Maybe in part because I'm a pretty hardcore introvert by nature, I wrestle with a chronic character flaw which some of you may be able to relate to, one that most of my loved ones have already taken me to task for, repeatedly—namely, my tendency to lapse in communications. See, it isn't just my blog that sports big gaps—you should take a look at my Gmail inbox, the stack of unanswered letters on my desk (thank heaven for auto-pay, because I have had this same dumb trouble with bills for years), and probably most regrettable of all, the old messages on my answering machine. I'm better than I used to be—now and then I catch up and stay that way for a minute—but I am always struggling to discipline this part of myself. Why? Is it ADD? Adult-onset autism? Narcolepsy?
One thing's sure—it's not because I don't have excellent friends. Since I was just a tiny almost anybody's who's been willing to take me on has proven to be remarkable, the best of the best. Funny, intelligent, kind people are almost without exception the sort I've been lucky enough to connect with. Even my pets. I mean, really, I have one of the dearest, truest, hairiest little comedians on the planet eating from a dog bowl and sleeping on a ratty pillow on my back porch. I am also related to great people by blood and marriage. My neighbors are even decent folks.
So, when Lisa Jones left a plaintive comment on my last blog post because I've been off exploring another black hole of non-communication, I thought I'd better review the situation. Again.
Frankly, I've grown bored with beating myself up and since it's never done much to advance my evolution anyway, I'm going to simply say, YES, Lisa, I do remember you . . . with love. I appreciated being your friend back in the days we were neighbors. You're still on my list, and always will be. I hope you'll try me again, if you dare, for I'd like to be in touch.
Same goes for you, Amy O. Same goes for you too, Melissa O. and Liz C. and Miki S. The list seems crazy endless, and chances are, your name is already on my Great List of the Madly Neglected.
I love you, friends. Honest, I do. This won't probably won't do much to change my socially wayward nature, but here's something I thunk up that sounds fun. If you know me, and I don't care how well—that means if you just know me from reading this blog—and you want to play along, here's how. I recently inherited about a brazillion blank postcards and notecards from a friend (the irony is killing me), and also, while cleaning my basement I found more than one set (won't confess how many) of Christmas stamps from previous years (you guessed it—my great intentions never materialized into holiday mailings). This means I'm all set up to correspond. I actually really love old-fashioned handwritten mail, the kind that travels from my front stoop to your mailbox (and vice versa), via friendly blue-clad postal workers (just count all the human hands involved!). Here's the game: If you will email me your snail mail address I will happily sit down and send you that very day a love note. I might even refill my fountain pen for the occasion, if it still works. Who knows, maybe this will be the beginning of reform for me. (Let's not hold our breath though.) Anyway, it sounds like fun and something I can handle. I'll even send a note to somebody else you care about if you'll tell me who needs a postcard and share the addy. By the way, my email address can be found in the top right corner of this page. My Nativity stamps and I will be ready and waiting for you.
This will hopefully help me get warmed up for celebrating my special holiday in a few weeks—March Forth. I thought this year I would celebrate by . . . are you sitting down? . . . catching up on some phone calls. The purely recreational kind, not business. I know, unheard of, huh?
I'm off now to do some Bollywood with Hemalayaa, but first here's a song I want to dedicate to you, my friends, who mean much more to me and have more of my gratitude and love trailing after you than you're likely to ever know. xo