One Year

A year ago today, I sat down at the computer and started writing a fun little family blog. I wanted something to string together far flung family and friends, and connect them to us. I wanted to take on Project 365, posting a picture a day. I wanted a little place to indulge my love of writing and, well, everyone has a blog, don't they?

Things didn't quite work out the way I'd planned. I changed directions a dozen times. I sucked at posting pictures. I found myself talking about my underwear and grief and things that had absolutely nothing, and absolutely everything, to do with our small lives. If I were to measure what I intended to do with what I actually did, then it's been a spectacular failure.

I couldn't be happier.

I have had more fun writing this blog, and (virtually) meeting so many interesting people, and being inspired to become a better writer, than maybe anything. Ever.

Thank you so much for your support. I am truly grateful.

And because I love you guys, here's a short story:

I used to travel extensively for work. I was in my very early 20's, childless, and The Husband was still The Boyfriend. It was a very long time ago.

(I start every story that involves illegal activity with that caveat.)

Sometimes, before a flight, I would catch a little buzz to make my in flight experience more pleasant. This would involve sitting in my car in the parking deck and smoking a little leafy green herb. It was my pre-pre-flight check. On this particular day, I toked it up, and by the time it was my turn to check in, I was feeling super mellow.

Until the woman asked, "Could you tell me what's in the tub?"

It was a large plastic bin, exactly the same one I had carried on a hundred other flights, containing exactly the same things it always did. None of which I could remember.

"Ummmmmmm." I said. "Ohhhhhhh."

"Ma'am? Could you tell me what's in the bin?"

"Yes. Sure. Yeah." I said. Just say something. Anything! "Ropes."

What the fuck? Did I just say ropes? She's going to think I'm some weirdo sex fiend, or a rock climber. Or a magician. Why did I say ropes?

But this was long before some woman stoned out of her mind and allegedly carrying a tub full of ropes would even raise an eyebrow. So she said "Okay." and handed me my boarding pass.

Here is a little fact about marijuana, if you're not familiar with the effects: everything is cool until something happens to harsh your mellow. And then it sucks. The whole ropes incident has made me paranoid. What if she knows that I am on drugs and is calling someone? What if I'm not supposed to be carrying ropes and they're searching my bags? What if they call my boss? What if they call my DAD?

By the time I reach the gate, I am almost in tears. The flight is full, and there are few seats available in the waiting area. I quickly sit down, determined to pull my shit together and get on the plane with no further incidents.

Until I notice the man. A seemingly normal businessman, reading the newspaper a few seats away from me. But, when I look up, he has folded the corner of the paper down and is looking at me. Intently. When he catches my eye, he does the most alarming thing - he winks.

There is only one explanation for this. I am being followed by the Feds. The airport authorities have alerted the FBI and I am under survellience. They've been waiting for years to pin something on me, ever since my ill fated volunteer efforts for Ross Perot, not to mention my Greenpeace sticker, or that picture of me and a Nelson Mandela cutout.

I go to the restroom, lock myself in a stall and pull out my cellular phone to call The Boyfriend. Do you remember when we called them 'cellular phones'? I carried it in my enormous purse, because it was the size of a small dog. I had to prop it up against the sanitary napkin trashcan to dial the numbers.

"Honey? I just want you to know that there might be trouble. It's the Feds. I told them I had ropes, and now they're watching me."

"Yeah. Did you smoke pot?" he yawned.

"Maybe a little. What should I do?"

"Don't be a dumbass, and stop smoking weed before you fly."

He never fails me.