40x365: #14 ~ Marsha

My old office mate, now a big media mucky muck. You are one of the smartest, funniest people I know. You tell a story like nobody's business. I wish you'd think about a career in radio. I know I'd listen.

40x365: #13 ~ Scott H.

My fourth grade crush, I was sure I would marry you. You moved to Venezuela, or so the rumor had it. I was sure you would come back. You know, to marry me. Googled you but didn't find a thing.

40x365: #12 ~ Andy B.

My very first crush and later, my very first boyfriend. I can still remember the musty smell of your old Fiat. How many hours did we spend in that thing? Fifteen: so awkward, and yet it was a good year.

40x365: #11 ~ Andy

Old friend, my birthday buddy. A phone call or email from you every year, and one from me on your big day. Nice way to keep in touch. Glad you had a good one this year. Wishing you many more.

40x365: #10 ~ Michael L

My first grade friend with so much energy, the teacher used duct tape to attach you to your chair. You could turn your eyelids inside out. I wonder where you are now. I wonder if you would remember me now.

40x365: #9 ~ Ara

My boss at Friendly's, you used to spy on us with binoculars from the diner across the street. I wonder if you ever caught anyone or if it just made you feel powerful. I wonder what you're up to now.

40x365: #8 ~ Owen G.

My parents' friend and colleague, you were very formal with your bowtie, from another era it seemed. Bright white hair, wispy limbs, kind smile. I liked you. Now you're gone, they tell me. A long time in coming, apparently. Godspeed.

40x365: #7 ~ Jill

My first true best friend, even though we met in our thirties. The first person to truly know me, and you never stop making me laugh. Across the country is too far but we will see each other soon, friend.

40x365: #6 ~ John K.

My tennis coach, so full of energy and life, you made us kids love the game, love you. Turns out, it was drugs (cocaine) and your heart was shot. You left the earth far too soon. It pisses me off.

40x365: #5 ~ Mr. O.

My sixth grade teacher, barely out of college. All of the girls had crushes (without really even knowing it) and apparently so did you. You married a former student. Happily married. Why does that still creep me out a little?

40x365: #4 ~ Eve

My first boss and still the best. You taught me so much and made me laugh. Thank you for that. A new mom again at 46, you are a marvel. I hope you are getting some sleep these days, friend.

40x365: #3 ~ Tim

I know nothing about you, yet you are central to a key memory. The first boy to ask me out on a "real" date, and I said no. Wish you could have known how nice it was to be asked.

40x365: #2 ~ Jonathan

My nephew, once so little and now we share a shoe size. You showed me what parenthood would be like, with all that love. A vegetarian by choice, you stand by your principles. I am proud to be your aunt.

40x365: #1 ~ Serena

You are first because you are my first memory. On the other side of the preschool easel you fell, cut your chin. I thought the blood was red paint, and that small puddle is the earliest visual memory I have.

A new purpose in life!

I have quite a few blogs bookmarked that I rarely visit anymore. Earlier this evening I decided to check in on some old friends (friends who haven't the foggiest idea I exist, but friends in my mind nonetheless) and I was intrigued by one woman's seemingly ordered-yet-random numbered posts. I followed a link to discover x365. One man, on his 40th birthday, had the idea to write exactly 40 words each day - 40 words about a person he met or knew - for exactly 365 days.

This is right up my alley. This, I think, will get me to my blog every day. This is the answer to my poor, neglected virtual space. Let the names begin!

Walk

Ah, the joys of having the teeniest following in cyberspace. I can walk away for three weeks without worrying anyone. Incidentally, walk is this week's theme over at Picture This, and that happens to be something we do often around here.

I can't tell you how many shots I have of Eli from this perspective. What is it about seeing your little one walking away into the distance that's so compelling? Maybe it's the pride in his independence; maybe it's the rare chance to see him from afar; maybe it's one of the few ways he'll actually let me take his picture. Whatever it is, when I have my camera on hand, I can't help myself.