Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

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Sometimes when the ChickieNob and I are doing one of our virtual walks, we’ll “pass” a person on a bench, and I’ll say, “I hope we see him the next time we’re in [insert city here].” As if once on a bench means always on a bench.

I was thinking about this because we’ll be near a city beach and planned to sit outside and read for a few hours. It occurred to me that we’d either have to bring a beach blanket or… get sandy? I went on Google street view, and THEY HAVE BENCHES! Thank you, city planners, who thought about how people would want to sit down and look at the water.

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Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts connected to businesses or sponsored posts.

I didn’t realize how much socializing we did over food until after we received our first two COVID vaccines. Before that point, we weren’t socializing with anyone, or if we did see people, it was standing on opposite ends of a driveway or masked and sitting on a porch.

But after the vaccines, many people returned to eating indoors. And by this point, most people have returned to eating indoors. We have not.

We’ve stepped closer to our old life by dining outdoors this spring/summer. This works until it doesn’t work. We make plans, and then rain cancels them because we’re not moving indoors. Or the air quality is terrible. Or it’s just too hot to enjoy the meal. When it works, it feels like old times. Like things are normal. When it doesn’t, it makes me feel apologetic for being careful.

A case in point: Cup of Jo recently posted a list of things to do with your friends that aren’t dinner. I opened it eagerly to see what else I could do to socialize beyond walks. Two of the thirteen options were… essentially dinner. And the others had a food component (pizza and a movie). There were interesting suggestions in the comments, but my point is how much socializing contains eating indoors; the only thing you can’t do inside if you’re still masking.

I found the submarine coverage super upsetting this week, so much so that I couldn’t read the stories. When an alert would come up on the phone, I would delete it without reading it. ChickieNob wondered if it was because it was being sensationalized as they were counting down the hours of air left in the sub. Something was upsetting about that — to feel time running out vs. processing an event after the fact.

Because we were getting updates about a disaster in the making vs. hearing about it afterward when nothing more could be done. Until we learned that wasn’t the case completely.

Or maybe it’s because when air was running out, it sounded like such a lonely way to die. Like floating out into space. Being in this world but unfindable. My heart goes out to their families.

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Stop procrastinating. Go make your backups. Don’t have regrets.

Seriously. Stop what you’re doing for a moment. It will take you fifteen minutes, tops. But you will have peace of mind for days and days. It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second, helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week. To read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Change in Feeling” (Infertile Phoenix)
• “#MicroblogMondays: Neighbourly Reminder” (The Road Less Travelled)
• “The Right Pillow for the Right Time” (Finding a Different Path)
• “Broken Record” (Stirrup Queens) — thank you, Jess!

Okay, now my choices this week.

A Blank New Page writes about the feelings that come over us and what triggers them. She explains: “I try to see the moment and the good in it, I try to see the exceedingly beautiful moments of not being a mother and yes, they exist, out of question. But there is also the wistful feeling, there are the moments when I feel small, sad, just want to surrender to the wave, because yes, I miss my unborn kids. I miss family life and I miss being more than two.” She captures a moment of being happy to be part of something and sad, too. Bittersweet indeed.

Lastly, if you want to see a masterclass in making someone else feel awesome, read this letter on Grumpy Rumblings. A sample: “You are so good at seeing problems as problems to be solved and not as people who suck. And you’re good at helping others to see things that way too.” People want to be seen and known. This opening letter is pretty much perfection.

The roundup to the Roundup: Upset by the submarine coverage. Your weekly backup nudge. And lots of great posts to read. So what did you find this week? Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between June 16 – 23) and not the blog’s main URL. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week. Read the original open thread post here.

If my blog were a person, they would be nearing the age of adulthood. Tomorrow begins their final year of childhood as they make their way through 365 days to their 18th birthday. It is my 17th blogoversary.

Last year I said:

Any time I think about not writing, I think about how I have this account of what I was thinking and feeling and going through for the majority of their life. It’s over 5000 posts and 84,000 comments, and we often scroll back through random months to find old stories.

I am grateful to have the record. I think more and more often about stopping this site or slowing down the pace. Though I also know that slowing down the pace is the first step in stopping altogether. And I love having this record. I love being able to look back and re-read old stories. It’s the push and pull of wanting and not wanting to stop. Both at the same time.

Thank you for reading the blog — either for a long or a short time, for one post or over 5,000.

We went to the beach for my birthday. It’s a family tradition, where we go through the same well-worn steps, year after year. We almost didn’t go because of poor air quality, but the numbers looked okay when we woke up, so we set out for reading on the sand, French fries for lunch, and carnival rides to cap the day.

Over the years, we’ve narrowed it down to two rides. The first is the Haunted Mansion, which is a low-budget version… a much much lower-budget version… of the Disney ride. I love it, mainly because it hasn’t changed since I was a little kid. There’s a point where the vehicle takes you outside to a balcony overlooking the teacup ride. I always think about when my father got the operator to stop the ride when I got scared, and he ran on as it slowed down and scooped me out of the teacup where I was screaming. And then there are years of memories in the park with the twins. Squeezing into the children’s Ferris wheel with them, the mermaid boat ride, and too much money wasted on the horse-race-water-squirting game. Eras pass before my eyes every time the wooden ride doors open, and you jerk onto the balcony for five seconds before you disappear inside again.

The other ride we always go on is the carousel. We’ve had different riding formations over the years, but I usually get an outside horse. If possible, a dark brown one. The twins took two horses right behind us.

Round and round, the park spinning by. There is the helicopter ride — the first big kid ride the twins went on without us. And the swings that the ChickieNob wanted to ride non-stop when she was little. And the bumper cars that the Wolvog measured himself against the sign each year, waiting for the time he could drive in the car with us. Waiting for the time he could operate the car without us.

And then, like always, the ride started slowing down. And I started sobbing. We slowly spun by one man with a look of horror on his face at the masked, grey-haired woman sobbing on the merry-go-round. But I didn’t want the ride to end. I never want the ride to end; I always hope something will happen and we’ll get an extra long turn. But it never does. Two minutes is what you get. Eighteen years is what you get. Management doesn’t accept requests for extra time, even from crying women.

I think one of the reasons I love the Magicians trilogy so much is that Lev Grossman clearly shares my feeling that the worst part of adventure books like the Chronicles of Narnia is the time when the adventure comes to an end, and the children are booted from the magical land a la Alice in Wonderland. I’ve loved this adventure so much. It hurts my heart to feel it slowing down, knowing that we’ll be asked soon to give up our space and make room for the next riders.