(you gotta read this)
Something you might not know about me is that I’m a cradle Episcopalian.
What’s an Episcopalian? Basically we’re a lot like the Catholics, except the Pope isn’t the boss of us and we let our clergy get
married to anybody they want to get married to.
So anyway one of the things we traditionally do in the Episcopal church is we baptize our infants. And I have to tell you… my
family has a tragic history with baptisms.
And I am, obviously, at the center of these stories.
If family lore is to be believed… when my brother was being baptized, I was nearly 3 years old and a protective older sister.
So we’re standing up there, me in my frilly dress, baby brother in some kind of white clown suit, parents and everybody ready to
renounce Satan and all that good stuff you hope to see in a baptism.
But then.
We get to that part in the liturgy… the part with the water.
Father Tony does the sprinkly-do on baby brother’s head, baby becomes outraged, and I in turn…
I put my hands on my hips and demand to know “What is THAT MAN doing to my baby brother?”
Right there in front of (literally, figuratively, liturgically) God and everyone.
“That man,” as if I didn’t go to this church every Sunday and know this priest by name.
But that was not my first foray into baptism stories that are told decades later.
Probably my favorite baptism story of all time (with the possible exception of the good lord himself’s baptism) is the story of my
own christening.
It was June 12, 1983.
My mom and dad had gone down to Wilmington (NC) where the whole extended family lived so they could “do the baby” at my
grandparents’ church.
On that side of the family, I only have 2 cousins, both older than me. And because my aunt was my godmother, my young cousins were
up there at the baptismal font with the whole fam-dam when it was time for me to get sprinkled.
So we go through the whole solemn liturgy and then infant-me is baptized. Which infant-me did not appreciate.
Which my cousin John observed, and to which he responded, to the priest, very loudly…
“Bzzzzt, WRONG, Bison Breath!”
And then I was sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. Because, you know, baptism and all.
So why am I telling you this ridiculous story?
Because if you read that subject line and you thought to yourself “ooooh, THAT’S where she went…”
Bzzzzt, WRONG, Bison Breath!
I did not have a baby.
There was not, is not, and never had been, another baby.
But if you’re trying to think back to the last time you heard from me and do the math in your head… yeah, it’s been 9 months.
Almost to the day. And no, I didn’t plan it to math out that way.
But I did have to say something, once I noticed the 9-months thing. It’s just too much of a hook.
Hence the subject line.
BUT then in following one of my most important email rules of all time…
I had to give you some sort of payoff for that subject line. And “womp womp I did not have a baby, fooled you” is not a good
payoff.
So… ridiculous baby story, even if there was in fact no actual baby.
If you’re totally confused at this point, then you should know that 9 months ago, in early June 2024, I turned off my 5am alarm
and went back to sleep instead of writing my daily email to you… and I never came back to it.
Until now (obviously).
I pulled together about two months worth of favorite daily emails over the years, thinking surely I’d be back by the time they ran
out. Some of you have been reading those without realizing it.
But this one’s live, and a lot has happened in the meantime.
(Just not the having of more kids.)
I want to tell you all about what I’ve been up to, what I’m learning and testing, and what’s on the horizon… but mostly, I want
to hear from YOU again.
What are YOU up to? What are YOU learning and testing? What’s on YOUR horizon?
What are you thinking about? What worries you and what excites you here in the AI-fueled singularity we’re collectively
experiencing? What’s making you mad and what’s really tickling your fancy?
I’ve missed you, plain and simple.
