And so this happened at BlogHer.
I met Sarah.
Sarah has a fabulous parenting magazine. It doesn't contain one single illustrated recipe for how to make your food look like teddy bears or monsters so that your children can not only refuse to eat it, but also insult your visual artistry at the same time.
What it does contain is brilliant writing and beautiful photographs. Parent centered without being dumbed down and surrounded by ads for hair color and diapers. It's called Stealing Time, and you can subscribe for just $20. I already have.
Anyway, I met Sarah.
There were about 5000 people at BlogHer. Saturday night, nine of us went to dinner together. Sarah picked the spot, and we headed out - me, Amy, Bon, Kristen, Neil, Vicki (who I'm sorry I didn't get to meet because we were split into two tables), Jean, and another Sarah (who I might have mentioned that I met).
After dinner, most of us ended up at CheesburgHer together. Sarah and I were the only ones who had willingly donned paper bag hats. I could tell she was my kind of person. By the hat.
We had not sat at the same table at dinner, so I asked her my jumping off question for the weekend, "Where are you from?"
Sarah was from Portland.
I knew better than to follow up my jumping off question with, "Oh, do you know the one person I know in the very large city from which you come?" Because, no. They do not know that single person who does not blog, is not married, has no children, and plays guitar in a Pink Floyd cover band.
Instead, I was leading into asking her about things to do with kids in Portland because I desperately want to take my children there to see the West Coast and visit this one wonderful friend of mine. And because I'm awkward with conversation in a crowd, over loud music, and with someone I have predetermined to be far cooler than I could ever hope to be, I say,
"One of my very best friends was transferred from the Guitar Center in Raleigh to the one in Portland."
Which is essentially, what I had tried not to do in the first place. That one person I know game. I am so socially awkward. However.
Sarah has a friend in her writing group who works for the Guitar Center in Portland.
I cock my McDonald's bag hat head, raise my eyebrows, and say,
"And his name is Dave?"
Sarah lowers her eyebrows and says that it is.
We both sort of nod in some sort of acceptance that this is one of the more unlikely meetings among 5000 people in New York City for a blogging conference.
And it was.
I know about her writing group. I know there is another mama named Rebecca who also writes and is interested in natural parenting. I know about Dave's story (that one) that we both agreed was our favorite (finish that puppy, Dave).
I told her about our super fast weekend to Portland to see Dave and Crowded House (Dave was not playing with Crowded House, he just went with us). She told me that there were lots of things for kids to do in Portland.
Then, we took a picture together in our hats, and I messaged it to Dave. With no caption. Because what would you do if you got a picture on your phone featuring two of your friends who live on opposite ends of the country, and you have no idea why they would have met? Or why they are wearing McDonald's bags on their heads?
