Daily Archives: November 18, 2011

Sorry I never write and I never call…

It is a strange blogospheric phenomenon that I have an audience in my mind as I write.  I don’t know all of you and even among those I really do know, I don’t know who reads what when.  Nonetheless, you are to me, a very personal audience.  This kind of blogging falls somewhere between emailing some particular group of people one knows and publishing something in the more distant way that one writes for publication.  (When writing for publication, you write and then you let it go and hope for the best in but you don’t really do it as part of a dialogue in the true sense of an actual conversation.)  But in the case of this blog– as I write I have some sense of talking to someone.  Like you in particular.  Even if I don’t know you at all, you should figure I am writing to you in particular.  It is a good thing to talk to you.  So, that said, I’m sorry that I keep going days and even weeks without writing.  Really– I miss talking to you when so much time passes by.  And I wouldn’t mind if you wrote back a little more often.

Another mother writer wrote this and it stuck with me– that the days of her life with her children were passing like water falling through your hands.  And I do feel that way.  This unemployed life is moving that quickly also.  I’ve written about panic and fears and self-doubt and I’ve told about that far less than I’ve felt those things.  But there have also been extraordinary things on the other side of the ledger.  Certain kindnesses and instances of great generosity from total strangers that this person or the other connected me to in my job search.  An old friend who I told I was panicked emailed me back and came up almost immediately with three or four  names of people for me to talk to.

Another friend connected me with a Jewish woman who has done work similar to one kind of work that interests me– and that woman– a complete stranger– was so lovely to me and spent about an hour and half on the phone with me when I finally reached her.  She was, and continues to be so generous in a way that is really reassuring– about my own life and about the world.

There is a complexity and there are new dimensions or deeper dimensions in my relationship with my daughter.  Partly because she is older and things happen differently.  We can talk differently, more directly, about certain things.  But there is also a habit she has developed of calling me two or three times a week on the telephone from school at lunchtime and she knows I will almost always be available to talk to her.  I love hearing from her during her day.

Having my 18-year-old nephew, Isaac here is also new and that too adds a new dimension, a different rhythm to things as I figure out when to call, how often to see him, what works well for him and for us to do together.  And there is more; nothing mysterious but not easily captured except to make lists that I won’t make because they aren’t interesting, but the days fly by faster and faster and even the short days, with darkness coming very early, haven’t made me sad or lonely.  But I’ve missed this writing.