When people read my blog, I hope they sometimes laugh. I hope they sometimes gain a new perspective. I hope they sometimes enjoy my clever use of words. I know some days I’m entertaining myself but I hope I’m not the only one.
When I write, I write with my audience in mind, but I write on an almost-every-day schedule for me. Writing something — anything — keeps me sharp and gives me an opportunity to try different writing styles. Practice makes perfect, it is said.
It has come to my attention that My No. 1 Fan looks for a post from me every day but not for my pithy prose or my newsworthy nuggets. My mother gauges my well-being not only on what I write but whether I write at all.
She called tonight and left a message:
“Hi. This is Mother. We’re worried about you. Haven’t heard anything from you or about you for [pregnant pause] several days. Bye.”
No kidding. That’s a word-for-word transcript of her message.
You see, it’s been a little more than 72 hours since I’ve posted here, and apparently that’s the threshold for issuing a “We’re worried about you” all-points bulletin.
Mother makes me chuckle. I would say “chortle” but I’m not exactly gleeful as much as I am amused.
I called Mother back and filled her in. I’ve been busy, Dear Reader, not abducted, forlorn or gravely injured so there is no need to worry.
In case you’re interested, here’s how I filled my 72 AWOL hours: I spoke to a lively crowd at a library (as lively as a crowd gets at a library) on Thursday night about how to organize one’s photos. On Friday, I had lunch over Thai green curry with the inspirational founder of the Association of Personal Photo Organizer who suggested the subject for my next book (rest assured, it will not have “sex” in the title). That evening, the clouds parted and I enjoyed a friend’s son’s high school football game under clear September skies and applauded loudly when my friend’s older son was lauded with an on-field introduction for his recent military service in Afghanistan. Saturday, I spoke to another lively library crowd about organizing photos and then celebrated the weekend with adult beverages at Oktoberfest (the evening included an enormous beef rib and a raunchy comedy show, too).
Life’s good. Busy, but “good” busy. The only reason Mother needed to leave a message at all instead of talk to me directly was because I was on the other line with my Adored Stepson. He was seeking writing advice; what words-loving stepmother wouldn’t be flattered?
It’s funny — in an “it amuses me” sort of way — what a personal blog does for my conversations with close family and friends who are regular readers. They get a dose of Monica nearly every day so when we encounter each other in person, they don’t always ask, “How are you?” because they know. Or they think they know how I am. Or they know enough; a few paragraphs a day may be all they can take about my exploits.
From my perspective, those few paragraphs are but a tiny glimpse into The Life Of Monica. “There’s so much more I could share with you and/or bore you with! Just ask!” And my mother, of all people, should know she’s the first person I call when I need a pep talk. If there’s “something to worry about,” we don’t have a “you read it here first” sort of relationship; she knows before you do, Dear Reader.
In any case, if you missed me during the past 72 hours, well, I’m flattered. And if you didn’t? Well, I’m back anyway, cluttering up your In Box. I hope you’ve found this post as amusing as I have.