Balcom Agency

Thursday, February 5, 2009

9:30 pm

Sitting in the parking lot of On the Border in Arlington, I call my voicemail. I follow Ashley's BMW around winding roads and turn left at the awkward intersection that she described to me. I drive west on I-30.

After a few years holding down a Blogger account, I registered my first domain in 2003. Over the next six years, I changed it three times. (What can I say - I was indecisive.) I played with WordPress and Type Pad, but still, despite the fact that it can be a pain in the rear, my favorite blogging platform remained MovableType.

Eventually, I threw in the towel. I felt like I had said all that I had to say. I was tired of sharing, so when my last domain expired in 2009, so did my blog. I said goodbye to lots of blogging buddies. I've made some great friends, and I've had the pleasure of meeting some wonderful people "in real life" thanks go blogging.

When we tackled the redesign of BalcomAgency.com, we wanted to have a voice, a way to reach out and interact with you: our clients, our vendors and our friends. Blogging became the doorway between our lives and our workplace and yours. We give you some industry insight. We tell you funny stories. We make you read about quilts. (Okay, that's just me...)

Here at the B, I am the most frequent blogger so much so that we all poke fun at and joke about my (excessive) posting. Of our collective 130ish blog posts, 55 are mine. As it turns out, I wasn't out of things to say after all!

With all of this nerdery under my belt, it's with great excitement that today, I bring Delurker Day to the B.

Delurker Day is loads of fun for bloggers. We know that we're posting things, that somehow you're finding your way to us, and that you're reading (after all – we are in love with our analytics!). We appreciate every comment we get and love interacting with you. But we also know that some of you are the quiet type – that you take in the things we say without ever replying because, let's face it, sometimes, "Neat!" just doesn't feel comment-worthy.

Today is the one day we're asking you to say hello. We want to know who you are. Do you feel like you always comment and that, "Nah – they already know me!" Go ahead – say hi anyway! Maybe you've never commented before? Give it a shot. You'll love it.

Be sure to visit the blogs of all of your favorite B's today and say hello! We'll B Excited to hear from you.

Dear Santa:

We've just stepped into December, and it's already overwhelming. We've known each other for, what, twenty six years now? By now, you've learned that my solution to managing chaos is to make a list, and this holiday season, I have handled things no differently.

When I put pen to paper, I came up with a long list of items that I am taking care of or participating in this holiday season. Company breakfasts, lunches and happy hours, dinners with friends, decorating, wrapping, cooking, mailing, white elephants (two this year!), parties, special plans – and that's just the beginning.

I made an executive decision and decided that I shouldn't even stress myself out with mailing cards this year, and in making that decision, I feel like I'm letting people down. Where did this pressure come from – to buy and wrap and cook and go and plan and party and what not? Who set these expectations? I'd like to have a word or two with them...

Santa, last night, I wrapped the packages that I've already purchased – the ones that have been tucked away in the toy box at the foot of my bed for months. It's not all of the gifts I need to acquire, but it's a start. I hung the stockings on the mantle, turned on the lights on tree and collapsed onto the couch to admire it all. And while my living room was bathed in a warm glow, I thought – I want to remember this forever. I want to remember how my house feels at 3:30 in the morning when I can't sleep, the snorts of my sleeping, snuggly puppy, the music humming from the end of the hall, laughter so big and unrestricted, it makes my sides hurt and even the quietest times when all that can be heard is the flipping of book pages and the rustling of pieces of fabric.

It's now, Santa, that I can say with the greatest deal of certainty that there's not a thing I need from you this Christmas. It's been three years, Santa, since life has been this happy, this full of fun, this wholly complete. And while I'd appreciate anything you decide to drop off? Please know that it's not necessary. I've already got everything I need or want.

Merry Christmas, Santa. I hope your holiday is as beautiful as mine.

Love,
Emily

Dearest iPhone:

We have been together for over 4 months now. We've had time to get used to one another. You've learned my habits and my lingo. You fetch my weather, you keep my games, heck sometimes, you even count my calories. You keep my lists, you snap my pictures, you place my calls, you organize my life.

But iPhone – I'm sorry to tell you that you have fallen short of my expectations. Initially, I had concerns. I told you that your battery life was less than stellar, and it hasn't improved. You spell check as I go, and while I hate to point fingers, you're not very good at it. And then you have the audacity to tell me that I only have the two profiles that you dictate.

iPhone, I have adjusted to your keyless keyboard, and I won't lie, scrolling through things really is a whole lot of fun. But iPhone? When I got you, I knew what you were capable of, and I hoped that over time, I would learn you could do more. But iPhone? You can't. You didn't exceed my expectations. And now that I am past the shiny bits and flicking interface, now that I'm over your happy sounds and what not, I have to say that quite honestly – you're just sort of ok. Sure, I love you. Sure, you get the job done. But I'm sorry to say that you are not my favorite.

You have reminded me, iPhone, that sometimes, it's important to just stick to what you know. I'm glad I tried you out. I'm glad I gave you a whirl. I wouldn't call our time together a waste, by any means. I'm just saying: I wouldn't do it again.

I feel better now that we've had this chat. Hopefully you understand where I'm coming from.

Love,
Emily

Today, I am twenty six. Twenty six was feeling just like every other birthday I've had until I stumbled upon the following thought.

Ten years ago today, I was at the DMV getting my first drivers license.

My, how time flies...

I hate wearing lipstick. I don't really even like lip gloss. Occasionally (and only when necessary) I'll use some sort of lip balm, but other than that? You can forget it.

My glasses are held together with glue.

One night in January, I was in a serious car accident. Ultimately, my car came to a stop upside-down over a creek. The back windshield was shattered, and my things were scattered everywhere. My glasses were nowhere to be found.

The next day, my dad and I went back to the scene of the accident to look for anything that might not have been picked up the night before. In the bottom of the ravine, we found my purple glasses. While I had a pair of backup glasses, my purple glasses are my favorites. Laura (who has been taking care of my family's glasses adjustments for decades) managed to put them back together with some sort of super mighty glue.

Sure, I could replace these glasses. Maybe I'd find better glasses. But these are working just fine. We have a long history together. I can't bring myself to let them go.

So sorry that we missed Fact Friday last week! I had some technical issues at the time I normally blog and forgot to share my fact! Good news: we're back on track this week! So without further delay ... Fact Friday!

I hate Comic Sans.

When my mother was pregnant with me, she started a quilt. Unsure if I was a boy or a girl, she chose fabrics in burgundy and cream – an interesting combination that was fresh and new in 1983. Being the over-achiever that my mother is, she chose the hardest pattern available, and then she decided she'd hand piece it. When people see the quilt, they tell her she's crazy for doing this.

Mom toted a million little pieces of fabric around in an oversized Estée Lauder box which (when not in use) consumed a whole drawer of the secretary in the entry way of the house I grew up in. She meticulously cut each piece then drew sew lines on the back of each one. After some time, I think that this daunting pattern got the best of her, so it sat untouched for awhile (and by awhile, I mean a few years). She decided at some point that she wanted to have it finished by my 18th birthday, so she harnessed all of her chi and put the pedal to the metal (or the needle to the fabric, as the case was).

And then the unthinkable happened... She ran out of fabric.

What do you do when you're finishing a quilt that you've been working on for 18 years, and you run out of fabric? You can't exactly go to the store and buy more... We went to Cabbage Rose thinking that we'd be able to find a complimentary fabric to help finish the job. The ladies at that shop are always so helpful! And then the unthinkable happened (again): one of the ladies in the shop had the same fabric we needed in her attic.

The quilt was a team effort – the labor and love from my mother, some random scraps of fabric in a stranger's attic, the time and skill of a woman at church who bound and quilted the entire thing – all to yield one incredible and beautiful quilt (which I forgot to photograph for you).

We have chests and cabinets and drawers of quilts between my grandmother's house, my mother's house and my house – years of heritage all folded up and tucked away, each unique in style and color (some good, some bad). But I enjoy these things. I love pulling these quilts up to my ears and thinking about the time that went into making them, the passion that the people who made them had and all of the other people who have snuggled underneath them before me.

But I feel even more special that I have one made for me. I didn't go to the store and buy it. I didn't special order it from the internet. My mom chose the fabric, cut it up, lined it, sewed it and then gave it to me – a tangible expression of love and dedication that I'll always keep.

Oh wait – no, it's not. It's just me.

I'm cold most all of the time. I have a space heater under my desk and use it at least once a day, even though it's 102 outside. I put a heated mattress pad on my bed in the winter.

I don't even mind if you want to insist that it's not cold. If I'm cold, I'm cold. I can't help it.