A few weeks ago, we had to go up for our yearly trip to Bucks County and we passed the place where we witnessed the motorcycle accident last year.  I still think about that man all the time, especially when I’m driving in light rain near our house where I often see deer.  When the police officer took the report the afternoon of the accident, he told us that deer often become spooked during grey, in-between weather and run out in the road.

For a while after the accident, I Googled it, looking for information about the man’s condition, but there were so many accidents on that road that it was impossible to know which one was ours.  We just had to trust that he recovered.

As we passed the spot, Josh and I quietly murmured back and forth in the front seat, replaying the accident with words.  When we drove back home, passing the spot again, we did it instinctively a second time, with a reverence and automation often associated with prayer.

What neither of us noticed last year when we stood on the side of the road in the rain, screaming into the phone to the emergency dispatcher, was that the man’s body had landed right outside the gates of an enormous cemetery.  An enormous, well-established, headstone-worn cemetery.

*******

The man certainly doesn’t remember me.  He wasn’t even conscious for the most part, and his body was so traumatized by the impact that I doubt he even remembers Josh who was with him while I was on the phone.

But his accident changed the way I drive.  The way I pay attention to the sides of the street.  I used to drive a shortcut through this state park when I was pressed for time, and now I choose my route based on the weather.  I don’t like to drive in the woods at twilight or when there is that grey, in-between weather.

I don’t even exist to that motorcyclist, but he changed my world enormously.

And the strangest part is that he is continuing to live (since I am assuming that he recovered), riding his motorcycle through this world, and he has no idea that I’m thinking about him.

*******

I often wonder who is thinking about me without me even knowing that I’m inside their brain.

*******

I dropped off the twins for their first day at camp.  The ChickieNob was beyond nervous — she had worked herself up to a stomachache in the car and burst into tears when her counselor opened the door.  I parked the car and got out to wait with them until it was time to go inside to their room.

As we sat there, this quiet girl sitting near us saw a kindred spirit in the ChickieNob, and the two of them started a conversation in their whispery little voices.  If that hadn’t happened, I’m not sure the ChickieNob would have let go of my hand when it was time for me to leave.  But as it was, she was engaged in unloading her massive first-day-of-camp anxieties on this girl, and the two of them walked into the camp together.

Thirty years from now, unless they strike up a lasting friendship, that girl may not remember my daughter.  Or maybe she will — maybe I have no idea what that moment meant to that little girl.  All I know is what it meant to the ChickieNob and how she might think about this girl in the future, turning her around in her brain like a ballerina rotating in an eternal pirouette.  Without that girl, she may not have walked inside.

And this girl will have no idea that she is inside the ChickieNob’s mind, thirty years from now, when she drops her own child off for that first day of camp.  I was certainly thinking that morning about the little girls who got me through my first days of camp — wherever those girls might be now.

*******

When I drove off the campus, squelching my own anxieties about their first day of camp, I distracted myself with a random thought of a random person that I knew through my old camp.  We called him Tate, though that wasn’t his real name.  He was the geeky older brother of a boy in my unit — only a year older but I didn’t know him.

We were on a camping trip together when I was a C.I.T. and we shared a tent because he had the new They Might Be Giants album and a Walkman.  That night, after the campers went to sleep, we laid in our sleeping bags, each with a single ear bud and our heads close together and listened to “Flood.”  I don’t think we ever went to sleep.  At dawn, we both went jogging along the canal while we waited for the rest of the group to get up.

I think about Tate any time I see the canal or hear They Might Be Giants, which means that he often pops into my brain.  He exists there at least once or twice a month in the winter; more frequently in the summer when we go down to the river/canal more often.  I have no way to prove it, but I doubt I pop into his brain.  We were never good friends — we were just two people who jumped into each other’s life for somewhere between a brief moment and a few weeks — and those types of people are rarely remembered.  Except when the moment meant a lot to one of the people.

Sometimes I think about one of these liminal people who have a foot both in the well of forgotten encounters and the world of lasting memories.  Who barely have a history with me — certainly not a friendship — and therefore will most likely not remember me even if I remember them*.

Sometimes I’ll look them up on Facebook, try to figure out their life based on pictures or wall posts if they’re open to the public.  I never send a friend request because it would be too strange, trying to explain who I am, reconstruct memories for them.  It would seem weird to admit that I still think about them, even though I would completely understand if someone approached me and admitted that.  But I could see how someone might be confused if I wrote them out of the blue, telling them how much they’ve influenced my life from a random moment, how they might feel if they didn’t even remember me.

Still, I wish there was an alumni newsletter for people who have moved in and out of my life.  A three-page, xeroxed handout listing what everyone has been up to.  I wouldn’t mind these people knowing how much they’ve changed who I am.  I would love to know who considers me one of those liminal people, influencing their life even though I might not even remember ever meeting.

Describe one person who would be in your life’s alumni newsletter, a person who would never remember you if you tried to friend them on Facebook, but you still think about them to this day and they’ve changed the way you live your life.

The truth is when I said last week that I can’t keep up, I often can’t keep up with any of it.  I can’t keep up with Twitter and Facebook.  I certainly can’t keep up with the ever-changing social media field, jumping on each new site as it comes down the pike.  I can’t always keep up with the blog reading.  I find that I go through big stretches where I read without commenting because I’m reading from the iPad vs. on the computer.

If you had asked me a while back to describe myself, I would have told you that I move quickly.  But now, the stream of information, connection, opportunities moves too quickly for me.  I constantly come to the realization that I can’t keep up.

I can’t really keep up with blog writing sometimes.  I like to use it as a writing exercise before I start writing for the day.  A warm up.  A stretch.  Sometimes I need to use it to take something out of my head so I stop obsessing on it (and Josh, by the way, says thank you to all of you for being my listeners so he doesn’t have to be the only one hearing my thoughts).

I don’t like to feel obligated to post, though sometimes I do.  Obligated is the wrong term; it’s not that I feel like it’s a certain day of the week and I. must. post (except for perhaps Fridays with the Roundup).  It’s more that I’m itching to connect with people and this is the way I do it.  It’s more this burning need to write something good that will spark a conversation.

And even that; sometimes I can’t keep up with that.

*******

I think this topic is mentally pinballing through my brain because the BlogHer conference is coming up.  I feel like my impulses haven’t changed.  When I went to San Francisco in 2008, I wanted to meet people face-to-face.  I didn’t really want to do the parties; I just wanted to get dinner with bloggers so we could hear each other and talk.  Some people wanted to party; others felt like me.  I was able to find my like-minded group easily.

In Chicago in 2009, there were some rumblings of branding, but again, it was very similar to San Francisco.  I met up with people I wanted to meet.  I did a lot of lunches and dinners with bloggers and then retired to my room to sleep before the panels the next day.  I tried out the parties and left them (but not before taking a tiara favour that I still wear around the house) because we weren’t a good fit, though I’m glad I tried them.

In New York in 2010, it felt like there was a shift.  A lot of people were speaking about branding.  They were skipping the panels to go to private events held by brands.  They were spending a lot of time in the swag rooms, talking with brands about how they could work together.  All of these things weren’t problematic in my eyes in-and-of themselves (I can also see the desire to monetize a blog; to turn a hobby into a living.  I have essentially done that myself inadvertently,  and I love that I can financially contribute to our family via writing).  But I had a harder time finding people who wanted to just sit and talk.  With me.  Without looking over my shoulder to see if there was someone better to meet that could forward along their goals.  I had fun in New York, but it was harder to meet up with that small group of like-minded people because the crowd was so large.  It was hard to find one another.

And now I am going to the 2011 conference, and I have a lot of fears of whether I’ll find the people this time who feel the way I do when there are going to be thousands of people there.  Who are simply excited to see someone face-to-face that they only converse with via email or read their blog.  I am worried that this year, I won’t find my people who want to grab dinner and quietly talk.  That everyone will be scattered to the parties.  I feel like, in general, it is easier to find people wanting to talk about branding and sponsorship than about writing.  I am hoping my perception is wrong.

I know I will find my like-minded people because I know from the comments on that last post that other nerd girls like me exist (nerd girls unite!).  We blog for the sake of blogging.  We may take opportunities sometimes, we may dabble in Twitter sometimes, we may wish aloud that we could get offered a new stovetop/oven due to our clout.  But at the core, it’s about the writing.  It’s about stringing words together.  Trying to convey ideas.  Trying to evoke emotions in another person.

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As I said in that post, I am doing my first sponsored post this week.  I have mixed feelings about it.  On one hand, I am grateful for the opportunity.  Without it, I wouldn’t have the items I’m about to have.  On the other, it feels like you lose a little bit of yourself too.

Everything has a cost.  There are no free items.  You pay in time or energy.  You certainly pay in creativity.  While I work on this sponsored post, I’m not working on one of my own choosing.  Or working on the book.

I agreed to do the post after I did an hour of undercover work at the store to make sure I was okay putting my name on it.  I’ve shopped at this store before, but never with the mentality of writing a post about it.  The store appealed to my interests, it appealed to my commie tendencies.  There is a good chance that I would have written about this store at some point in the future without being asked or given free items, just as I have written about LL Bean, IKEA, and Starbucks VIA without being asked nor compensated.  So why did the whole idea of a sponsored post for a business I actually like give me such pause?

Josh jokingly told me that in writing it, I had created a horcrux.  “You gave away your soul, just like Voldemort.”

Did I figuratively kill something with writing a sponsored post?  Did I tuck my soul away for some gear?  Was I now less of a writer, just as Voldemort was less of a human?

I usually think that “sell out” is a term those still in the trenches throw at those who are handed a great opportunity that we all want.  It’s a word that I think tells more about the speaker than the object of its definition.  And here I was, internally throwing this word at myself.  So what did that mean if I was the speaker and the receiver?

Voldemort shed his humanity, and I do think that in branding, we shed our creativity.  We become lesser writers.  We slither over the floor of the Internet rather than flying above our words.  I don’t truly hurt anyone other than myself with a sponsored post, though I may be abusing your eyes.  But this analogy of the horcrux spoke to me.  I feel like with each sponsored post, you both become powerful to other brands and you lose part of yourself.

I am trying desperately to hold onto myself.  To stick to my impulses to connect with others (that is, when I’m not hiding out in my room being all quiet).  To keep up.

To let go when I realize that I can’t keep up.  And accept that.

My friend asked me a question a few years ago that confounded me, and I still think about it all the time.  She was at my house and needed a roll of toilet paper for the bathroom.  She asked me whether I put in the roll with the toilet paper dangling over the top or underneath.

Without going to your bathroom and checking, can you answer that question?

I couldn’t; and not only that, but when I went to check, every roll of toilet paper was different.  I literally had no preference in the over or under debate.  She could not believe that I didn’t have a stance on this; she thought out of everyone we collectively know, I would have a preference.  But I don’t.  And I think about this every time I replace the toilet paper.

My friend is coming this week for a visit.  I considered walking around the house, making all the rolls of toilet paper the same and affixing a sign next to the dispenser stating our preference.  But then I decided that she probably wouldn’t remember asking this question and the joke would be lost.

*******

My new favourite way to annoy the twins (because they haven’t learned songs yet such as “The Song that Never Ends” and I’m sure that once they do, the tables will turn and they’ll be annoying me, so I want to get in my annoying moments now) is to pretend to be a GPS while we’re in the car.  We do not own a GPS.  But I like to do this calm, British accent, announcing everything before we do it.

“Go to the stop sign and turn left.  Turn left in 500 feet.”

Even better, sometimes I say things that I’m NOT going to do, and then I counter in my breathy, British voice, “Recalculating.  Now go straight and turn right at the second light.”

Drives. Them. Crazy.

Which reminds me of something I liked to do back in high school and college.  I’d get in my friend’s car, knowing full well that they know where we’re going — for instance, school — but giving them the directions anyway in this overly cheerful voice.  We’d get to the end of my street and I’d say, “okay, turn right and go up to the next stop sign.”  The first time I did this, the person would stare at me strangely but not say anything.  The second time I did this, they’d also look at me strangely.  I would count to see how many times I could give directions BEFORE they finally asked me what the hell I was doing, or why I thought they didn’t know the way between my house and school.

I still like to do this to Josh, even after 10 years of marriage.  He usually just ignores me.

I have so much fun.

*******

I have fallen in love with Starbucks VIA packets.  It’s an instant coffee, and you can get them by the cash register.  I wouldn’t want to drink it daily, but I take them on the road with me.  I had been squeamish about trying it, but my sister vouched that they were drinkable, and a Starbucks employee made me one to try in the store.

I only like iced coffee — even in the winter — and getting my daily 16 ounces of coffee is paramount to stave off caffeine headaches (I am so freakin’ addicted it isn’t funny).  So all you need is the coffee packet and a 16 ounce bottle of cold water.  You open the water, take a sip to make a bit more room in the bottle, dump in the coffee, close and shake.  And then you have an instant bottle of drinkable iced coffee.  Is it perfect?  No.  Would you want it daily in your house?  Probably not.  But you cannot beat it for convenience when you’re away from home.

My sister passed this tip to me, so now I spread it to you.

Thank you for the kind words about the Roundup yesterday.  I am very fond of this weekly ritual, happy that it’s still going five years later.  I never get bored reading blogs.  And while the same topics come around year after year, people always manage to write about them in a fresh way.  No two blog posts are alike, even when covering the same situation, the same emotions, the same wishes.

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On Wednesday, we had one of those sick days that wasn’t really a sick day.  We played in the house until mid-afternoon when we decided, after reading a few chapters in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, that we wanted to get a Harry Potter Lego toy.  We went to the toy store but they only had one set in stock, so we ended up wandering around the aisles.  That is where the twins found the magic set.

“This toy will help us do real magic like Harry Potter!” the ChickieNob exclaimed.  She’s the sort who likes to practice a lot, prepare herself for things.  She may have thought that she’d be a shoo-in for Hogwarts if she proved her ability to make a ball disappear well before that eleventh year threshold.

I explained to them the difference between real magic (right?  Can we all just agree that we’re going to believe that real magic exists?) and a magic trick.  You have never seen two children both more disappointed and more willing to still have a magic trick even if it was just an illusion.  And then, I heard myself telling them that I would drive them over to a magic store.

I had never been in the magic store; had only seen it from the road, and I have to admit that the exterior creeped me out a little bit.  And I can now tell you that it’s the sort of store that Ativan was made for.  You enter the store and you are in an empty room save for a fake tree and dozens of ripped up playing cards glued to the ground.  You then climb a concrete stairwell up two flights, encountering things like this along the way:

Finally, you enter the store and it is like being over at the Frankenstein place a la Rocky Horror.  I half expected Riff Raff and Magenta to come out from behind one of the red velvet curtains and do a song and dance before serving us Eddie.  The owner was incredibly kind and patient, immediately picking up on how important this trip was to the twins.  She took them to the side and showed them her wand.  She made flowers grow from an invisible seed in a pot.  She turned a penny into a dime.

Finally, the ChickieNob, unable to contain herself, sank down on the floor and said in the saddest voice, “please, can’t I have a real wand like you?  I want to be magical so badly and I can’t wait.”

And the owner just smiled at her and said, “you are breaking my heart because you’re so cute, but no, the Ministry of Magic will not let me sell you a real wand until you are eleven.  But until then, I can teach you how to appear to be magical with tricks.”

They both perked up with this and I wish I had filmed their faces as she did a series of tricks for them.  Delight.  That word perfectly captures the look on their faces.  We explained one last time that once she taught them how to do the trick, it would be ruined for them.  They’d be able to do magic for others, but it would no longer feel magical to them.  They took this chance and each bought a trick, and she taught them how to do it.  They drove home, practicing their trick in the car.  What they lacked in skill, they made up for in heart.  Then they woke up at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning to show Josh their magic trick (even though they normally sleep past eight) because they couldn’t wait.

Despite what others think, I don’t believe the twins are in for an enormous, life-shattering letdown when they find out that Hogwarts doesn’t exist.  Frankly, I think they already see the clear strings in life based on the questions they ask.  But they want to continue believing so badly that the Cinderella at the Magic Kingdom is a real princess, the tooth fairy is using their baby teeth to create laughter, that Befana rides to their house each year to drop off gifts.  I’m thirty-seven.  I want to believe in it all too; am willing to suspend disbelief.

Isn’t hope just another form of magic?

*******

Since the blogger writes somewhat anonymously, I’m not going to link to her blog here, but I will link to her children’s book, City Life, which rocks.  It’s a picture book (and I love the illustrations by Haytko) about a child going through the city with her two mums.  Great rhythm for reading it aloud.

*******

And now the blogs…

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

• “A Life Still Worth Living” (Single Infertile Female)
• “Why Don’t Apologies Make the Moment Vanish?” (Creating Motherhood)
• “18 Signs You Might Be a Blogger” (It’s My Life)
• “Tiny Opinions” (Here We Go Again)
• “On Being a Mediocre Parent” (Too Many Fish to Fry)
• “Everyone Deserves” (Stink-Bomb)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Lissie’s Luck has a post asking if she is the only one who has the feeling sometimes that “everything is out of place and nothing I can do will fix it. I don’t know what brings on this feeling. I don’t know how to end it.”  It is the struggle between the “what if” side of the brain and the rational mind.  I hope writing it out helped her release it.

Better Full Than Empty has a post about hitting THAT point in your cycle, the one when you’re filled with dread that it didn’t work.  She explains, “I have come to that dreaded time of the cycle, where everything feels wrong and the doubt is pouring in like icy seawater into the holds of the Titanic. The alarm bells are ringing. So far one of our brave cyclesistas has already been dragged down by a BFN.”  It’s a familiar thought space, but one that she describes uniquely well.

Infertile Fantasies has a post about healing.  It begins with this thought-provoking assertion: “We carry our grief, our anger, and our resentment for further than is necessary when we haven’t yet decided what to do with it. We have, after all, paid dearly for our pain. It’s not reasonable to expect us to part with it easily, even though it is ugly and burdensome.”  It is about someone with primary infertility meeting up with someone with secondary infertility, and what we can give one another.  What actually strengthens us to give away.

Lastly, Baby Smiling in Back Seat has a post about kindness.  About those moments when you realize that you have baked more cakes for other people’s birthdays than they have ever baked back for you.  And just when you are about to sink into a hole of depression considering the lack of reciprocation for the kindness you have sent into the world, a hug comes around.

The roundup to the Roundup: Thank you for the kind thoughts about the Roundup.  Our trip to the magic store.  City Life.  And lots of great blog posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between July 15th and July 22nd) 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.

I have more thoughts piggybacking off the social media post, but they’ll have to wait until I can write them.  On my mind now is something else.  This is the fifth anniversary of the Friday Blog Roundup.  It started five years ago on July 21st.

Five years ago I wrote:

Every time I read something I love, I want to send it out to everyone I know. Which is how I came to the idea to do the Friday Blog Roundup and comment publicly on a few things I read this week. There is plenty that I read that also moved me, but since space is limited, I must pick-and-choose.

On a side note, I am still trying to figure out how one posts links to other blogs on the side column. Once I get that figured out, I’d love to start a list–a clearinghouse of IF blogs–so if you’d like to be included, let me know.

I both love the fact that I had no idea how to construct a blog roll (which now has close to 3000 blogs on it) as well as the fact that this idea that I started five years ago still continues to this day.  My impulse then was to send out links to great stuff I read, and my impulse still is to eagerly ask each week — did you read this?

Thank you for reading it.  Thank you for supporting it.  Thank you, now, for adding in your own posts each week.  Tomorrow will be the 350th Friday Blog Roundup.  Doesn’t that blow your mind?