On November 3rd, 2004, the Ramblings column made its debut here in the Burke County Tribune. Pert near 19-years and roughly 450 columns submitted on time, every time, until last time. I always keep my column deadlines in the same place in the back of my mind, so my mind knows exactly where to look and when to start pondering something to write about.

Both my mind and myself were surprised to get an email from the managing editor, Lyann Olson, a few hours prior to the submission deadline that said, “Will you have a column for this week?” My mind and myself thought, “This week? I don’t have a column due until next week.” My mind and myself were both wrong.

All streaks must end, otherwise they wouldn’t be streaks, they’d be lines. Nothing against lines, but streaks keep you on your toes, they keep your jazz hands jazzing (I have no idea). Speaking of streaks, white is the only color underwear should not be. I have a theory that the Fruit of the Loom cartel strongarmed the white skivvy agenda to force the purchase of more of their product.

They obviously failed to take into consideration that the tattered, weathered, and repulsive condition of such garments literally and figuratively flies below the radar of men. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s why clothes lines are always in the backyard.

But I digress…the underwear sidetrack was not intended to distract you from the fact that I messed up. I’m not sure what its intention was? I’m just as surprised as anyone when I go back and read what my mind has written. So…I apologize for the oversight. I apologize to Lyann who graciously replied to my oversight with, “No worries. I will fill your spot.”

The more time I spend on earth the more I’ve realized that in one’s absence their “spot” is very rarely unable to be filled by another. Often, with hardly a soul noticing that there was a spot in need of filling. So it goes.

This first weighed on my mind when one of my colleagues, who had spent 38-years teaching at the college, retired. The incoming freshman the following academic year had no knowledge of my colleagues existence, nor of her 38-year career and many contributions to the college. It was a stark reminder of the sentiment put forth by Saxon White Kessinger’s poem “The Indispensable Man”.

Sometime when you’re feeling important;
Sometime when your ego ’s in bloom;
Sometime when you take it for granted,
You’re the best qualified in the room:
Sometime when you feel that your going,
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions,
And see how they humble your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that’s remaining,
Is a measure of how much you’ll be missed.
You can splash all you wish when you enter,
You may stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you’ll find that in no time,
It looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example,
Is to do just the best that you can,
Be proud of yourself but remember,
There’s no indispensable man.