Your support

Yesterday, on the brink of my having to go out walking in the rain, I attempted to keep my chin up by posting news of my plans right here, on clerkmanifesto. Just knowing that I could let the world know I might imminently be getting wet gave me the courage to go on. But the outpouring of concern afterwards, and the offers of help from readers all over the world was most gratifying to me of all. I have been deeply moved by the messages, cards, pneumonia medications, hot toddy recipes, ponchos, gifts, support, and kind queries as to my health and well-being. When one writes a blog like this it sometimes feels very small and personal, almost like my own journal that I have left out for others to see. It is only when a crisis and disaster hits that one realizes just how many millions of people are out there. When one looks at one's blog statistics and sees that over 32 million people are subscribed to clerkmanifesto it is a mere abstraction, almost meaningless. But when one faces the very real possibilities of getting heavily rained on, and the frightful possibility of becoming wet, and those 32 million subscribers turn into actual, specific worried messages of concern piled so high that I cannot count them, and I receive gifts of fruitcakes so numerous that I can only barely count them (I have currently received 392 fruitcakes. Thank you all so much!), the endeavor of writing a daily blog becomes tangible and inspiring in a different way.

But first of all, let me reassure everyone. I'm okay! The rain was heavy and steady, but I made it through. I sustained wetness on my knees, shoes, around the ankle on my right foot, and, quite heavily on my hands and wrists. I am resting up and recovering well. I know some of you have been extremely concerned, but I guarantee you I am not currently wet. And while the several hundred towels that readers have sent proved helpful, we are now through that phase and well stocked. I must politely ask you not to send any more towels at this point. My Doctors and Chakra Consultants now inform me that I am largely out of danger and should try to relax, think warm thoughts, and imbibe warm, sweet, alcoholic beverages.

Many of you have also been kind enough to inquire as to how I am coming through this disaster on an emotional level. It has not been easy. The memories of my cold wet hands yet haunt me, but when I sip Frangelico, leaf quietly through The Picturebook of the Sahara Desert (as was prescribed to me), and bask in the care and concern that the people of the world have shown me, well, I almost feel as if I can carry on.