You are currently browsing the daily archive for March 6th, 2007.
I’m late to the party–fashionably late, I hope–but I certainly wanted to drop in and make an appearance. Greet all the beautiful people. That’s you, of course. Hello.
By way of introduction: check out the buttons at the top of the page. You can click on “About,” “Creative” or “Corporate,” and discover my writing life. But this blog (“Home“) is an extension of that writing life, an odd assortment of thoughts, stories and ideas. Here, you never know what you’ll find–could be about almost anything:
one-day-in-the-life-of-a-mom poem
an intriguing conversation with my five-year-old son
or my unfulfilled 40th birthday wish.
My love of reading, learning and creativity may come across alongside the zigs and zags of motherhood. I’d say “ups and downs,” but life as a mom seems more squirrelly than that, more jerky and unpredictable than the standard line graph with its peaks and valleys.
I suppose that’s a pretty good summary of what Ann Kroeker’s blog is like: Squirrelly. Jerky. Unpredictable. Zigging and zagging through paragraphs that capture life as a mom, writer, wife, friend, daughter, reader, thinker, blogger, and believer in Jesus Christ.
I’m that, first and foremost: a believer in Jesus Christ. I don’t always put it in bold and underline it, but my relationship with Him is at the very core of who I am.
There you have it–a little small talk while standing by the Doritoes and canapés.
Is there a DJ at this party? I might mosey over and request something from Sting…though maybe not from his new album with the lute. It’s not exactly party music. In fact, his PBS special put my husband, The Belgian Wonder, to sleep. I’m sure I can find some suitable music. Just give me a minute.
When you leave here, you should visit with the really cool bloggers at the party–some of the Famous ones with thousands of hits are here. You should mingle. Click on the Blog Party button (or here) to visit “5 Minutes for Mom” and get to know some Great Voices of the mama-blogosphere.
Meanwhile, consider how blogging is like shoving a message in a bottle and tossing it into the vast, virtual sea. What happens when we step to our computers one morning? Can’t believe what we see…hundred million bloggers….
In light of the powerful thought that we are definitely not alone in this blogging venture, enjoy this Police 2007 reunion video I just found. After some stage chit-chat, they sing “Message in a Bottle.”
Think about it next time you blog: You’re not alone. This very Blog Party proves it (as if we had any doubts).
A couple of years ago, I signed up for an Old Testament Survey class taught by a pastor who worked for a crazy rock station in town before going to seminary and becoming a teaching pastor. His background at the rock station made him, in my mind, somewhat of an authority on All Things Hip and Cool.
In addition to his OT Survey class, he and I also overlapped in a few planning meetings. He basically knew me as Ann the Eager Learner (I guess I can’t say “Autodidact Ann,” since I wasn’t teaching myself), who scratched out voluminous notes during his lectures; and Ann the Idea Person, who generated creative ideas for events and services in those meetings. Other than that, he evidently didn’t know much about me.
During class one time, I made the comment that I grew up on a farm.
“A farm?” he repeated, surprised; even shocked.
“Yes, I grew up on a farm west of here. My parents were journalists, not farmers, but we lived on a farm and my dad had some cattle.”
He seemed almost stunned. He stared at me, tilting his head slightly. “I’m trying to adjust to this new thought of you as a farm girl.”
“Really? I thought I mentioned it at some point.” I was actually delighted that it wasn’t obvious like it was for Mom in Action.
“Wow.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
“What did you think?”
“I thought for sure you were urban.”
“Really?” I can’t tell you how thrilled I was. Wow. Urban seems so…so…so trendy, chic, cultural and intellectual. So modern. So metropolitan. So happenin’. So unlike the midwestern cornfields of my childhood. “You thought I was urban?”
“Oh, yes, definitely!”
“Well, now, this is interesting.” I basked momentarily in this fresh new image of myself. “Where would you have guessed I was from?”
Would he say New York? No, I didn’t have a trace of New York in my accent. Maybe L.A.? No, more likely Chicago. Chicago is still in the Midwest, but it’s big and urban and hip. Yes, I could be from Chicago and feel pretty cool.
“Well,” he began, staring off to think. “Maybe…Toledo.”
Pppppppfffffffffffffffff (the sound of deflating ego)
“Toledo?” I said, disparagingly. “Toledo, Ohio?” I do apologize to all Ohioans, but you have to understand what I was hoping for–I think that even you would agree that Toledo wasn’t it.
“Well,” he clarified, “Downtown Toledo.”
Oh, Downtown Toledo. In that case, yes, well, that’s very different.
And so for that instant in my life, I did feel it would be better to be a midwestern farm girl with flecks of hay stuck to my coat. I’d even prefer he catch the faint whiff of dry cow dung stuck in the tread of my work boots, than imagine me a hip, urban Toledo girl.
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