Not Forgotten

Something coming later today, she promises! It's been a busy and bittersweet spin the past three days. . . . but the white space of her blog has been haunting her!!!

The Matron's New Gig

The Matronly Online Data Function is sort of like the robot in Lost in Space: danger, danger!

This is her clever way of saying that she has no idea WHO is reading her blog, only how many.

So she can't tell how many of you aren't already Women's Colony readers. For the rest of you, the Matron has been buttering her bread on both sides - burning the candle-- tripping the light fantastic without letting on!

The Women's Colony's founding writer, Mrs. G, has set this online magazine up as a sort of collective and the Matron is one of that pack! If you're one of the (cough mumble) 2 or 3 readers who didn't get here, from there already, check out this fabulous magazine!

Much more on Monday! More dogs! More doings! More Stage Mother (really--and it's good). More work than usual too which is why she's very behind on her Reality Show Blog and why today's post is just shameless self-promotion.

The Matron is Famous

Cough, cough.

Thanks to Cheri for nominating this post to be featured on Five Star Friday. If only the Matron did not have to LIVE THROUGH that post several times a day.

Head on over to Five Star Friday and sing the Matronly praises!

She Forgot to Tell You

That the Matron is taking a Memorial Holiday Blogging Break.  She'll be back on Tuesday, refreshed as all get out.

Blethic . . . And a dose of Swine Flu Fever

Yesterday, the Matron had 165 readers.   She adores and relies on each and every one of you!   Some people write for themselves and will write, regardless.  Not her.  She writes for readers.   Knowing her prose actually lands somewhere makes her happy!  

A scultper once asked her if she had to choose what writing brought her, what would it be:  fame or money.

Fame.  No hesitation.

With that, he declared her an artist.  Why?  Because artists want people to engage with their work.  What good does that painting do if nobody ever sees it?  Same with the Word.  That hugely insightful essay isn't making a difference in someone's life if it's just stuck on your laptop.  But post something on a blog or magazine or somewhere-and who knows?!  You just might make a difference --- or brighten or complicate or confuse -- one person's life.

That's why the Matron loves this place so much!   Here's a spot created just for ordinary folk-uh, women--to spill the beans, spread the love or share their wisdom!  A lovely little cyber world where writing can meet reader -- even if it's not mass publishing, there's a ripple in the world, nonetheless.

Anyway, emboldened by her blog's steady upward growth (even though she knows the relationship is now sorely one-sided!  She just hasn't a minute to visit these days) the Matron has decided to add the "followers" widget to her blog, per dear Suburban's advice.  

And if you haven't shuttled over to the Women's Colony, please do.  Trust her.   It's the perfect place for a big piece of pie, unbuttoned pants and a cup of coffee. . . .Wait!  The Women's Colony might be safe from the global pandemic?  The Matron might have to move in.

Just so that Global Pandemic fears never fully leave her psyche, the Matron has secured a site that tracks its progress, death by death!    Isn't she so much fun at parties?!

Blethic

The Matron just removed today's wickedly funny blog post, which may have been too wicked. Update on this issue later tonight (she's just so SURE she's so important you've noticed).

Off to Edit 500 Posts

You must love her, now. Such devotion.

Bond is the boy who blazes the trail for his siblings. Zelda the girl. Rhett, the Matron's charmer and rake.

Thank you, everyone!

Blethic

For those not familiar with the Matron's personal language, Blethic is Blog Ethic or General Care and Tutelage of the Blog.

Today, she is simply reminding her Minnesota and Wisconsin readers of Saturday's 7:00 pm get together!! She'll be there, with reservations for about 15, under her own name.

If you're coming and are inclined, introduce yourself below (this is not a requirement because she knows you are shy).

More details on the event? You can send her an email at petri017 at umn.edu. That's zero one seven.

The pressing issue? Can she talk in the third person for an entire evening -- with cocktails?

Invitation

The Matron is throwing a party!

That's right. All you Minnesota and Wisconsin bloggers? The Matron is sitting herself down in front of some food and wine on Saturday December 13 at 7:00 pm, downtown St. Paul.

Wanna play?

Remembering that her brother-in-law is a State Trooper with a German Shepherd as partner, only real bloggers and regular people need apply. So if you fall into those broad categories, send her an email message at:

petri017 AT umn.edu

She'll send you details, like restaurant and how to spot her. Hey! She might even talk in the third person, all night long? (not)

And that email is zero one seven. Does that make her a distant relative of James Bond?

Oh!!! Everyone who lives far and away? You're not on the blogroll? Help the Matron tidy up by leaving your blog name and URL in the Comments and she'll add you to that list.

Gearing Up!?

The Matron is taking the day off, sort of as a sigh before NaBloPoMo. That's right, readers. Thirty days, thirty blog posts.

Considering the Matron has been blogging for exactly 13 months tomorrow, and is just 5 posts away from her 500th, she thinks NaBloPo is just about the right pace.

Happy Hallowed Eve. The Matron is off now to make a small offering at the alter of the Sugar Goddess, hoping she will go lightly on her children. Merrick has enough bruises; bouncing off the walls until midnight won't help (besides, she's going to let all THREE of them do that on Tuesday night!).

Did she say she wasn't blogging today? See you tomorrow (and the next day and so on).

Done.

You Know You're Behind and Online Too Much When . . . .

you forgot a blogging obligation (or are so vested in the blog that you MAKE said commitments).

The Matron signed up to document a day and forgot. Instead, lucky readers get the two saucy and sharp posts below. Tomorrow, duly documented. Perhaps even the Princess will wiggle around that Pea for you. . . .

107

Is the Matron's NEW favorite number!

Because although her readership varies -- sometimes soaring toward that 200 mark and on the weekends, diving near 90 -- every week day, the lowest number for awhile has been 107. Not 108 or 9 or 110.

She likes to think some law of averages is not at work, or that one day Jenn at Juggling Life forgets to read but that day, Mamabird pops over. No, she's not thinking like that.

She imagines those same 107 every, single, day.

The Matron writes for readers. She's not the sort that gets pleasure in the act for the sake of the act itself, all that very mentally healthy process blather.

She's in it for the attention!

So faithful, thanks for showering her with some. One day, she will have time to pimp her blog but for now, this corner makes her happy.

401st Post

Hot damn, if the Matron isn't prolific! Or an egomaniac? Certifiable? Well.. . . let's just say she can't stop talking!

This morning, Stage Mother was preparing to post, only to notice that yesterday's ditty on dharma was the Matron's 400th post! The blog was born in late September 2007 and this little engine sure could, it would appear!!

The Matron is crunching those mixed metaphors, sorta like lunch. See how she just tossed one more into the mix? Stage Mother will have to wait for tomorrow but there's a new show for the child and no doubt, good dish to be had by all!

Today, she's giving herself a rest and reposting one of her favorites, written before her third person self was fully realized. The only other thing that's changed? Those online relationships that seemed tentative then? They're real -- and mean much to her.

Thank you SOOO much for putting up with her nonsense!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

200th Post


I had lunch with a friend yesterday.

As in a member of the Top Five Friends, the first you call on the days corporeal punishment sounds, well, reasonable or when you buy that $188 purse at ValuThrift for $7.49.

Me: "Tomorrow will be my 200th post."

Friend: "What?"

Me: "Blog post. I started with four weenie ones in September and I'm up to 200."

Friend: "I always forget about that blog."

Me (!): "You're kidding. I thought you read every day."

Friend: "Actually, I talk to you every day. Why would I read the blog?"

Me: "Because I'm writing it? It's good?"

Friend: "Actually, I like you better in real life."

Me (umbrage, taken!): "How could you! No you don't."

Friend: "Yes, I really do."

Me: "You can't possibly."

Friend: "You're wrong. I like you better, here."

Me: "But I'm funny on the blog."

Friend: "You're funny in real life, too."

Me: "I am not!."

Friend (sigh): "Yes, you are."

Me: "But I'm funny in a more thoughtful, well-done way on the blog."

Friend: "Actually, you're quick as a whip in real life. "

Me: "Now you're hurting my feelings."

Friend: "Sorry, but I prefer the real deal to the blog."

Me: "But I offer interesting political commentary on the blog. Gender stuff, too."

Friend: "Mary, you are Commentary, incarnate. In real life. You're just like that."

Me: "Oh my God. I can't believe you're saying this about my blog."

Friend: "I'm saying this about you."

Me: "But my blog is climbing in numbers! In just four months of steady postings I have hundreds of readers!

Friend: "Do they pay you?"

Me: "Of course not!"

Friend: "Are these relationships? If their kids showed up at your doorstep, do you know what to feed them? Tampax or Kotex? Which bathroom in their house is for public use and which strictly off limits?"

Me: "I know them through comments. There are kids' names involved, like Nature Girl and Boy G. Mr. T and Mr. G. Wild Child. See?"

Friend: "Hmmmm."

Me: "They put my name on their blogrolls: Minnesota Matron."

Friend: "That's not your name."

Me: "Yes, it is. And it looks good sitting up there for everyone to see, all shiny and taut: Minnesota Matron."

Friend: "You like being the center of attention."

Me: "I do not!"

Friend: "Who are we talking about?"

Me: "But I wish you preferred the blog."

Friend: "Center. Of. Attention."

Me: "Oh my God. I'm so sorry! Let's talk about you."

Friend: "Sweetie, you're always the center of attention. That's okay."

Me: "Thank God. I was getting worried, you hating my blog and all."

Friend: "Mary, the internet was created specifically for your blog. Online creativity can now take a rest. Can we order now?"

Me: "You like the blog--better? Prefer it to me in real life?"

Friend: "At this moment, yes. Very much so."

Me: "Thank you. Lemon grass soup?"

Dooce Has Nothing on Blethic

A friend--who knew of what he spoke, having international success as a film-maker and visual artist--once asked the Matron which she would rather have, money or fame? Couldn't be both, as this was a question of the rorschach nature.

She didn't miss a beat: "Fame!"

He said: "Aha! Then you're the real artist. You want your work out there. You want readers."

Mrs. G hit this shiny nail on the head, here.

This is why the Matron blogs, too. Indeed, at this very moment, she is standing on stage, throwing you all kisses. Comments on the dexterity of her prose make her heart go pitter-patter. Knees weak and eyes roll, all that.

The rest of Mrs. G's musings -- particularly on how the popular don't play well with others -- echoes much of the Matron's own sentiments about the ins and outs of this online writing game.

Heather Armstrong does not read this blog--or yours, for that matter.

Dooce isn't the place you pull up a ratty lawn chair and kvetch about the husband. No, Heather Armstrong's blog is a corporation (one that rolls in over 40K a month!). Dooce is industrial strength stuff: codified, in the dictionary.

Now, the Matron enjoys Dooce. Much like she enjoys Vanity Fair or visits Salon. This is different than tooling through the day to day doings of Green Girl or Amy the Mom. Not better, not worse, just different. Dooce is serious business and feels, to this reader, every bit as studied and structured as the introduction of any new product on the market -- only with a blog, product happens nearly every day.

The Matron is using Dooce as an example, but there are plenty of other bloggers who are also one-way destinations. Entities unto themselves.

If thousands of people (instead of numbers stretching toward 200, at the moment) read the Matron's blog, she probably wouldn't be able to stop by and visit everyone, either. But she would want to! (and she might even try)

Perhaps the larger question (because she's an academic, she's sure there is one) is what the goals are? What success is? Why? The Matron prefers reading and writing to direct human contact, so that pretty much sums up her intentions. It's all Flow, darling.

Success is the conversation--from bouncing off Mrs. G to the comments below. Success is pumping out something creative in half an hour, nearly every day. Success is that check for $28 the Matron just got from BlogHer! Success is trying to wipe up the drool and tackling technology: if everyone under thirty lives online, why not give try?

Success? The Matron thinks that would be the codification, the dictionary-ization of her made-up word for blog ethic - blethic, the care and tutelage of one's individual blog. The moral compass, the code. Blethic!

And today's post would be a little riff on that.

Preening

Domestically Challenged handed me this. Probably the closet thing a community college adjunct will ever get to merit pay. . . and, oh have mercy, I am spending the day grading papers.

Blethic

Thanks, Stagwoman who gave me this "You Make My Day Award" for being a fun read!

I like awards AND attention. Yes, this made the matron happy.

Speaking of good reads, I finally got around to creating my blogroll. Check out that amazing line-up. If I've missed someone whose blog I routinely breeze through, zap me an email and I'll add you. We're all about inclusion up here in the northland.

As I wiped the technological drool off my chin while creating the blogroll (yes, it is that bad, friends), I found myself once again pondering 'blethic' or blog ethic.

Ever since I made up this word, I've been busily defining it. A good word will have nuance and depth--deployability (oooh! another good one!).

Of course, blethic refers to how I treat people on this blog: 1) only the (in)famous may be skewered but family and friends are fair game for a gentle roasting; 2) no telling someone else's story (but where yours meets mine is fair game). That's pretty simple, so far.

And then there's blethic, as in the care and feeding of the blog. A work ethic, of sorts. The blog has needs. Correspondence. Cosmetic concerns about color, texture and tone. The blog is greedy for content and can't tolerate more than a day without a little love, without being pampered and preened. And, the blog has blog role models who out-pixel and out-pace, whose verve makes the matronly prose putter and plod.

Not that I would ever compare myself to others. Or cast the critical eye on self, all that.

Um.

The other curious feature of blogging is that I have begun to think in blog posts. Any instantaneous observation or emotion immediately begins shaping into a narrative. My mind operates in blog bites. In compact summaries and amusing anecdotes.

This isn't unfamiliar territory. When I wrote my (very good but unpublished although agented and diligently shopped) second novel, I embodied Leilani, the main character whose husband and daughter are killed in a car accident. This was unpleasant for me. And everyone else. But I woke with dread, wept over Scarlett's dresses, developed transportation anxieties.

One quick digression: note the sentence above that introduces my novel. Could the matron be a tad bit insecure? Competitive? Required to self-credential from time to time?

Um.

Now that blethic's demands have been met -- post and blogroll and all that--the matron must turn her critical eye to that kitchen and the mess, therein. House and children, and all that.

Which world does she prefer, sometimes?

Um.

Blethic II

For those naughty few who haven't read every last post: blethic, as in blog ethic. Since the phrase is entirely mine, I'm deploying it in all kinds of ways.

Blethic quagmire ahead --

I run into someone, say at the grocery store, and she asks me how I am. Is it okay to refer her to my blog rather than answer directly? Seems so much more efficient-- and all-encompassing, to boot.

But then, what if I refer her to the blog and she laughs (uh-oh) because she is soooo busy that she has no time to read a (ahem, my) blog, for heaven's sake.

Is it okay to remind her that even though I have a job, more children than she does, two dogs, many wild cats, an immaculate house and a fine-looking behind because I take time to exercise, that I am still able to find the time to write (incredibly clever) blog that she doesn't have two minutes a day to read?

Yes!

More Living On-Line

Today, The New York Times (lead article in Week in Review) ruminated on a “cultural confusion about private and public” that has extended to architecture. We hope for thousands to visit our MySpace page while prancing around in glass houses—literally, thanks to an architectural trend leaning toward transparent living. The article offered lots of hand-wringing and sniffing about privacy’s long good-bye, complete with this singularly insipid comment from psychologist Sherry Turkle (important MIT professor): “I can be in intimate contact with 300 people on e-mail, but when I look up from my computer I feel bereft. I haven’t heard a voice, touched a hand, for hours or days.”

Honey, I don’t think the computer is your problem.

Let me clear this up: the concept of privacy as an inviolable right, as something we hold and are therefore able to relinquish (or wrap up tight) is long gone and this isn’t news. Every 15 year old who makes her YouTube debut already has a different definition than her parents. My oldest is 11 and he thoughtfully constructs various versions of himself to the kids he meets playing games on-line. I got giddy when my blog profile hits topped 100; he got real. “Seven million people have watched Gary Brolsma." (He's the namu-namu genius on YouTube and if you haven't watched, be number seven million and one).

Does this kind of transparency necessitate a lack of intimacy, as Turkle implies? A friend swears his younger employees are hard-wired differently than those over 30—they think, emote, create and structure ‘self’ in all kinds of electronic ways. Is this malleable and importable self less desirable than the fortress we used to be? I’m not so ready to mourn. Privacy and intimacy are sort of High End concepts that change over time, and I hate to condemn the inevitable.

Bereft, I look up from the computer--and there's John's hand sneaking toward my thigh. Again!