Sometimes it takes more than a sore back (the back that houses the spine that hunches over the two couch pillows that support the Netbook), a few tears in one’s rotator cuff (the rotator cuff that controls the shoulder of the arm that is connected to the hand that moves the fingers that do the clicking), or a sizzlin’ hot Spin instructor (enough said) to make one pay attention to what one is neglecting.
My blog is flatlining, and it is being so damn mellow dramatic about it.
“You cursed brat. Look what you’ve done. I’m melting! Melting!” Clutching its heart in death throes, looking at me through the corner of its eye, making sure I’m watching as it falls to one stick figure knee and then the other, and then beeeeeeeeeeep …………………
It all started with the Sizzle post; the post with Luis’s photo topping the page.
In fact, I said to Tony, “Look Honey, today was my blog’s busiest day ever.” He ‘uh-huh’-ed me and then started talking about something I didn’t listen to even though I was nodding my head.
Then the next day my blog starts to whine, “I’m melting, I’m melting”, clutches heart, drops to knees, and flatlines.
My, my there seems to be an odd trend happening in the blogging universe.
“I need a nap,” “It’s time for a rest,” “I should be sleeping.”
Several bloggers lamented about how social media is taking time away from their real lives.
As Souldipper put it, “Communication may be enhanced, but intimacy is being neglected. Connectedness is not intimacy.”
Do you see how my sentence is so much like hers?
I began to think, “Hmm, maybe my blog’s flatline is the universe’s way of telling me, ‘You’re doing it again.’”
Or maybe it’s just a reflection of the national hiring trend this month (You see, I was listening Tony).
Then, during a late night email chat with a good friend (this is why we are all so tired, we’re sending emails into the wee hours of the morning). We were trying to arrange a simple walk . . . .
I thought of Souldipper’s words: “True intimacy comes from contact that includes touching, smelling, feeling, and seeing a human being nose to nose.”
So Tony, and my friend, and I had dinner.
The next day, Tony set some breakfast down in front of me and started talking. I wasn’t listening (again!), I was quipping in my head.
As Tony was chatting with me over crumpets and eggs, I was thinking about the sperm and the egg that created Mostly Bright Ideas .
After breakfast, I hunched over the couch pillows again and quipped away.
When Tony nearly died, I read an article in the hospital about Soul Mates. It was an incredibly depressing article in O Magazine about a woman whose soul mate had died. I was painfully aware of what this woman was feeling. I vowed never to take Tony for granted again. I even included the promise in our 2002 Christmas letter.
“In the days that followed in the hospital (22 of them to be exact), I became profoundly aware of how deeply I love Tony. I think we all go through periods of time in our relationships when romance falls by the wayside and we get comfortable watching too much TV or whatever we do too much of. We say, ‘I love you’ with the same fervor that we ask, ‘What’s for dinner?’ We are short on compliments and long on criticism – our lives, our love, and our passion slowly slips by, pretty much unnoticed until one day you are staring at an empty hospital bed wondering what life would be like without the person you love most in the world.”
Yet here I am (was) again, sitting across the table from the love of my life (my soul mate!) thinking about Mostly Bright Ideas’ mother’s ovulation cycle (which by the way is a very funny post).
Ironically, today is the ten year anniversary of the day Tony got sick. I only remember the exact day because my friend (the one in the photo above) and her family were visiting us at our house in the mountains (the house we lived in when we were not an empty nest) for the President’s Day weekend. Tony didn’t feel well, so my friend, her husband, and I went out to dinner and left Tony at home to babysit. We did a lot of other fun stuff, too, while Tony was in bed with a fever and shaking chills. Which now that I think about it is probably why my butt and head hit the ice so hard when I was trying snowboarding for the first (and last) time that weekend.
When I sat down to write this post, I did not intend to write about how fragile life is or how we should not neglect the world outside of ourselves or how it should not take a flatline to make us pay attention to the people we love (and I certainly had no intention of revisiting the theme of the Wizard of Oz – I really was just Googling up a mellow dramatic death scene and Anniruhda handed me the Wicked Witch).
Nope, originally, I was going to write a quippy post comparing the price of Disneyland to traveling in Italy, based on this comment from Memoirs of an Evil Stepmom (MJ Nonstepmom) .
Ironically, MJ, Nonstepmom was the first EVER blogger to leave a comment on my blog. I have no idea how she happened upon this post: “My dad wanted to talk that day. . . . While I plotted out the coordinates for my animation, my dad sat in the kitchen at the pine table by himself half-shouting his thoughts on life, death, and what we should do about Grandma (my dad was an only child), with the hopes that I was listening. I heard him say that 80 was a good age to live to, but that’s about all. . . .
On June 30, 1992, I wish I would have turned off my Mac.”
But she did, and I, in turn, clicked on her gravatar – also a first.
And so began my days of quipping and commenting and hunching and clicking.
Coincidentally, several weeks later Mostly Bright Ideas left a comment on that same post (which may have been the second comment ever left on my blog).
and looking up more.
“Oh what a world, what a world!”
Dorothy: We’ve done what you told us, we brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her!
The Wizard: Oh, you liquidated her, eh? Very resourceful.
Dorothy: Yes sir. So we’d like you to keep your promise to us. If you please, sir.
The Wizard: Not so fast, not so fast! I’d have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow.
Click, click, click.