Things have changed a lot in the past four years. Take, for instance, tabbed browsing. It used to be that if you wanted to look at multiple Web pages at a time, you had to have multiple windows open. Now you just have one window, with tabs for each Web page you want to view. And if you’re savvy, you know that you can use hotkeys to bounce between tabs in a flash. I just checked in with myself as a kid, and he thinks the future’s pretty awesome.
(He actually said, “radical,” but it’s OK. He’ll grow out of it.)
But since yesterday morning, I’ve had a tab open that’s been messing with my head. I can’t bring myself to close it, and I can’t look at it for very long, but I keep typing +3 (it’s the third tab open in Firefox on my Mac) to view it while going about my other duties. I’m not sure if I expect it to change, or if I expect it to change me.
On the left side of the page is an ad for Tommy Bahama. It’s got a guy in white pants and the sort of floral-pattern shirt you’d expect someone to wear on a yacht. You can’t see his feet, but is there really any doubt that he’s wearing boat shoes? He’s looking off to the left, past the edge of the Web page. He’s probably looking at my cat, sitting on the arm of my chair, but I can’t prove that and the cat just yawned as if to imply that I should move on.
I don’t want to move on, but cats can be such critics.
On the opposite side of the Web page from Mr. Bahama is a photo of a friend. She is not looking at the cat. She’s looking at me.
The article running down the middle of the page begins with the headline “Farewell Chief.” Sometimes, when I flip over to Tab 3, I pretend that my friend has just retired. I can’t believe she’s retired, I say to myself. What on earth is she going to do with all that free time? Oh, right. The grandsons.
And then I tell myself that she’ll be out of retirement within the year.
And then something from the article catches my eye and I have to switch back to a different tab, or a different application altogether. Sometimes I have to put the computer down and go into the kitchen and clean dishes. Sometimes I pick up my guitar and play a few minor chords.
There are a lot of perfectly ordinary words in the article that are rubbing me the wrong way. They’re all in the past tense. I know, I’m almost as critical as the cat, but hey—I used to be a film and theater critic for the newspaper. I’m also a professional editor and a bit of a grammar snob. (My wife will read this and want to scratch out “a bit of,” but she’s not a professional editor and I will not lend her my red pen.) It’s in my nature. But I’ve read other work by the author, Erica, and I’ve even met her once or twice. She’s no chump. There’s clearly something wrong with the content, not the way it’s conveyed.
So I copy the article and I paste it here. Then I start hacking at it.
Ponte Vedra Recorder Editor Grace Elizabeth Hayes … daughter Emily of Atlantic Beach … son-in-law Wayne … two grandsons, Quinn and Sullivan … editor of The Ponte Vedra Recorder since 1999 … Former Recorder publisher Olivia Bush … brought Hayes back to The Recorder … “She is genuinely interested in people … part of that community, part of the fabric of the community” … member of the Ponte Vedra Sunset Rotary Club, Leadership St. Johns and a board member of the Ponte Vedra Chamber of Commerce … Pat West, owner of Ponte Vedra Valley, met Hayes when both women joined the chamber … they sat on every committee together … “her business sense” … Cathy Brown, executive director of the St. Johns County Council on Aging … Hayes’ deep dedication to the community … “When I first spoke to Grace about starting a senior center in Ponte Vedra,” Brown said, “she understood immediately just how much it would benefit the entire community, and she always supported it” … a mentor and friend … writers who have moved on to successful careers.
There’s a section in there that gives a bunch of interesting facts about my friend, including some things I didn’t know and have never thought to ask about. The only element I’d edit in this section is the date she was born. I’m not going to be the person who hands in an article to the editor with her date of birth right there for everyone to see. I value the way my head is so neatly attached to the rest of my person.
Of course, I would never hand in the above edit either—one long paragraph, too many ellipses and sentence fragments. Erica knows what she’s doing. Erica knows how craft a proper goodbye.
I didn’t say goodbye when I left my mentor and friend to move on to my successful career, so I don’t think I’ll say it now. But I’m going to go back to Firefox and post this to my Web site. Then I’m going to hit +3 and +W, and Mr. Bahama will stop staring at my cat and my friend will no longer see me. But I will think of her every time I conduct an interview, write a story, or edit an article for the rest of my life.
We can’t take a red pen to the way the universe works, but we can and should file away all its stories—the good ones and bad ones alike—and read them from time to time.
