Age Appropriate Behavior

I was reading dooce this morning, following the Little Cuter's advice. If you like my style you might like hers, too. She's younger and cooler and has fewer boundaries between herself and the world than I, but the Cuters got me into blogging by insisting that "you are waaaay hipper than you think you are, Mom" so I'm just going to continue to believe that you are out there and are enjoying the ride.

I'm pouting just a little; dooce has lots of comments.......

But I can't pretend that I don't understand. Following a blog is not a behavior typically found in my age cohort. Cell phones and texts and emails have maintained friendships over distance and time; my friends and I love the electronic age. It's the intersection of the private with the public that seems to be a stumbling block for us. Updating one's Facebook status is, for most of my friends-of-a-certain-age, a remarkable event. It's not that we're boring or don't have deep thoughts; it just never crosses our minds that anyone else might care what we're thinking right now. I know no one my age who tweets (except when cheering for the Arizona Cardinals!), and I have no interest in getting that close to anyone else, myself. I'm sure you're having a great time; send me a postcard.

So telling me what you think of a post might put you in mind of an email or a phone call, but to share it publicly is a whole 'nother deal entirely. It takes courage to voice an opinion, and why would anyone else care? But there you are, right back at the start of this screed --- in this day and age, people really ARE interested. After all, you're reading this, aren't you?

Anyhow, Dooce's success at sharing the mundane and the ridiculous allows me to believe that you would like to know what happened to the pack rat and the refrigerator:

I chickened out. I got lazy and went to bed without disturbing the fridge and the beast. This morning, I begged the power-washer, who bears a striking resemblance to Rutherford B. Hayes,


to deal with him. "Of course," he smiled. And I didn't care if he thought I was a coward or that my inability to deal with a furry four-legged little creature besmirched my credentials as a true denizen of the desert. Once again, I'd waited and the problem was solved.


Here's what he found :

He thinks the sound of the water roaring against the other side of the wall frightened the resident rodent away. Now it's time to pick up all the other cozy nesting places he might find, so that the same thing doesn't happen again.

I feel a nap coming on.

Once again, procrastination has been rewarded. I may never learn.