Lost in Translation

Blogging isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Posting ideas and feelings for others to comment upon makes me feel . . . vulnerable. Fortunately, most of my readers know me very well, and they put everything I write into context.

But I’ve gotten a few readers who know me only through my blog, and their responses to my blog entries have been interesting. Almost without exception, I’ve gotten fabulous, encouraging comments that are filled with internet friendship and kind wishes. Almost without exception, I say, because there is one. One reader for whom my writing style seems to engender . . . harsh responses.

In response to my post about the Mister nixing my ukulele idea, she commented: “I'm sorry but this bridezilla attitude that the bride is the end all be all most important thing in any wedding has got to stop.” Did I mention that the post was about the Mister forbidding the use of my idea? Hmmm.

Another quote from the same gal: “. . . you need to realize that for all but 3 or 4 people who attend your wedding, it will be just another day.” I don’t know about you, but I’ve never thought of a friend’s wedding as “just another day.” Smiling so much at the happy couple that my face aches; crying tears of joy during the ceremony; giggling at some silly mishap that makes the day even more memorable; dancing until my feet won’t fit back into my shoes . . . . Just another day? Not for me.

I suspect our wedding day will be special for more than just a few. As I wrote in an earlier post:

My twin brother died seven years ago, and his absence has been more palpable in the wedding planning than it has been since the year he died. Our family has been through so much tragedy. And we’ve had so many loving friends who tenderly held our hearts as we’ve grieved. Now, instead of planning a funeral and just trying to make it through each day, we’re all planning a wedding and looking well into the future. In short, this wedding is the anti-funeral. Not just for me, but for all of us.

So when I listen a little too much to the opinions of family and friends, and I agonize over how to meld them into a single, coherent day, it’s not because I’m indecisive or too nice (people who know me know that’s certainly not true!). It’s because I want everyone who helped ease the grief to get a piece of the joy.

That’s just on my side of the aisle. The Mister lost his older brother to cancer. So his feelings and motivations echo my own. His wonderful family understands my family in a way I could never have dreamt of, let alone hoped to find.

When I read my own blog entries, it is obvious to me which sentences are punctuated with a wink. I understand that my intentions might not be so clear to others – especially those who don’t know me in the real world. This blogging thing is a bit more complicated than I expected it would be.

In the spirit of giving the written word the benefit of the doubt, I’ll assume that the reader meant her comments in the kindest way. I just ask that she do the same for my blog. And a word (or two) to the wise who comment around the ‘net: Be gentle. Real people with real feelings write these blogs.

As Mama’s Mama always said, “If you can’t say something nice . . . .”