It’s Wednesday evening. My church is serving supper. It is the month of Crocktober, which means that every Wednesday meal is some favorite concoction made and served from a crockpot.

Tonight, sausage and cream tortellini soup is on the menu. My taste buds are in heaven.

I’m in my own little world at the end of a table. Robert comes up and sits across from me. We are both slurping. Loudly.

A little background before going on.

The last story I shared with you has gone viral. This means that more than three cousins and a dozen friends read it. As a result of that story, I have been congratulated a bazillion times, today alone.

I went to a Senior lunch in another city this morning. Words of congratulations greeted me everywhere. I ate lunch at the Whistling Pig on Tuesday. Congratulatory remarks followed me there.

So, I’m sitting at my table slurping a divine tortellini soup with Robert when Beatrice comes up and says, “Congratulations.”

“I read your story,” she says. “I’m so glad for you both.”

Robert has a flat, deadpan look on his face. I can tell that he recognizes that he must have missed something. He is clearly not in the loop with all the other informed people on the planet.

Can you believe it? Here’s a guy who has not only never read one of my stories, but he’s never even heard of my bloggy thing at all.

Beatrice is going on and on about my stories. She’s telling Robert he has to crawl out from under the rock and read them. She is so enthusiastic that I’m starting to feel a little embarrassed.

But keep in mind that she is half German. She gets excited about things like sauerkraut. You can’t really trust people who get excited about sauerkraut.

Between shovels full of tortellini soup, Robert is saying things like “Oh,” “I see,” “I didn’t know.” Slurping sounds were evident between each reaction. He has an apologetic look on his face.

I wanted to tell him that it’s okay. Not knowing about my stories is more common than knowing. Most of the conscious world is oblivious to their existence, and I’m pretty sure they get along just fine without them.

BUT . . .

I have a special affection for those of you who do read these stories.

Every now and then I try and take stock of why I’m doing this. And I think the real answer is that I write because I enjoy it. I enjoy the challenge of putting words together that make people possibly laugh or tear up. Use the right words, and you can cause people to feel things or remember things that they haven’t thought of in years.

I’ve had a few folks tell me things like, “We sure grew up the same.” Or others accuse me of having a hidden camera in their house. “You know too much about my life.”

The one that really gets me: “That’s what I’ve been trying to say for years, and you said it for me.”

Reader reactions. That’s what I’m talking about. Yeah, I get positive strokes outta that. But I also try to keep things in perspective. I’m just a regular guy who grew up in the 1960s of rural Georgia. I’m a small fish in a small pond.

You’re probably not surprised that some local-yocals read my stuff. Kids from Hampton who aren’t kids anymore. A few cousins who are being nice to me. A handful of friends whom I’ve been fortunate enough to get to know over the years.

But here’s something you might not expect. I certainly never saw this coming. And this will tell you how little I know about the internet and the world of blogging.

Somehow, and for some reason not obvious to me at all, I have readers from across the globe.

You heard me correctly. My site keeps up with readership stats for me. Again, when I started writing, I had no clue this was even possible. But I can see how many times a story is viewed and the country from which that view originated.

So, I see you. You, over there in Ireland. I’ve always dreamt of going to Ireland. I got close once upon a time, but plans got cancelled.

I wonder why in the world you would read something about some schmuck’s life in Pine Mountain, Georgia. Way over here in the US of A.

I imagine you sitting by a warm fire in a country cottage, sipping on Irish Whiskey, and reading my stuff. Maybe you live near the Cliffs of Moher. Maybe you own a pub and live in the loft upstairs. Maybe you met my sister and her husband when they visited your country.

The truth is I don’t know who all reads my stories. But I get a glimpse every now and then.

I got a comment from Ukraine the other day. “Congratulations,” she said. She doesn’t know me. But she felt engaged enough to give me a shout-out. And it turns out that she, from Ukraine, is a friend of a friend who’s been there on a mission trip. I’m guessing FB made the connection.

Just like that I have another global reader.

I got an email one time from a young lady in India. She was reading my stuff. Lord only knows why, but she was. She sent me a note of condolence when Beth passed away. She doesn’t know me. But she felt connected enough to reach out.

I am blown away.

The good people of Ireland and Sweden are my number one readers. I can’t tell from my stats if there’s one reader returning again and again, or if it’s a different reader every time. Just somebody fishing across the internet who stumbles up on my blog and takes a silly chance. But I get more reads from there than anyplace else outside the US.

A global readership raises a lot of questions for a country boy like me.

I’m not sure a fella from Nigeria understands what it means when I say things like, “Aw shucks.”

The English language is hard enough without my usual butchering of it. I use a lot of slang and improper grammar when I write. Great Britian and Australia might get it. But I’m guessing that Thailand, Nigeria, and Hong Kong SAR of China might not understand my exact parts of speech.

Let me just give you the global list from this year alone. In addition to the countries already mentioned, I’ve got readers in Germany and Canada. Finland shows up with some small regularity. Portugal, Austria, and South Africa are in the middle of the pack. The Netherlands, Philippines, Turkey, Armenia, Hungry, Singapore, Monaco, and Saudia Arabia are reading at the back of the bus.

First, I want to apologize to the US if any of my stories cause some sort of global catastrophe. It’s really not my fault if there’s an international misunderstanding.

Second, I’m giving a big shout-out to all my international readers. Maybe you’ll write and tell me why in the world you read my stories.

I would surely love to know.