Why I Blog

Kristin just turned to me and exclaimed, "I finished a scrapbook page!" (Exclamation added.) We put The Boo down a little early tonight and she finally had a chance to capture the story of Clara's babbling for Clara's scrapbook. Kristin hasn't had much time to scrapbook lately. For her, the process of digitally manipulating photos, printing them out, and crafting a page from papers, rivets, ribbons, and things is equal parts creativity and catharsis. I love to see her sitting at the table, bent over a page, moving pieces of paper around as she recreates the picture in her mind on the page before her. The end result is always stunning, possessing a geometric sensibility of which I never tire.

I was on a friend's blog today and, after clicking a link or five, came across a quiz: How Addicted to Blogging Are You? Kristin sat next to me and laughed along as I read question after question that describes my relationship with my blog:

• Have you ever 'live blogged?' (where you blog about an event as it's happening)
  Uh, yes.
• If something interesting happens to you, do you immediately think about how you're going to write about it on your blog?
  Too often.
• Have you ever tried to convince a friend or family member they should start a blog?
  David & Bonnie are the only hold-outs.
• Have you ever come up with a great blog idea while doing something completely random, such as taking a shower or watching a movie?
  Everyone knows that all true inspiration comes while taking a shower.
• The last question: When this quiz is over, do you plan on blogging about your blogging addiction?
  ... ... ...

Did these people secretly tape me to create the questionnaire?

After picking ourselves up off the floor, my results displayed:82%How Addicted to Blogging Are You? What happened to the other 18%?

Which brings me to the title of this post. For quite some time I've felt like I need to talk about why I update this crazy thing. Yes, seeing my site metrics on Google Analytics and knowing that I have page rank are incredibly important, but even more important is the concept of family history, the history of oneself and ones family.

Family history is capturing the story of our lives. Genealogy tells us about our family lines, our pedigree, but family history helps us to know who we are. As anyone who knows me well can attest, I love people. When I meet a new person, I long to hear their stories, find out what they have done, why they do what they do. Last Sunday some friends invited us over for dinner and we traded our "How did you meet?" stories. After I took an hour-plus in the retelling (Kristin chimed in every few paragraphs) I asked our hosts to share their story. "Oh, it's not very exciting," came the reply. Forty-five minutes and some most excellent tales later I had new insight into our friends. They had a VERY exciting "How did you meet?" story and I was honored that they shared it with me.

In my father's parents closing years I began to ask them to tell me their stories. I learned how my grandparents met coming out of the New York City subway in the 1930s. I learned that they chose their wedding date by figuring out which of their leases ended first. I learned that they were married on a lunch break and went back to work afterwards. As my mother's parents age, I long to do the same, so my family and I don't miss out on the stories that help us define these great people and, in turn, ourselves.

For my father's 60th birthday I asked my mother and siblings to write down their remembrances of my father's parents. I compiled, bound and distributed copies to each family member. A simple present, I treasure the copy that sits on my book self, waiting for the day when Clara can pick it up and discover those wonderful people.

And that is why I blog. This is my history, the history of my family. Though it will never be regarded as a great literature, or even mildly entertaining, I hope that someday it will help Clara and her siblings know me a little better. Then, between the discussions of allowances and agency, boys and bedtimes, and cars and curfews, hopefully they will be able to see who I am. And in turn, to see and know who they are.