I’ve spent the past 24 months trying to come up with a good excuse to meet you. See, that came out even MORE stalker-ish than I intended. I have not spent 24 months on this, it has passed in and out of my brain over the course of 24 months.
I have been reading Dalai Mama since blinkies on babycenter felt like a totally logical way to count down to a due date. As if my first kids wasn’t going to be 7 weeks early, even earlier than I am for everything. I go to Truro the same week you are in welfleet, and have considered driving through campgrounds looking for you. See the restraint? And the laziness? I have not done that. I just THOUGHT about it. And maybe mentioned it to my husband. Who might possibly have rolled his eyes.
I have cooked your recipes. Or forwarded them to my husband who cooked them. I have cajoled my kid through Chop Chop and forwarded Brain Child essays and bought waiting for Birdie as gifts. I have done what I can from afar.
Now I have my own blog and have finished my NYtimes crossword puzzle stash, so I have both the time and the topic for us to talk about. Wasn’t 26A the best last week?
I have weekly invites from people to meet for tea or wine to “become the friends we were obviously meant to be.” I find those emails nice. But I don’t actually meet them. Because I would have to get out of my pjs and leave my house or invite them over and I figured neither of those things are likely. But my super low local level of fame just gives me more insight into how many emails and invites you must get. A whole world of semi hippie, semi crafty, pre nostalgic mom writers who want a piece of you.
So I wasn’t going to just email you. I had a big old plan for a literal blog roll. I would trick out my 1969 airstream and visit the bloggers than I loved, bringing them treats from Vermont (You are actually the only one on the list but I was going to beef it up to seem less scary and pointed.) Then I was going to roll on over to your town and meet you some where that was more public than the serial killer airstream that I pulled up in. That I somehow towed with something I don’t own. Details.
I kept imagining I would know someone who would know you and then I would meet you and it could sort of subtly slip out that I was a reader and I wouldn’t expose my knowledge of every detail of the birth and young lives of your kids.
Perhaps I do even know someone that knows you, but I do more thinking about this than I do talking about this.
So I have a new idea. One that doesn’t involve me getting back the airstream ( I gave it away and not in the I didn’t profit much from it, but in the I TOTALLY GAVE IT AWAY because sometimes my good ideas just aren’t. (the airstream purchase not this new idea)
Its sort of like a make a wish, but you don’t need to be a kid or dying any more quickly than all of humanity is dying. So we put our dream date out there. Simply like this:
I want to meet Catherine Newman. And she only lives one state from here.
Then someone will know you and put us together and there won’t even be any infastructure involved. Maybe I could be your date to a fundraiser that you are obligated to go to, and I could buy our tickets. Then whatever dread you are feeling about meeting me could co-mingle with the fundraiser dread and you wouldn’t really know if it was creepy over eager me or the social obligation that was annoying you.
Really looking forward to it!
I want to meet Catherine Newman who can make that happen? Who can get her to at least read this post? Is it you?
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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.