A whole lot of nothing going on

It has taken me days to write this column.

For those of you who are expecting me to be incredibly funny, or profoundly touching, sorry, I’ve got nothing.

I haven’t done anything really stupid over the past week. My kids haven’t said anything that put me in stitches or left me reaching for a Kleenex. My husband never wants to be the starring role in my column. And all my cat did last week was eat, sleep and lick his butt.

In the print edition of the Vanguard, my editor gave me a page with a big blank square screaming at me, “Fill this space! Fill this space!” And I’ve got nothing.

You know when people ask you, ‘What’s new?’ and then you say, ‘Nothing.’

Now try writing a column about that.

I suppose I could write about how, when I was in Grade 7, I wrote a soap opera. I don’t remember the name of it, but every night I would write a few pages and share it with my friends on the bus. The characters were kids from my class. What can I say? It was a long bus ride from Arcadia to Maple Grove.

Time, I learned, is something you can kill off. Don’t try doing the same thing to one of the characters in your soap opera if you’ve got to sit next to her on the bus for 20 minutes.

“You killed me off?” she asked in astonishment. “Thanks a lot.”

“It’s a soap opera, don’t worry. I’ll write you back in tomorrow,” I reassured her. “I’ll make it a dream sequence.”

You have no idea how many times over the years I’ve looked for that soap opera. Or how many times I’ve made my mom search her house for it. I could really use a good laugh.

Maybe I could write a new soap opera. I could call it Desperate Hockey Moms. The plot wouldn’t have anything to do with women seeking political office. Instead the setting would be a cold rink, where a hockey mom has seven tickets left to sell in her 50/50 rep hockey ticket book, and the book has to be passed in prior to her son’s practice. She contemplates writing her name on all of the remaining tickets and paying for them herself at $2 a pop, when all of a sudden….

Never mind, I’ve got nothing.

Over the past four days I have tried writing this column in my head while sitting at my desk, driving in my van or laying in bed.

I’ve been freaking out, stressing out and striking out because I’ve got nothing.

It isn’t easy filling this space every week.

The greatest column I could ever write, you’ll never read. Too bad, because it would be packed with nervousness, hopefulness, heartbreaking disappointment, tears, hugs, more tears, and it would end with me feeling like I was on the cruelest episode ever of candid camera. And when you weren’t moved to tears, you’d be laughing so hard you’d be crying. Or at least I was.

But someone I care very much about has asked me never to write about this. And I care more about their feelings, than I do about having something to fill this space with.

So I’ve got nothing, you’re reading nothing, and to top it off I’m out $14 because this desperate hockey mom did end up buying those 50/50 tickets herself.

Hey, wait a minute. I just thought of something.

Oops, never mind, I’m out of space. It’ll have to wait until next week.