Chambana AKA Blogging Capital Of The Midwest

I sat at our local Little Gym today, nose in my book, deliciously unfettered. The baby was home with the sitter, rare for a Thursday, but The Poo had an appointment after class and I didn’t want him to distract me from focusing on the girl.

I managed to groom myself this morning, a minor miracle considering that this is Day Two of Mr. Chicken’s out-of-town conference, rendering me a single parent from Wednesday to Saturday. I had a nice, new top, actual pants (as opposed to jeans), and my hair was dry.

(My white athletic anklets paired with black snow shoes sort of wrecked the whole thing, but I looked cute from ankle up.)

There I sat, reading and occasionally flashing a leotard-clad Poo a smile and a wave.

One of the other parents in the waiting area walked over and sat down next to me. She smiled, and leaned in a little closer.

“Are you Mrs. Chicken?” she asked.

Turns out she reads here, and has her own blog. She recognized me from the photos I occasionally post here, and “outed” herself to me as Harley Quinn.

(Hi, Amy!)

She was, as all the other local women I’ve met in this way, simply delightful. We chatted for awhile and I was happy to find out she’ll be there again next Thursday.

And as she left, I was grateful for the fact that I took the time to shower this morning.

It is so strange, the notoriety that comes with this online diary of mine. I told a friend this week that I began writing here not long after my father died, and just after becoming a mother.

It was a place, I said, to hear myself talk. Where I could unburden myself, without continuing to burden my loved ones with an outpouring of grief, anger and confusion.

Next month will make the three-year anniversary of this space. My very first post was tentative; timid, even. But as time passed I became more and more empowered, using it to flex muscles long dormant.

This space provided me with friendships that could not have been possible without it. Just tonight I shared dinner, diapers and tears with a woman who welcomed me to Chambana sight unseen, when I reached out to her through her blog just before we moved here.

The birth of this blog coincided almost exactly with our decision to move to the Midwest, to take on tremendous personal and professional risk in pursuit of the brass ring. When we got here, it shocked me to find so many local writers blogging away; surely this small, small city has the highest per-capita number of bloggers of any other locale.

This space continues to open doors for me, both professionally and personally. I’ve been missing it lately, feeling stressed out and over-committed to my paid work. I miss this space, and I know that as we move again in a few short months I will once again be relying on this community to help me make the transition.

There are days when I think blogging is over, at least for me. I feel like this is tired, and done with. I feel like it has served its purpose and that I’ve outgrown it.

That it is no longer a priority.

And then someone like Amy taps me on the shoulder in the library, in the grocery store or at the playground and says, hey, I read your blog. I really, really enjoy it. You are such a good writer.

So thank you, all of you. Thank you, Amy.

And especially you, Chambana.