NaBloPo– uh oh

batteredbutton

Fun little story about this button.

So I have a bunch of these buttons, and order them periodically to keep in my pocket, and bring them to places like events or conferences or wherever I feel I might want to spread the good gospel. Give ’em to friends.

Even strolled up to Jane Lynch her own bad self, the fateful night of the annual NCLR party a few years back when she and her lady love (now lawfully wedded wife, Lara Embry) had met and the sparks first flew. I waited for Jane (I know! we’re on a first-name basis. okay, I am) to finish playing tonsil hockey with her (geez; I think it was her!) on the dance floor (yes I said that, and yes I did wait discreetly), and then I tapped her on the shoulder and gave her one of these.  She looked at it, looked at me, said, “Uh, thanks,” and went back to paying attention to her future spousal unit-to-be.

I saw Jane again back last August in San Diego at an event and gave her another one. Reminded her of the first time, she totally blanked on the moment (shocked! I’m shocked!), and said, “Great, now I have two!”  Oh, by the way, when I told her my blog name, she said, “Hey, that’s what I am now!”  And how’m I gonna disagree with that.

But I digress. And that wasn’t actually the fun little story about this particular button. The button pictured above evidently fell off my backpack at the subway station one morning on my way to work. I only knew because that evening, on my way out of the station and across the street, it caught my eye, doggedly sitting there on the road, smushed multiple times over by who knows how many cars, busses, taxis, and heels, still sending its bright message out into the world.

I like to think it’s a symbol of the enduring and inextinguishable quality of the sentiment.

Which–the enduring inextinguishability of something that is admittedly battered and bruised–brings me to the close of National Blog Posting Month. Sooooo, not quite a post a day for this beleaguered, full-time workin’ parent of two lil ones under the age of 10 and still (lard love them) as craving of my attention as I am of theirs. Looks like  I  mustered 14 posts, which is–wait! don’t tell me–yes! less frequently than every other day, on average.

Alas, alack; alack aday. I could not sway, nor play, nor pray my weary self to post each day.

Still, I appreciated the jolt.

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