Sunday, December 30, 2007

The internet

I am sometimes very surprised at the things I find on the internet. It's like hearing everyone talking at once, a low-level buzz, the voices of millions speaking out into some great canyon, waiting for someone else to hear. It's not just text typed out to me. It's someone's voice speaking, "I'm here. Hear me."

I thought this blogging thing was anecdotal at first. But I am surprised at the layers of emotions I uncover when I read other blogs. As a reader, I am impressed by the raw experiences exposed to total strangers. As a writer, there's such a temptation to open that inner box of mine where I stash the stuff that's really clogging my emotional arteries--you know, and set it free.

I didn't create my blog to be an online journal. In fact, my paper journals that I'd kept since I was 13 years old are all shredded. (This was the result of considering my mortality ... and I didn't want anyone to know the things I ever thought or felt or experienced. Especially not my kids. Besides, it was all past. And I did not want to be bound by those memories any longer.)

I was skipping around blogs and landed on this one. Her story is moving (look at the top of the page and click on the links there).

My blog posts will rarely reach any worthy depth, out of design and necessity. But from time to time, I will walk to the canyon's edge, and maybe you'll hear me whisper "I'm here."

Monday, December 17, 2007

The presents in the closet

When Lanie was younger, I could shop for her Christmas presents with her and she had no clue what was going on. Of course, she's five now and that makes things a little harder. So I take her to a babysitter's so I can shop, or I do it online.

I managed to get Shane to take her to the library for me to return some books--all so I could finally wrap the presents. Erin helped, playing with her Christmas toys while I cut and taped and labeled. She hit a cranky period, and I knew trying to lug these gifts upstairs into our bedroom closet would be tough. Instead, I piled them into the guest closet and shut the door. We never go into the guest closet, so I figured we were safe.

But wouldn't you know ... Lanie decided she wanted her art stash from the closet. I knew she saw everything (at least it was all wrapped!). Funny thing is, she didn't say anything about it. Not a word. Not, "Mommy, who are all these presents for?" And I couldn't say anything either. Well, except, "Don't go in the closet anymore."