betterbutter

these dreams

There's this girl out there somewhere named Emily. I don't know her but I'm pretty sure I dig her. I got pointed in her direction through the mighty Amalah's new paying gig. She's at ease with the words and her tales go down so silky smooth and even in the smallest sentences I hear bits of me. Good, indeed. She's about halfway through her first pregnancy and she's been writing letters to the littlest one. Her most recent letter got me right in the gut. I have gone back to read it several times because I couldn't remember exactly what had struck me. And then it would strike me all over again. Tis the  Perfect Post of May for me. Try it on.

and joe was voted most likely to be a talk show host

1991. New Hampshire. High school. A girl named Isis. Pet rat in pocket. Mohawk on head. Piercings galore. Senior superlatives. NOT VOTED MOST UNIQUE.

I was. Me. Meredith.

Okay, I did use Manic Panic for a spell and in junior high I did once attach a padlock to the shoe lace of my Chuck Taylor but, come on, there were obviously more worthy candidates (Isis!#*!) for the title than myself. My classmates had voted me into this position and had I been Isis I might have felt deserved or honored or entitled. But I was more on the side of confused and vaguely hurt and insulted and even oddly proud. I would have described myself as someone who more or less tried to remain an inch above invisible. Others didn't see me, feel me, hear me that way. Twas puzzling for me then.

I had a flashback of that feeling after my last post. Bear with me while I do a poor job at making this connection.

I blogged, I stopped blogging and now I blog again. Old blog feelings are flooding back. Yes, this feeling. I've felt this before. There's the self-imposed urgency to tune back in to all of your lives and get in touch PRONTO. I want my attendance to be counted. Meredith? HERE! There's also the constant sorting of daily experiences into bloggy or non-bloggy categories. Is this too mundane? Is this even true? What's my point? And such. Of course, there's also the general flurry of curious thoughts about who reads and what do they think and will my in-laws find this site and do I care and should I and do I do this for me or why do I do this or how many times can I blame other people for losing my keys and on and on.

Then there's that feeling that the mood or tone or image of myself that I think I'm portraying is not at all received. And an entirely different message has been sent. Like instead of invisible you're the most unique? Or like when I wrote the other day about how Eli peed on my bra and I wore it wet because I didn't have another one I meant for the story to come across as a light statement about the indignities of motherhood. I certainly didn't sit down with such a mouthful of intention but as I read your concerned and maternal comments and e-mails I realized that there were miles between what I thought I said and what you all heard. At times I seem to depict myself as borderline incapable of taking care of myself in a socially acceptable fashion. While that is unfortunately true I don't EVER mean to let on to that side of me. I just don't hear it in my own voice the way you all do. On one hand, I am embarrassed to be coddled when I meant to be silly. But also, I appreciate it because I genuinely don't know sometimes how askew my take on the the world is in the eyes of others. I sincerely thought I would get comments about how you all would have done the same thing or have been in the same situation or sentiments along those lines. Yet many of you kindly, worriedly, quietly offered to buy and send bras. Hark! No need. In the wake of your gentle prompting, I closely followed Lady Grace's advice and bought two bras that should do the trick well enough.

If only I could control my voice just a wee bit better as not to unintentionally expose my flaws to you.

(bows head and sheepishly exits stage left)

lucky charms

In real life AND blog life, my cousin brings people together. It's her thing. It works. People flock. And people like myself who are more comfortable on the sidelines get to be wrapped up in the warmth of her just for being related.

Which makes me lucky, no?

Which brings me to the Perfect Post Awards that she and Lucinda have thought up all on their very own. Awards that honor a post well done. Who doesn't like a little attention here and there?

Which is what I'm doing today as a gift for you through me from Bluepoppy. Thank me later for introducing you.. She of the wooded paradise in New Hampshire with dogs and a man named T. And she who doesn't edit her posts and has just THAT something about her that keeps me coming back wishing I was a guest at the dinner table or on a walk with her dog and my dog and her tales and my tales and all those dog tails.

So about that luck.

new and then not new

I'm resurfacing after some months during which I've been basking under the Okinawan winter sun. I took this time to ponder blogging and get some semblance of a real life on this island. I have gotten the chance to do a bit of both. Some days I didn't miss blogging at all. But most days I did. The why of it is simple. I have enjoyed the loose community of you all out there beyond my computer screen. More than enjoyed. I have been inspired and touched and challenged and humbled and such and such. And I want it back. I thought that if I started this up again that I wouldn't do so before I had SUPER EXTRA clear boundaries about what I would and wouldn't talk about and who would and wouldn't know about this more-Meredith-than-ever-site. I was going to use pseudonyms and all sorts of disguises for myself, my family and the details that comprise our lives. And then I'd get bored and be happy I didn't have the blog anymore because for whatever reason all that cover-up tires me out, turns me off and diminishes my lust for getting it all out in words.

So I'm back with no black and white rules. Only this: in addition to being respectful of those in my real life, I need to respect my own damn self and stop censoring what I put out here. If this blog is meant to be a place to dive in and knock up against what is true for me then I need to chill out and be me. Darkness, brightness, boogers and all. In an effort to make that seem safe and possible I have created this new blog so that I don't necessarily know who knows I'm out there.

And yet there are many of you that I'd like to invite back into the minutiae of Meredith should you care to join me again. You know where to find me.

And how have you been?