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22 august 2002

three minutes

So the power of this whole Internet thing has finally dawned on me.

Tim dropped me a line the other day. It was nice. He said that he can tell when I'm happy because the Den makes him laugh, like, extra hard. And I have to say, that's about the nicest thing anyone could say to me. I mean, that, and I have enormous boobs or something. Yeah, that too.

Interesting side-story that has nothing to do with today's entry. So, thanks to these not-enormous boobs I've got, I was able to get into a friend's house today. So we're out walking the dogs tonight, right, get home, and friend's all *rattle, rattle* with the doorknob. Then all, "oops. Forgot my keys" and gets this real weird buggy-eyed panicky look on his face. He's ready to call one of his friends with extra house keys.

Now, here's the sketchy part: is there something wrong with me that my first thought is not a phone call? I hesitate to offer my solution, because it makes me look like some kind of weirdo klepto crooky girl, but it sure is easier than calling people who might not be home--and by the way, the phone is in the house, too. So I'm like, "uuh...check that bathroom window there, next to the porch."

He's all for it. *Whew*. Turns out he's all for being a weird crooky guy.

The only problem with the bathroom window is that it's, you know, a BATHROOM WINDOW, and as big as a loaf of bread. Nonetheless, I've just returned from the gym, and I'm wearing real clingy clothes and just got done doing a bunch of yoga. He's all, "what am I supposed to do?" I tell him to just wait a minute while I kick up into a handstand and sort of crawl my feet up to the window. At that point, he lifts me up to the porch rail, where we can sort of scootch my body, feet first, through the teeny bathroom window.

So scootch, scootch, and everything's going well until we hit ribs. I exhale. Then exhale some more. My feet are struggling for some bathtub leverage, which I find in short order. I'm still squooshing my ribs pretty handily.

Fine. "Take off my shirt," I say.

Right. Like every dude type is so disappointed to hear those words. He's not-surprisingly quick on the uptake and grabs the shirt. My sports bra saves me from some serious questioning tomorrow by the lady out back who likes to snoop.

Alright, so I slide my left arm through the window, and with it goes not-big boob number one, followed by number two, neck, and head. A little red and scratched up, but in, I now have to slide along the side wall to disengage the alarm system. Mission accomplished.

So that's the end of the has-nothing-to-do-with-today's entry story.

Anyway.

Back to you guys, and specifically to two of you whom I know are reading. In the years I've been keeping up the Den here, I've received hundreds of mails from all over the place. All kind. All aware of the subtle power of our little connection each day. A lot of you read me on your PDF devices during your subway commute in New York, or on the Chicago El, some even on London's Tube. Judging from my site stats, I'm a lunch or afternoon coffee break. For two or three minutes each day, I'm a small part of your life, and vice versa. You're part of mine. You're a reason to share the adventure.

I, too, have my lunch breaks. I have fifteen or twenty of them, but one in particular gives me more pause than the others.

It is the blog of a husband a couple states up from me. (He has previously asked that I not reveal the URL, please.) For about two years now, he's been keeping his site mostly for friends and family. They want to know how his wife is doing, how his family processes the days of treatment and after treatment. Sometimes, there are moments where it turns into a love letter. It's a searching for answers, for suitable treatment, for light--sometimes, just for a few more steps through the tunnel. It's a "we're hanging in there, and we love you for hanging in with us."

Yesterday was a bad day. It's been a bad few days.

I've never met them. I never may; we don't correspond often. We only have our minutes together over lunch. I have given them reason to laugh from time to time. He has given me reason to be thankful, mindful, humble.

And it just occurred to me, sitting here, that crawling through a breadbox-sized window has everything to do with it.

The difference is, some people do it every day.