It happened 15 months ago.
It happened again this week–both times on a Tuesday.
Both times I had a less-than-cool response to being Freshly Pressed.
I may have over-reacted. I may even have caused a scene.
But 15 months ago my reaction was seriously over-the-top, and only worse than this Tuesday by a tiny margin.
Here’s how it all went down those many months ago.
For those of you who don’t know, for those of you who are just now tuning in, last year I was blogging from Haiti, where not a lot of positive things had been happening, what with the January 12th earthquake, Hurricane Tomas, cholera, and close-to-coup, political uncertainty.
To distract myself from that atmosphere of never knowing what was next, I began blogging again after a year away from posts and comments—from Search Engine Optimization and RSS feeds.
I poured indecent amounts of energy into my renewed foray into the blogosphere. I was a down-right bloggerly drudge when it came to reading and commenting on the blogs of others.
I wrote and posted—
Posted and wrote some more–
Commenting maniacally in between.
For three whole weeks—
Until that Tuesday 15 months ago—
Then I did my daily duty of checking Freshly Pressed.
I had developed a near religious devotion to this posting of posts, eleven blogs featured each weekday on WordPress. I knew my duties as a devotee, arriving with the requisite beverages (coffee and Coke Zero). I knelt at the altar of blogging greatness— and clicked.
Strangely—the list of featured posts included one that had not only stolen the name of my blog, but the name of my post, as well.
This was a desecration.
A cardinal sin against the goodness that is Freshly Pressed!
Then it hit me.
Oh, may the blog gods forever bless the shrine of Freshly Pressed—for, in the name of blessed WordPress–
Heavenly choirs were singing as I twirled my Port-au-Prince kitchen dizzy—
Twirling and shrieking—
Shrieking and twirling—a dervish of posting devotion.
And in this blogging frenzy, I did what any Freshly Pressed diva worth her salt would do.
I called my mother—
“Mom, this is costing gobs of money, so I can only talk a minute, but I’ve been Freshly Pressed.”
“You’ve been what, Dear?”
“My blog. My blog has . . . “
(How should I explain it?)
“My blog has won a prize.”
“Well, that’s lovely, Dear.”
“What kind of prize?”
(I dare not mention “Freshly Pressed.” She’ll confuse that with French press or launch into a discussion of ironing!)
“It doesn’t matter, Mom, just a really cool prize. You should hurry and check your email. I sent you the link.”
“You sent me what, Dear?”
“The link. The blue LINK!”
“Oh, the BLUE ink, yes, I know, Dear.”
“But wait, let me write that down. I don’t want to forget—BLUE ink?”
(To better appreciate my mother’s memory issues see a post called “Airing Family Secrets via Haute Couture.”)
“Just go check your email, Mom.”
You know how the story ends–what matters most–
Not my aging mother trying to figure out how a Smith-Corona world had morphed into Google, Facebook, Twitter–into something called a blogosphere, for God’s sake.
Rather with me—dizzy in my kitchen—reeling with the down-right, unabashed, writing-posting-commenting joy of it all—
And 15 months later, in my way more ordinary Lexington kitchen, I did pretty much the same.
Only this time I didn’t bother to call my mother. I emailed my now-many blogging buddies instead (after screaming upstairs to my partner Sara, of course).
And they understood–not only the joy of FRESHLY PRESSED–
But how to find the link, as well.
New memoir post coming Monday, so stay tuned.
Note: If you are new to my blog, you might like to know that, though I’ve been lax of late, I am writing a memoir and blogging about growing up in an organized crime family. (The post you’ve just read is obviously not part of that series.) For a list of my memoir posts, click here. If you are interested in reading any of my protected posts, please email me at email@example.com or let me know in the comments below, and I will gladly share the password with you