I was watching and waiting.

I had expected this moment to arrive in September, just like it did last year. But clearly, you—My Dear Readers—were in a bit more of a hurry.

You showed up early. Often. With curiosity, kindness, and that quiet little click that says, “I’m listening.” And now, here we are: 10,000 views and counting. Ahead of schedule. Full of heart. Grateful doesn’t begin to cover it.

Truth is, I didn’t start this year with a plan. There was no map, no mileage goal, no neon sign blinking “10K or bust.” I just kept writing. I just kept sharing what was real, what was tender, what made me laugh or ache or marvel. And somewhere along the way, you found me. Or I found you. Or maybe we found each other.

You read about AIDS and parades. You wandered with me through bubble baths and memories.
You let me be silly, serious, sulky, and soft. And somehow, together, we made it here.

So let’s mark the moment—not with fireworks, but with this:

“Gratitude turns what we have into enough.”

– Aesop

You’ve made that true in the most beautiful way. Your time, your clicks, your messages—every one of them matters.

In case you missed them—or want to revisit a favorite—here’s a Sourdough Baker’s Dozen of standout posts from this year. These are the ones that rose, proofed, and stuck to the ribs (and hearts) of readers everywhere.

From playful to poignant, philosophical to flour-dusted, and yes—sprinkled with the sweet surprise of love at any age (especially the kind that shows up, steadfast, soul-paired, with sights set on the homestretch)—they helped carry us here—one click at a time: clickety, clickety, click.

✤ ❋ ✤ ✤ ❋ ✤ ✤ ❋ ✤

Redbuds of Remembrance.
● David and his fellow Interns proved themselves to be a class beyond measure. Where many people spoke of separation, the Interns spoke of inclusion. Where many people chose to remain socially ignorant, the Interns chose to embrace information as power. Where many people practiced discrimination, the Interns practiced acceptance.

A Forgotten Voice, A Living Legacy.
● Now, after years of refining my research, the book I’ve long envisioned is finally becoming a reality. Unmasking The Humourist: Alexander Gordon’s Lost Essays of Colonial Charleston, South Carolina. It’s a definitive edition that not only reveals The Humourist’s true identity but also presents his essays in full, with critical commentary, historical context, and meticulous annotations. This is not just a rediscovery; it is a restoration of one of the most significant but overlooked literary voices of Colonial America.

Rise Up with Words.
● In times like these, when every nerve and muscle of our being is tested, we can turn to the famous words of history—words spoken or written in moments that felt just as dark as these—and draw strength from their resonance.

My Altar Ego.
● I confess one more thing. Doing this being thingy that I’m supposed to be doing ain’t easy. But what’s a mountain man to do when he be soakin’ in a tub?

The Rust Whisperer.
● Despite all the times down through the years when I wished to be older so that I could experience sooner all the things that I would experience later on at the appointed time, I could do little more than wish and dream.

A Week Back to the Future.
● In all of those ways, I saw in her life pieces of my own future. But when Arlene “went away,” she left behind one piece that might have had an impact on me—equal to if not greater than—the other pieces of my future that she brought back home with every visit. Her Remington Rand typewriter in a gray box lined with green felt.

What Could $40 Million Mean?
● History saw June 14, 2025, for what it was—a flag-wrapped, reality-show distraction from the real work of freedom. We chose to posture for the world—while the world watched a nation that can’t feed its children waste millions playing dress-up with its military. It wasn’t patriotism. It was performance.

Finding Love Later in Life.
● For now, I just can’t help myself. I’m in a Do-Wah-Diddy-Diddy place in my life—hopeful, open, humming along. And why not? Love has found its way to others, even when it seemed unlikely. I am confident that my prince will come.

A Culinary Heist in Plain Sight.
● Stealing a recipe is like stealing a kiss—do it boldly, do it well, and for heaven’s sake, make sure it leaves them wanting more.

Learning to Love in a New Way.
● So, dare Gary and I clue you in on what two old dogs are learning about love—maybe better than most, certainly better than our younger selves ever did? Do you really want to know the bottom line? Alrighteez, tighty-whities. If you insist. Lean in and listen carefully.

The Route Home.
● What if we followed the map toward health, education, careers, relationships, aging, and faith—not perfectly, but faithfully? What if, when we made a wrong turn, we heard a calm voice say: Don’t worry. Recalculating. What if we believed it?

Right Now, I Still Believe in Heart-Ons.
● My mishearing gave me cover. And somehow, the laughter that followed—laughter I didn’t understand either—wrapped around me like a protective cloak. My greenness did something extraordinary. It saved me.

Co-Scripting the Postscript.
● Frank is dead, yet he liveth. I have proof. Well, it’s proof enough to satisfy me. I’ll share it with you so you can decide for yourself, as we all must do in the end.

✤ ❋ ✤ ✤ ❋ ✤ ✤ ❋ ✤

No countdown this time.
No waiting.
No watching.

Just wonder.

We’re early.
We’re epic.
We’re enough.