That Blog Girl Awards Her Perfect Post.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with a client and she brought along a friend of hers - let's call her, oh, Trout Lady. No particular reason - just an image that came to mind. Trout Lady owns an up-and-coming restaurant nearby and wasted no time in making sure I was aware of this. She then spent practically the entire meal showing off her vast, vast knowledge of all things food. Why, Trout Lady was a virtual expert on everything gastronomical - from which restaurants were the best in town to the origin of the parmesan in our caesar salad. At any moment I expected her to whip out a computer and subject us to a Power Point presentation showing us the path the food was taking through our digestive tract. And the adjectives! Everything was preceded by a precious descriptive word, to further demonstrate her appreciation of the meal being served to the heathens she was so unfortunate to be dining with. I mean, call me simple, but using the word 'ethereal' to describe a pork chop just smacks of elitism.

Apparently my client had previously mentioned my blog to Trout Lady and midway through the meal asked her if she had had a chance to read any of it. At this point Trout Lady, flustered that anyone would interrupt her twenty-minute speech on the acid content of Bavarian balsamic vinegar, stopped, looked at me and then said caustically, "Oh. So you're that blog girl." I would later hear her use this same tone when she reproached the waiter for failing to shave just the right amount of truffles on her risotto.

I didn't have time to respond, as she immediately launched into a diatribe about the overuse of capers by American chefs, but if I could have I would have said this:

Why, yes - I AM That Blog Girl, thank you, and proud of it. Extremely fortunate to be part of a supportive community of talented people. Happy to be able to record and share my thoughts on everything from my children's emerging musical tastes to my husband's inability to stack juice boxes. And, most of all, grateful to have access to amazing writing by my fellow bloggers that has the power to make me laugh out loud, shake my fists or move me to tears, all at the same time. All while sitting comfortably in front of my computer while enjoying an ethereal cup of coffee, I might add. Put that in your panini and grill it, Trout Lady.

And if I could have? I would have sauteed, plated and served her (with a delicate beurre blanc) this tasty post by one of my favorite bloggers, Moobs. On the journey to his wife's grandmother's funeral he reminisces about her life and the Alzheimer's that, at the end of her days would leave her frightened and confused. But in his usual expert mix of humor and poignancy makes his tribute more about her life than her death. In this passage, where he recounts their first meeting at an expensive vacation paid for by his wife's family, Gran attempts to show Moobs that she's definitely the boss of him:

Once seated I squeezed at whatever mental gland secretes small talk and got ready to nod at anything she said. I was in the middle of saying how lovely something was when she leaned over towards me and said in a voice that echoed around the mountain slopes “You are only here because of my husband." I nodded politely before the penny began to drop. At first I was confused. Was she saying her husband and I were related? Sensing that I may not have followed her train of thought she leant forward a second time and said, "It’s HIS money that is paying for YOUR holiday." I bridled and had to fight an urge to write her a cheque there and then and drop it into her lap.

But the part that got me, the words that had me grabbing for a tissue and fighting the urge to call my husband and my kids and request that they come home immediately and never leave, was this:

As I searched for my black tie today I prayed a selfish prayer: “take me first." I know there are readers who within the hour have held their child in their arms and felt the responsibility of being their baby’s whole world. It is fleeting. A friend called me to tell me this morning that his scan has shown he has heart disease. We will lose the ones we love. Yet, even though the backwards step into the shadows awaits us all, I somehow cannot bring myself to mourn. This beautiful, fragile life brings us such astonishments: the moment we first hold our lover’s hand, a baby returning our gaze, kisses, the consolations of friendship, reunions and a thousand other experiences and expressions of love. What does death teach us? Don’t waste a minute - abandon yourself to love.

That Blog Girl proudly nominates Moobs, and his piece My Old Black Tie, for a Perfect Post Award.



(See the other March Perfect Post awardees at Petroville and Suburban Turmoil.)

Tweet Pin It