Has anyone else noticed that a whole bunch of us slowly stopped blogging about the same time a whole bunch of us got on Facebook? Even though the fundamental purpose behind Facebook (annoying ads and Zynga games) is not micro-blogging, I think status updates, at least on some level, satisfy the same somethingsomething as blogging (at least in the short term). Plus, once nearly everyone I knew got on it there was the immediacy of response. We still get to play with the comments. (And lord knows, most of us would admit that some of the best of our writing emerged in response to the cleverness of our readers).
Some bloggers, no doubt, just plain lost interest. But should the above theory be even remotely true, it goes a long way to resolving the mystery of why so many bloggers suddenly fell to earth at the same time.
And another thing. This blogging from work thing is pretty great because if I finish soon enough I have time to browse other blogs which, as you know, is at least have the fun of blogging. But for some reason I can't leave comments on JP's blog. That really makes me mad. But at least he's blogging regularly. That makes me happy.
There are a lot of issues that get people pretty het up these days. But the one that bothers me the most doesn't seem to get any attention from the right, left or center. The silence on this subject is deafening. And to me, offensive. Am I really the only person who thinks that there should be a constitutional amendment preventing school from starting before Labor Day?
The good news? Aside from the fact that Labor Day weekend involved copious amounts of sitting around? This year The Child is taking Zero Hour, an opportunity afforded upperclassmen to take an extra credit of something. That means she can't take the school bus in because she starts at 7am. So I have to drive her in. (Because public transportation would mean that she has to leave the house at, like, 5am and while I am, without question, the worst mother in the world, I'm not going to make her do that). But if she has to get up at 6am then that means I have to get up at 5am. Because mama just ain't happy if she doesn't get some time alone in the house. And staying happy is more important than sleeping in. Yes, I just wrote that.
"Good news?" you say. "How can getting up at 5am for anyone who isn't a farmer or commercial fisherman possibly be good news?"
Well, not only do I get my quiet time, without which I would quickly crumble to dust and blow away, but it means I get to the office at 7:30, a good 30 minutes before my tour starts. "At work a full 30 minutes before you have to be?" says you. "How can that POSSIBLY be good news? Why would you go to work when you don't have to? Who does that?"
Don't you see? Now I can blog from work just like all the cool kids! Who knows? Might even become a habit. Again.
I have never been to our nation's capital and I'm demmed excited. You might not know this about me, but I'm one whimpy arsed patriot. I never get all the way through the National Anthem at a ballgame because I start cryin' like a wee bairn. So the thought of being in D.C., only blocks from the Capitol, wandering around a place rife with history and meaning, well, it gets Mama just a little bit varklempt.
But that's not all.
Sure. It's just freakin' swell that I get to go to a conference with my peers to exchange information and knowledge and all that hooha. It's dandy that I get to spend time touring the monuments and sites of DC, reveling in all that is gloriously Americana.
But it turns out, I got peeps. Peeps in da 'hood. So, for example, on Sunday I'm hooking up with Anne to go to church and maybe if I'm lucky Mom will be there, too. Then later in the week I'm having dinner with my darling-cousin-who-I've-never-met-but-who-I'm-purty-sure-I'm-related-to Doralong. And if all that tweren't enough, I'm also hooking up with my college room-mate, Shelley, who I last saw before I met The Spouse. (She's an opera singer and her husband conducts the Navy band or some such thing).
Now all I have to do is:
get everything on my desk at work under control so that I can
prepare the FREAKIN' notes for the discussion I'm leading on website development and then
figure out what to wear on the day that requires me to participate in a scavenger hunt at the Smithsonian before attending a meeting in a Senator's office with no time between events to go to the hotel and change
which will happen around the same time I buy a bustier to fit under the superfantastic dress I'm wearing to the fancy arsed dinner the last night of the conference (in a joint that used to host the likes of, uh, George Washington and Thomas "Freakin'"Jefferson).
I do have a new superfantastic bit of luggage on wheels that doesn't remotely look like all the other (black) bags that will be on the carousel at baggage claim. (And don't even start. Mommy has to check her bag. WAY too many costume changes in one week for a carry-on). I'm going to start packing it tomorrow.
Funny thing about blogging. When I first started (nearly 5 years ago - yikes) I told a handful of people, for the purposes of accountability. Never dreamed that at my peak I'd have over 100 daily readers or that so many of them would become real and true friends (waves furiously at all the real and true friends). I never once thought that anything much would come of it, except for the daily discipline of writing which might lead to something. (It didn't, really, except for that one piece in that one journal that was published once). But it lead to many friends (throws kisses in their direction) and satisfaction and even joy so it was all good.
Then The Job - the most wonderful, awesome and fulfilling (paying) job I've ever had came along and some things had to give. Including daily blogging. Not that I wanted to slow down or stop (although I entertained the notion). Nor did I want to slow down or stop reading other blogs (even though I reluctantly have). It was just something that came with the working woman package (along with undone laundry, dusty mantels and not volunteering at school. Wait. That last one is a plus). Point is, I still don't want to stop blogging. Still not entirely sure why. Because if the initial point was to, as I said, build the discipline of writing into my life, well, the truth is, I write on my job. Not daily and not always the sorts of things I really truly want to be writing but the fact is, I've been published exponentially more since starting The Job than in all the blogging-every-day years. (Plus I develop virtually all the content for our website and THAT is a joy. It is also why I'm going to be presenting at the annual Managers' Conference on how to make your website superfantastic. Chortle).
Anyscribe, I decided that one thing I would do in Lent is focus on my blog and do so for the original reason...to make time for that daily expression. Not because it's always literary gold but because when it hits, when that one good phrase or coherently expressed thought reveals itself it is sooooo satisfying. And I'm not going to work for the government forever but I have been, since I first learned how to make letters on a tablet, a writer so I might as well keep my hand in.
But you want to hear the funny thing? All this last year when I was working and barely blogging I still got at least a comment or two a day from the faithful and the few. And that was both humbling and awesome. But yesterday I didn't get a single comment. (Or at least I hadn't by the time I started writing this). And it was OK. Because, for one thing, fair is fair and for another, well, it was almost like when I was first blogging, before anyone knew I was here. And it occurred to me how appropriate that really was...with me sorta reclaiming the purpose of my blog and sending these first posts out into a void without expectation that anyone is going to be coming by....doing it for me, because I want to and also because, strangely, I still feel like I need to.
And I think that's just about enough navel gazing for one blog post.
I'm sorry for those of you who hate it, but Mommy had to reinstitute word verification on her bloggy. The "high yield interest" spammer and the spammer whose first language is clearly not English were getting on her nerves. And as annoying as typing the word veri may be, it's more annoying to have spam in the middle of an otherwise interesting thread or to have to go in and delete it after the fact. So there. Word verification: it's like a screen door for the front portal of your blog home.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Moroccan meatball tagine in the oven and the couscous needs to be started.
I successfully blogged every day in November. Like someone said I was 'sposed to.
Of course, "successful" is a relative term in this case. I wouldn't suggest that every post has been riveting or oozing with import or even always terribly interesting. But the point is, I did it. And by doing it I proved to myself that it is not impossible to blog and have a job. (I know, I know, all y'all blog FROM work but I seriously never get a chance so there you go). That makes me happy.
Now someone needs to declare a month of blog READING every day.
I'd also like to state for the record that I'm officially sick of turkey and don't anticipate eating it in any form for several months to come. I do not, however, have similar feelings about cranberry sauce. Bring it.
Also, I didn't eat a lick of pie over the holiday. And you know how I feel about pie. But I recently reached a notch on the scale that I haven't seen since I was with child and that is so not acceptable. And dammit, if I'm going to meet Michelle Obama in May I am NOT gonna look like some fat old broad.
What's that? I didn't mention meeting Michelle Obama in May?
Well, I don't know for a certainty that I'll be meeting her but let's just say we're going to be at the same event and there's a chance. And if/when I do, I am not shaking her hand with flabby arms while wearing a mumu. So mama has to get herself moving and watch her caloric intake.
But if I can blog for 30 days straight and keep my laundry done and finally figure out how to keep the house in a reasonable state of cleanliness, I can get myself Obama ready by May.
Apparently it is Blog Like Your Life Depended on it Month or something like that. Which apparently means that bloggers are supposed to blog every day in November.
Monica came to visit last weekend. If you recall, I had some angst about the state of my house going in. I had succeeded in taking the day off on Friday (except there was a work-related project MAB begged me to do and I had to take The Child to the doctor for some lab work (routine, nothing scary) so I didn't even get home until 11:30 in the morning. So much for a "day" off. But I started to make some headway in the house and even in the gardens, which was more than I'd expected. Likewise, I did more of the same on Saturday. But come Sunday, the day of Monica's arrival, I still wasn't satisfied. (Yes, it really was that bad). Plus, she has allergies and we have pets and she knew about the pets but I wanted to make sure that whatever allergens I could control were thusly dealt with just so she wouldn't swell and die because I happen to think that having a guest swell and die on you is extremely bad form for a hostess.
Come Sunday I was also weary of my house. And Monica wasn't coming in until 9pm so I thought I'd take some time with my game. You know, just relax for crying out loud. And I believe I mentioned that the game is addicting. Addicting in the "where did the time go?" sort of way. But I still wasn't worried because, as I said, Monica was arriving at 9pm. Then my cell rang and it was her and she was in the cab and on her way because she'd caught an earlier train.
Said The Spouse, "And cue the freakout in five, four, three"... But I didn't really freakout. Much. Some final tweaks and it was going to have to do because there was the taxi and inside it was Monica. Who is more adorable than I expected.
We had wine and ate a delicious grilled chicken dinner that The Spouse put together then played "Guitar Hero". Good times.
As anyone who has visited us from elsewhere will tell you, we're not tremendous tour guides. Mon had never been here before so I knew I had to give her the nickel tour but I'm not a 2-hours-at-EMP-then-up-to-the-top-of-the-Space-Needle-followed-by-the-Underground-Tour-and-a-visit-to-the-zoo sorta tour guide. It's more along the lines of "there's our movie theater, there's my church, this is a nice neighborhood" sort of thing. But I did give her a little taste of Seattle. We went to the Market, had breakfast at Lowell's and talked about New York.
We cruised the stalls and found little tiny avocados and beautiful flowers.
I showed her the original Starbucks and then it was up to Queen Anne for the money shot of Seattle.
Monica was easily pleased, thought Seattle was beautiful and made me laugh. She is also prone to apropos-of-nothing comments like, "Could you go for a milkshake right about now?" The place with the best milkshakes was closed for the holiday but that was ok because, really, she needed to be able to say she'd been to Dick's Drive-in anyway.
We drove around some more; I pointed out some sights, Monica mused about moving to Seattle because it was so beautiful and felt like a place when real people lived (rather than Portland, which feels to her like a place where people go to "hang") then we took the lake drive back to the house. It was a beautiful day and the water was all sparkly and stuff.
The afternoon was spent playing a wicked fun card game called "Phase 10" with The Child, during which Monica and I endeavored to teach The Child essential life lessons that she simply must have to function in the world. (Like, learn to hold 10 cards in your hand at the same time). Then there was another random Monica moment involving pudding so while she and The Child walked to the co-op for said treat I made dessert (fresh nectarine tart with pastry cream on puff pastry). The Neighbor joined us for dinner and then Monica gamely joined The Child and I for the season premiere of "Jon and Kate Plus 8" (don't get me started).
And that was pretty much it. Low key, fun, comfortable.
Tuesday morning I drove Monica to the train station, gave her a hug and told her to come back any damn time.
Until Sunday Monica and I hadn't even spoken by phone. It was as virtual a relationship as they come. But, once again, making her real was just as easy a thing as it could be. I'm firmly convinced that it is impossible to put on too much if you are a blogger. You might have a schtick, you might create an on-line presence that focuses only on what you want to share. But if you read someone for any length of time you still get a pretty good sense of the kind of person they truly are. And sure enough, Monica is a smart, sassy, funny, kind and easy going person. It was a delight to hang with her and I can't wait until she comes up again.
For today's Jukebox, I'm playing a tune from a band Monica turned me on to while she was here. They are a band who, as she puts it, "wear their influences on their sleeve". One minute you're all, "this is mid-career Beatles" and then its "hey, this sounds like The Band". But they manage to put it all together in a way that is uniquely their own. Good stuff.
"But wait," you say. "I'm paying taxes so you can have Monday off. Isn't a three day weekend good enough for you, you gold-bricking government hack?"
Normally, it would be. But the weekend isn't going to be a leisurely lie-around-and-do-nothing-except-grill-in-the-"summer" sort of three day weekend.
Saturday I'm going to some wine making thing with The Neighbor. Sunday is Pentecost and we have the traditional spooning of the split pea soup made from the Easter ham bone, complete with guests and possibly karaoke. PLUS, around 9pm on Sunday a cab will deliver Monica(!) from the train station. Monday will be devoted to hanging with Mon and grilling up something for dinner.
There's no time for grocery shopping or making soup and cake and sanitizing a perch for Monica in that schedule. Never mind that my gardens are completely overgrown, winter junk is piled up everywhere and you can't see through the windows when the sun shines. Nope. I just don't see a way clear to managing without some extra time.
"You could not play ""Fallout 3" when you get home," says you.
"Are you mad?" exclaims me.
MAB kinda owes me. She's left me holding the bag quite a lot lately. First she was in SF for a week and yesterday she had the nerve to stay home sick. I think a day off is more than reasonable.
I would like to try and experiment. You need to help.
I was just reading through a journal I forgot about. One summer The Child and I did a little thing where each day we'd pick a topic and write a little essay. It was a good exercise, for me at least. There is something excellent about having to come up with a few paragraphs on a set topic; stretched the old noodle and all that. Then it occurred to me that it might be fun if you gave me some essay themes. (Oh, man, remember that? Having to write "themes" in grade school?) I'm not looking for big, lofty things like "Sean Hannity is a disgrace to all thinking people" or "Was Elizabeth I really a man?" I'm going for your one or two word idea, here. Things like "pie" or "bees". It might be fun.
Please leave your ideas in the comment section. If I come up with anything decent I'll post it here.
This is going to be a wild week. MAB is at a conference in SF so I'm on my own. Last week was veryveryquiet. We were only a little over half full and went for days without any check ins. I got all my new additions up on the web site; that's how quiet it was. (Most weeks I'm lucky to update the wish list). I don't think it will be that quiet this week, more's the pity. On the plus side, I'll likely be logging some overtime, which I can spend for some days off over the summer. Because even if you totally love everything about your job you sometimes need a break.
On Sunday evening we had the privilege of meeting yet another denizen ofBlogtopia, the one-of-a-kind Danny Wanny and his lovely wife, Red.
Danny is a fellow blogger (who blogs less frequently than his talents warrant but whatever), who is also a very good friend of the infamous Iwanski. I knew of Danny largely through Iwanski (and the now defunct "Iwanski/Winter Show") and esteemed him partly, I confess, because he was one of the first people to friend me on Facebook. So when he sent a message that he'd be in the area and would we be able to join them for dinner the answer was an unequivocal "I'll check the calendar".
We met at Salty's...a classic seafood restaurant on Alki beach with a commanding view of the Seattle skyline. It is a place none of us native Northwesterners had ever been. So that was fun. So was meeting Danny and Red.
It keeps happening, over and over; I meet these people who are virtual friends and there is nothing in the making them "real" that is remotely awkward or hiccupy. It is my contention, you see, that no matter what one's "schtick" may be bloggery-wise, it is impossible to keep your true self from shining through. So in reading a person you come to know him/her. And if you know him/her through his/her words, than meeting him/her in the flesh is not a shock. It is an easy and familiar thing. The foundation is already laid and it is easy to get right into a conversation about substantive and delightful things. These meetups are never so much about biographical details as they are taking up an on-going conversation with someone you already consider a friend.
We also arranged a marriage. Sure, his kid is a little younger than The Child but with her being an only child it has always been very important to me that her future in-laws be people with whom it will be easy to share holidays and grandchildren. It was nice to get that bit of business out of the way.
The food was excellent (hello? Dungeness crab mac and cheese? Heaven). The Spouse instructed Red on the best way to eat a alive-only-moments-ago crab.
Danny had oysters for dessert. The Child had this:We had an absolutely delightful meal. At one point The Child, laughing at another of Danny's bon mots, looked at me and gleefully declared, "I totally get him!". (Good thing, too, what with that whole future-father-in-law thing). The Spouse perused the post-prandial list and decided we'd do better with scotch at our place so they followed us home for a wee dram.
Friends are a gift and a blessing. And now we have yet another place to crash when next we invade Chicago. Life is good.
Sling does very creative things on his posts and one of the things I like the most is how he signs each one. For me it evokes a pen-to-paper feel to the blog; you can imagine him sitting with a pad of paper on his knee, scribbling out his wit and wisdom. And he generously shared the website what done makes the signatures. It's http://www.mylivesignature.com/, if'n you want to play, too.
I'm sneaking this in because it's Sunday night and hardly anyone reads my blog on Sunday night and also, by the time the people who normally read my blog show up on Monday, all full of coffee and ready for a break, this will be buried under the blog post that is scheduled to post tomorrow morning. (Which, btw, is a really swell little feature and I should take advantage of that more often).
Point is, sometimes I think that maybe it's time to stop this nonsense and only because I don't have the time I used to have and the whole point of doing this in the first place was to create some sort of creative obligation, if you will. Blogging was about making a commitment to write.
Amazing things came out of that. Friends, for one thing. Some of them downright irreplaceable. And writing stuff came out of it, too. But now...I dunno. I've got this job, see? And it's superfantastic and I adore it but between it and managing the rest of my life (which I sooooo do not feel like I'm doing very well, btw) I don't know if blogging makes the same sort of sense.
(This is probably the point where I mention that this is a genuine musing and not some sort of bid for a big ol' "OH NO! RAINEY! DON'T STOP BLOGGING OR I'LL DIE! I JUST KNOW I WILL!" crapola).
The thing I'm trying to figure out is this: am I blogging because I still need/want/desire the creative outlet or am I blogging because I said I'd blog? Because I've been looking at the stuff I've posted since I went back to work and I think it's safe to say that the preponderance of schtuff is pretty much not so much.
OR do I continue to blog but just realize/accept that the parameters must necessarily change...that maybe now it's not about the frequency (Kenneth) so much as focusing on making what I write worth the drop by of whoever is dropping by?
Know what's really funny about all this? I think of the bloggy ones who've disappeared for similar (or not so) reasons and how when they did I was always (at least secretly) all "Oh, please...why are you making such a big deal about this?" but now I think I might get it a little.
I know you wanted me to write a post about strangers who leave mean comments on blogs. It's good fodder to be sure. (A subset of that discussion would be about all the people who leave vile, insulting comments on various news blogs. Have you seen some of those? HMOG. That's a whole other brand of crazy- especially when someone else calls 'em out on their fraktardery and they come back with some self-righteous crap like "Oh, I guess you're just afraid of dialogue". Really? Dialogue?)
I even had some material about how no one has ever once held a gun to my head and forced me to read a blog. If I find one I don't care for - no matter the reason - I just click "next". I've never once wasted any time leaving some rude rant about how stupid that person is because I don't happen to agree with what they say. I mean, seriously, who has that kind of time? Most days I'm lucky to hit your blog and Buck's. (You make it easy, what with the whole not-updating-every-day thing and his are always short).
But then it occurred to me that my time would be better spent just reading some blogs & catching up with some of my peeps. So I did.
Sfoof was funny and Iwanski was, as usual, brilliant. And then I ran out of time. See?
Lorene is my oldest friend in the world. She's actually younger than me; what I mean to say is that while I am pretty good at keeping friends, no one has as much tenure as she does. We met in college. That was a while ago. Our history would make a very compelling tale, I think. Anyway, she has a new blog and has, like all bloggers, heard the siren call of "tagging".
The task? Open the book nearest your computer (no fair hunting for something that sounds intellectual and impressive) to page 56. Post the 5th sentence (plus one or two thereafter for context).
"First there is a lot of politics surrounding the guest list; people do tend to get offended if they consider themselves a close friend and aren't invited. The is fact that you don't always want the same people sitting around the table, which is important to remember when you find you haven't been invited somewhere that you think you ought have. So how to get around this tricky situation? Never apologize and never explain - it is as simple as that."
This comes from Domestic Bliss by Rita Konig...one of those books I read every year pretty much like clockwork. Konig takes a much more laissefaire attitude toward all things domestic than does, say, Martha Stewart, and is very irreverent and funny in the process. At the heart of her book is finding lots of little ways to make your home life more blissful, from advice on how to deal with contractors (bring them beer on Friday) to decorating a bedside table for a weekend guest to the perfect remedy for "Fat Saturday" (when you don't fit into anything, have no money and nothing to do). It's a fluffy read and yet I always take away the renewed inspiration that the little things matter.
Look at these two cutie patooties sitting in the dim light of the Palace Kitchen. I had a great time meeting Anne last night....love making those blog buddies real. She's just as charming as her blog suggested she'd be...a brainy, logical woman, the sort who gets the task of figuring out the bill at the end of the evening because she's good with numbers. But the brains are balanced nicely by a sweet, funny personality.
We talked about jobs and kids (I was late for our meeting because I'd gotten into a screaming fight with The Child...which she totally understood) and husbands and life. And having now successfully met so many blog buddies, I didn't actually go through the whole "will she like me/will we have anything to say to each other" pre-event jitters. There she was, in the hotel lobby, and after a big hug of greeting it was like we'd always known each other. 'Cause we kinda have.
Today she's coming over for dinner here (and I didn't get the house picked up beforehand so I guess there won't be any pretense about my meticulously managed household) and then we're going to watch PR with The Neighbor and MAB. What could be better than that?
This would be a good time to discuss fire safety. If your sleeve catches fire STOP, DROP and ROLL. Don't panic. I know a flaming sleeve is scary but waving your arms and running in circles is NOT the best plan. Yes, your shirt is, sadly, ruined and those are some nasty burns you've got there, but you're going to make things worse if you freak out.
Also, I'd like to explain the concept of "gotcha journalism". Let's say I'm being interviewed and I say something like "I'm bigger than when I was married. Thank Jesus that designers now make clothes for regular size women". Then let's say that the tape is edited so that the sound bite is "I'm bigger than Jesus". That's "gotcha journalism". But if I reveal myself to be a blithering idiot with no understanding whatsoever of the topic and if large sections of my interview, unedited and verbatim, end up in the script for a comedy sketch, demonstrating for a wider audience just how blithering I am, that's way unfortunate for me but it is not gotcha journalism. It is also not sexism.
There's a plus to being outed as a blithering idiot, though. Especially if I'm about to go into a (completely structured) "debate" with someone who isn't a blithering idiot. Because then all I have to do is show up and not blither for 90 minutes (which I should be able to do because I am good at memorizing sound bites and zingers) and I'll be a hero. In fact, if I can just keep my designer shoes out of my mouth for 90 minutes, I could end up the winner of the debate. Nothing sweeter than lowered expectations.
And speaking of sweet, happy New Year to all my Jewish friends.
Meanwhile, I get to have cocktails with Anne tonight. She's in town and we're meeting up for real. Tomorrow night she's going to come watch Project Runway with me and the girls. How fun is that?
Holy cats. Guess what? I just realized that my blogoversary has come and gone. For some reason I thought it was the 25th but nope, it was the 11th. Sheesh.
I've said it before but it bears repeating, blogging is awesome. It has become so much more than a way to practise writing. The abiding and completely unexpected gift of being a blogger is all the friends I've made. The crazy thing is that to date I have met, in person, 7 blog buddies and every single one of them was exactly who I expected them to be; no artifice or fakery. And while there might have been a little nervousness in the anticipation ("will they like me as much as I know I'm going to like them?"), all that was dispelled, every single time, the second we saw each other.
Within the hour I'll have my hatty Hat here. She's become one of my bestest friends in the world, a friendship which now has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with blogging. By week's end, we will have hugged the stuffing out of Sling. Now that we've done this "meeting blog buddies" thing, we're not even nervous. Excited, yes, but not nervous. It's Sling, for crying out loud. What you see is what you get with that man and more than anything else I'm looking forward to just hanging out with him.
I first found Sling in the comments section of one of Hat's earlier bloggy incarnations. One time she wrote something about how she wished she could take her blog friends to breakfast and in our comments, Sling and I pretended we were at breakfast with her. ("Are there more hashbrowns?" "Stop bogarting the ketchup"...like that, you know, the sort of thing we do now and again). I don't know what it was and of course, that blog is gone so the whole thing can't be properly entered into evidence but that was the turning point for me. That's when I started stalking reading Sling. And then, as is the way of our people, we started emailing. And now we are going to meet.
Once upon a time JP said something to me about how even if we never met, he considered me one of his best friends. Of course, we had every intention of meeting and, in fact, have met (and eaten Cheetoes and watched "Steel Magnolias" and other stuff friends do) but I knew what he meant. Meeting is awesome, but it actually is possible to get to know and trust someone through the ethers. Of course, the fact is, once the relationship gets to a certain point, meeting is pretty much inevitable, or at least, something that gets put on a list of "Things I'd Like to Do". But the point remains. I've considered Sling a friend, a good friend, for quite some time now. The actual meeting isn't going to be that big a deal. But I still can't wait to give him a big ol' hug and sit around eating applesauce cake and playing the guitar and laughing a bunch. Because I'm pretty sure there is going to be a whole lot of laughing.
and beautiful flowers.
We had an absolutely delightful meal. At one point The Child, laughing at another of Danny's 
