So, yesterday, I was bitten by the blog bug. Hard. In a delicate place, see? No, here. Where I’m pointing! It hurts really bad! Fine. It hurts worse than it looks.
But I couldn’t blog at Mommylogue. I locked it when the Late Unpleasantness of 2008 seemed to be getting a bit more unpleasant. (It didn’t get as bad as I thought it might, and it got better. But we won’t have to hash that all out now. That is the Back Story, to be doled out in dribs and drabs.) I could have unlocked it and just kept going there, but. . .
But. That blog was then. This is now. I am no longer the SAHM, Homeschooler, talking to myself type I was then. I am more. . .me. Half the time, I don’t have kids. No, I mean I have them, but they are around the corner at Whatshisname’s. I started a blog since then, with that sort of hat tip to the wannabe actor I was once, called Second Act. I think I posted twice. It didn’t work for me.
That brings us to yesterday, when I wanted to blog, but didn’t have the name. I made the next logical step, which was asking my facebook friends to name the blog. I got several suggestions; none were perfect but some were enough to start me thinking about what I want my collection of rambly thoughts to be. And somehow I thought of this. Google “It’s the laughter” lyric and you’ll get “The Way We Were” as sung by Barbra Streisand. (Whenever I say her name, I want to say it the way Sandy Patti did, when she talked about wanting to sing like. . . never mind.)
Since I don’t have lots of time right now, I am just hitting post. It’s the words, right? You won’t care that I’m using the default WP template, that I have barely customized. . .right? That sort of like my house, there are still places that need to be sanded and painted, that it looks like I started living here before I got all moved in. That will have to wait until some other point in time. Not today. I could either write about why I like this title or customize. You choose. Or rather, I choose, and you either read or not.
Memories, to me, are the scattered pictures. I like to talk about things I remember, be reminded of things I’ve forgotten. And I don’t choose to forget the bad times, I just don’t remember them FIRST. And I always, always, always will choose to remember the laughter. The olive socks. The root beer barrels. The “we made it.” The spider plant. The “turn out the light.” The big talking heads. That whatever it was don’t have tails. Those are all inside jokes, all memories with someone, even if that person will never read this blog. But they are the things I will choose to remember, to write down. Not that I’m Madam Panglossa, because I will also write down my pain here; as the shrunken head said in Harry Potter 3, “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” This will be my brain dump, where I process out things that I need to talk or write about. It’s cheaper than therapy, which is not so much in the budget right now. (And my therapist is talking about retiring, which is just a really crappy thing to do to someone who has been your patient for over 20 years.) So yes, I’ll talk about the bad stuff here, because if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?
But it’s the laughter I’ll remember, whenever I remember the way we were.