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View from the North 40: Column: sorry, thank you

Dear my column,

I would like to apologize without sarcasm and thank you sincerely.

I am sorry for not having more class and composure the first time someone recognized me in public as the writer of you. Yes, I know, my voice is even less attractive when it rises four octaves to say thank you. I was startled by her friendliness.

I am sorry that when I was recognized the second time I did a sort of maniacal laugh. I know it was my fault that the woman walked away with a less than favorable impression of us.

I’m sorry for the third time, too, when I snorted and then choked on my own saliva. In fact, let’s just consider this an apology for lacking any social graces in general and that ought to cover them all.

So now I can move on to apologizing for writing every year about mosquitoes (yes, I understand everyone hates them, and they're annual), the cold, icky darkness of winter (nothing new there either) and, well, any topics I repeat because I am obsessed with them.

Sorry for all the times I had a great idea and didn’t write it down, and, on the other hand, for the time I’ve spent pursuing an idea that didn’t pan out, or maybe made you look bad.

Sorry, too, for the times I’ve said, “They can’t all be gems,” and then threw you to the wolves. Likewise for the number of times I said — as deadline quickly approached and I was procrastinating — “It’s time to go pull a column out of my southern-most end of my personal food processing system.”

I apologize for lying just now, too, because those aren’t my exact words, but the editor won’t let me use the three-letter word I normally put in there.

And, for any other transgressions not named, consider yourself apologized to, too … so that includes any time I haven’t made sense, but meant to.

I also thank you.

Thank you for making me want to be a better person — and by better I mean not so boring, or stupid for that matter. Bear with me; I’m a work in progress.

Mostly, I thank you for every time I’ve been recognized in public, whether they’ve said they love us or they don’t understand us or something that falls between — even that time that fiesty old lady said, “Oh, you write that column?” and then changed the subject. (I saw what you did there, ma’am, and I suppose this is as good of a time as any to apologize to you for laughing out loud. That was supposed to be a private chuckle inside my head. It escaped.)

I thank you, my column, for my awkward public moments because, whether it’s for good or bad, my name is out there in the world and that allowed a treasured friend from long ago, long before you were ever conceived of, my column, to find me. I am Internet database searchable.

And my first Internet stalker is a friend. I'm thankful for that, too.

(If this friendship connection goes south, though, I’m blaming you, my column, at [email protected].)

 

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