I have a bone to pick with Mr. Rogers. Not the lovely, quiet man who spoke gently to children. The Mr. Rogers who sorts my mail.
Christmas was the first signal that our relationship was faltering. Friends contacted me from various Canadian cities to complain that there were no letters from us and they had it on good authority that mutual friends had received theirs. Odd. I re-sent a number and put it down to Christmas mail. Then I began to realize that emails sent to me (Jon being apparently on good terms with Mr. R) would suddenly surface days late but in their correct date order. Pretty easy to miss those among the fifty or so which arrive daily. (Note to self: in your next life, join fewer than five active art groups). The coup de grace was an important email which I sent to six friends this month and which only three received. Not one of the missing missives ever bounced back or showed up in junk mail.
Mr. R and I had previously enjoyed a meaningful and balanced give-and-take. I gave him money and he took care of correspondence. Now, not so much. As a female, I do of course blame myself but cannot pinpoint what I did to offend him. While I admit that correspondence roulette is pretty exciting, I am more of a checkers-personality-type so I worry.
Why do you care? Only if you expect an invitation to the opening of the big show which opens on July 4 in Toronto at the Etobicoke Assembly Hall Gallery. I don’t yet have the flyer but expect to send e-vites in about a week. So…in case yours is misdirected to some digital purgatory in which to languish or is simply killing time to be delivered on the 5th, I am inviting you here. All I can hope is that Weebly, my kind webhost, doesn't know you-know-who.
Christmas was the first signal that our relationship was faltering. Friends contacted me from various Canadian cities to complain that there were no letters from us and they had it on good authority that mutual friends had received theirs. Odd. I re-sent a number and put it down to Christmas mail. Then I began to realize that emails sent to me (Jon being apparently on good terms with Mr. R) would suddenly surface days late but in their correct date order. Pretty easy to miss those among the fifty or so which arrive daily. (Note to self: in your next life, join fewer than five active art groups). The coup de grace was an important email which I sent to six friends this month and which only three received. Not one of the missing missives ever bounced back or showed up in junk mail.
Mr. R and I had previously enjoyed a meaningful and balanced give-and-take. I gave him money and he took care of correspondence. Now, not so much. As a female, I do of course blame myself but cannot pinpoint what I did to offend him. While I admit that correspondence roulette is pretty exciting, I am more of a checkers-personality-type so I worry.
Why do you care? Only if you expect an invitation to the opening of the big show which opens on July 4 in Toronto at the Etobicoke Assembly Hall Gallery. I don’t yet have the flyer but expect to send e-vites in about a week. So…in case yours is misdirected to some digital purgatory in which to languish or is simply killing time to be delivered on the 5th, I am inviting you here. All I can hope is that Weebly, my kind webhost, doesn't know you-know-who.
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