Back not too long ago, I worked on a research study of teen mothers.  We would schedule a visit with a young mom, then go and conduct a lengthy interview about her experiences growing up 

I was talking with a friend who has been undergoing treatment for cancer.  She commented that it's been hard to reconcile the polarity that everything has changed and yet nothing has changed. Everything--her perspective, her sense of herself, of security, the new focus on healing--has changed.  Yet she looks out her window and kids are still going to school, the seasons change as always, life goes on. Living with both realities, she said, is difficult but comforting.

She said it reminded her of "an old midrash [a rabbinic story...she's Jewish] about a sage who always kept two notes -- both quotes from scripture -- on his person...one in each of his coat pockets.  The first one reminded him that "the world was created for you" -- God set this glorious table of creation, all the wonders of the world, just for humans to experience and enjoy.  

Lately my friend Therese (okay...she was first my brother's friend but now I've poached her to become my friend, too) has had lots of celebrity sightings. Apparently Hugh Grant lives in her neighborhood in London and she has crossed paths with him. And (who knew?) Jimmy Osmond the other day. And Kate Middleton, Prince William's girlfriend. And (correct me if I'm wrong here Therese) French President Nicolas Sarkozy.

Which has made me wonder...what do you say to a celebrity?

Quote a line from his movie (don't you think she should say to Hugh "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love me")? Pretend like you don't know who he is? Give a compliment? Bravely ask for a photo (or cunningly snap one with your phone on the sly)?

Famously (in our family anyway) my sister said to Alec Baldwin when she met him years ago, "Oh, to be famous!" That's it, just the wistful statement, which I think is classic. It's an all-purpose celebrity greeting! I don't think she'd mind if you used it, too. And I wonder if he remembers it?

Me, I do the ignoring thing. I don't know why. I guess I don't want to turn into a puddle of Beatles-come-to-America swooning & crying. Last year when I went through the Boston Museum of Fine Arts with Victor Garber I smiled coolly and then giggled and twittered behind his back. Repeated for each room of the exhibit. And in the cafe afterwards. That was pretty subtle, right?

So here are my celebrity sightings, what I did and what I maybe should have done:

• Princess Diana (3x): waved once, acted cool the other two times. Now I wish I had reached out to her. It turns out it was a tough time for her around then. I should have helped her see how unhealthy life was for her at the palace. I could make her feel great about her body and talk her out of colonics and other crazy schemes. Sorry, Diana.
  
• Prince Charles: looked sideways at him and then kept walking (plus there were bodyguards). I should have asked him for an internship, since I was an undergrad at the time desperate for a reason to stay in London. Darn. There's one window that's now permanently closed.
  
• Merrill Osmond: Okay, to my 6th grade self it was a celebrity sighting. He kissed my cheek. Or was it Wayne? I should have asked about the big adam's apple. I've always wondered if he felt bad that it stuck out so much.
• Robert Redford: My grandparents have a cabin near Sundance so I've seen him from afar a few times. Rumor has it that he used to stop by the side of the highway and take a ride on our rope swing out over the river. He's shorter than you imagine.
  
• Victor Garber: see above. I should have impressed him with my spy skills and asked for a part in the next incarnation of Alias. I loved that show but I always thought Sidney was a bit too flamboyant and noticable for a spy. You know who wouldn't be looked at twice and could pass through security without being glanced at? Me, a thirtysomething mom, that's who.
  
• Stephen Sondheim: (I know! Cool, huh?) Just watched him and soaked up his brilliance. I sat behind him in a play so I got to know the back of his head really well. That was enough, honestly. I wouldn't want to risk doing anything stupid. Although maybe if I hummed a little ditty he would be inspired to write another brilliant musical. You never know.
  
• Senator Ted Kennedy: I watched him watch a basketball game. He was much more bent over in person. I'm pretty sure he didn't want to be bothered so I was right to keep away.
  
• Karl Malone: I worked in PR in the hospital where his wife had a baby so I got to take a special gift and welcome them. I'm sure that's exactly what they wanted coming through that door in the middle of labor. (But there's one I actually spoke to!)

That's it I think. I know they're just people (the magazines tell me they do their shopping! they take their kids to school! they floss their teeth!). But it's still fun to spot someone you only know through the screen, like a big world-scale Where's Waldo.

Now that I think about it, I could have been instrumental in getting together a Sondheim/Osmond/Redford/Garber project launched since obviously I'm a link in their six degrees of separation! Ah, opportunities missed. Please tell me your celebrity stories. Make me feel better. Or school me in the ways of celebrity chat. Clearly I need it.

We were in the kitchen on Monday night, getting the table set and dinner ready.  Greg came home from work and we were chatting about our day.

I've been a bit lax on the blogging front in the last week or two. Partly because my life has been blissfully laid back: I've been reading, working on some data for an evaluation of a nonprofit (I like it but {yawn} to talk about), and hanging out with my kids and puppy friend.

Also partly because I've been having discussions with myself about blogging. Has it run its course for me? Why do I do it? Does it come from a place of authentic expression or has it become more of an obligation or--worse--a source of feeling I need to compete {well, compete's not the right word} or prove myself {closer}?

Side note: one of my professors, David Elkind, pioneered the psychological concept of "imaginary audience." Originally he applied it to adolescents and their tendency to believe that everyone is watching them & how this affects their behavior and decision making...a heightened self-awareness and assumption that everyone else is preoccupied with them too! A couple of years ago in a conversation I had with him, he mentioned that he also thought that new parents revert to this "imaginary audience" mentality when they first have a child and perhaps people continue to do this in periods of change and upheaval in their lives.

People who blog don't have an "imaginary audience"--they have a real, albeit absent, one. But sometimes I wonder whether it still inhibits or artificially guides what we do. What does this do to the way we live our lives? Does it change you? For the better? For the not-so-better?

On good days, I'm simply documenting our lives. {This is our scrapbook. I'll eventually turn it into one.} That's good. I'm putting my thoughts down and giving myself a forum to write. Also good. I'm uplifted by others' thoughts and inspired to try new things,

On bad days, I am online too much--depending on virtual connections rather than real ones, writing about living instead of actually living. Or I feel envious of others' great posts & frustrated with my own piddly offerings. Or I wait and wait for comments, hoping to be validated by my part-imaginary-part-real audience. Or I see volumes of fantastic things to want and have and feel less satisfied with my own blessed bounty. Is this just me?

So that's where I've been lately: through the whole cycle of blog existentialism (if a family does something and it isn't blogged, did it happen at all??). It's all in the balance, I've come to think. I may sometimes turn off comments. If so, it's not you...it's me, my dear audience {and always feel free to e-mail me...I love a good e-mail conversation}. I may take some blogidays to try and find me some good, basic, joy and not write about it.

You know, just to keep my imaginary audience guessing.