Twitterific

Strictly for the purposes of an article I'm writing, I've signed up for Twitter. (And for once, I am not full of BS.) I haven't become addicted to it, although I am following a few unusual people (including the almighty Lane Kiffin, bless his heart). The biggest thing it's teaching me is how to write succinctly, since each entry can't surpass 140 words. It's a tad unnerving watching the numbers rapidly diminish (it gives you your running count right next to your message) as I tap tap away. E.B. White would have approved. Anyone else on Twitter?

I remember too much

I was originally going to write an essay on the things that I remember from April 16, 2007, for today's two-year anniversary of the tragedy. I wanted to do this because I fear that I will one day forget the details that need to be remembered--how it played out, how the world reacted, and most importantly, the 32 people we lost that day.

But before I started writing it, I re-read their bios. Or, to be blunt about it, their obituaries. Thirty-two obituaries for 32 incredible people. Read them for yourself: http://www.vtmagazine.vt.edu/memorial07/memorium.html. You'll see that every one of them was outstanding in some way or another. I remember, in the weeks that followed, having to edit these 32 obituaries. It was painful to have to cut any detail about them for the sake of space. I felt like I was inflicting additional pain, although I'm not sure on whom.

Today, re-reading them, I felt a different pain. The pain of a parent, trying not to imagine how unfathomably life-ending it would be to lose your only child. Of a spouse, shying away from how it would feel to get the phone call that you had been widowed of the person you chose to be with for the rest of your life. Of a child, not wanting to picture your parents as they bid you a final farewell.

My heart aches today--to much for me to attempt writing anything coherent or adequate. Instead of remembering, right now, all I want to do is forget. I am a coward.

That being said, as I was walking at lunch on what's turned out to be a sinfully, wrongfully beautiful day, I gazed out at the rec fields and had a vision. Of them: of the 32. I imagine their spirits gathered from whatever afterlife they are experiencing, their varying faith and their beliefs an immaterial issue now. I can feel them here in Blacksburg, if only just for this one day. Perhaps they are drawn by the sorrow and regret and pain that everyone on campus is feeling. It is a palpable thing. But at least they will know that they are remembered, always, even though sometimes we try to forget.

I guess she gets points for originality?

[scene: 6:30-ish in the a.m. on Monday morning]

A [from her bed]: Moooooommy!Come and geeeeet me!

Me [groggily trying to wake up]: Ugh.

A: MOOOOOMMMMYYYY!!!

Me: Oh, god. [sighs]

A: You have to come geeeeet me! The bees are attacking meeeee!

Me: ???

Long pause

A: THE BEES ARE GETTING ME! [seconds later, as I walk in] Hi.

Me: And the bees?

A: Oh, they're gone now.


She's going to either be a lawyer or a con artist.

Well, it was inevitable

Frankly, I would have thought that it would have happened sooner, so I guess I'm lucky that she made it this long. But it happened: A swore at daycare.

Teacher: A said a bad word today.
Me: Oh? [voice all innocence] Which one? [filled with trepidation]
Teacher: She said [whispers] "shit."
Me: [a little relieved; could have been worse] Oh, dear. What happened?
Teacher: She was playing in the mud with two other children, and I told them that they'd go into timeout if they didn't stop. She didn't stop, so I told her she had to go into timeout, and she threw her hands up and said, "Oh, shit."
Me: [now trying not to laugh, already having won Mother of the Year] Oh, dear.
Teacher: I asked her where she'd learned it.
Me: Um...
Teacher: She said her Mommy says it.

I did not say, "Oh, shit," but I was tempted. Instead, I feebly tried to defend myself. "I only say it on rare occasions, like if I drop something on my foot." Surprisingly, lightning did not strike me where I stood.

Anyway. We had a long chat on the way home (one that was interrupted by her asking if the Easter Bunny would come down the chimney; I was like, "Uh... I... um.... No. He, uh, leaves the basket on the doorstep. And Daddy brings it inside." "Why not?" "Because rabbits don't come in the house, do they?" "No." "Well, that's why."). And when I told T, he laughed, mostly because she didn't finger him, which she very well should have.

Ah, well. At least she used in the right context, I suppose.

Strange doings

You might notice a few odd things about my sites for the next few weeks. Such as that someone named "Chris" is entering the posts. Long story short (is there ever such a thing?), my blogger account is being used for my graduate class project on product placements in blogs. I've created six dummy blogs for testing purposes, and these will be live for the undergrads. Should be interesting. Also, I will be (even more) absent during this time, due to work and school commitments. Meanwhile, I'm about ready to be committed.

See you around...