who is this harriet?

Excellent question. I like to think of Harriet as someone who watches over me, an employee of the universe if you will. I credit her for leading me into the arms of the man I love, for taking us both into a rundown old house in the early months of 1997 and showing us (okay, maybe just me) the love and life that dwelt in its tobacco-stained walls and could resurface with a bit of hard work and several thousands of dollars. I thank her every day for bringing me home.
Sometimes it seems Harriet has deserted me in my hour of need. When I'm beating myself up and shutting out everyone around me, it feels like Harriet has run for the hills, and I am in no place to blame her. But then, without fail, she comes back to me and it is clear she was just checking in with the boss, getting new instructions from Universe Pty Ltd on how to deal with her charge.
Today I read dooce and thought for the hundred-and-ninety-ninth time how much I'd like to be Heather B. Armstrong's best friend, then thought how unlikely that is because 1. She lives in Utah. 2. She is the world's most popular blogger. and 3. She recently had more than 40,000 comments posted for one entry. I almost wet myself when I get just one. But still I am bordering on obsessive about Heather, and I recently sent her an email because I was sure we could have a meaningful connection beyond me slavishly reading her blog and idolising her. Today her blog entry mentions in passing that she often listened to Pearl Jam's Alive at high volume during her college days for hours on end. And today, somewhat later, I was driving to work and trying to find a decent song on the radio when I heard John Butler Trio and instantly stopped searching. I was now listening to a radio station I literally NEVER listen to, and then the 18-year-old announcer came on and said something hip and rad and groovy, as they do, and I was just about to change the channel again when he said ''Pearl Jam'' and then ''Alive" and then Eddie Vedder starting growling to me and I swear, Heather B. Armstrong might as well have called me directly on my mobile phone and asked me to fly straight to Utah so she could adopt me as her new best friend and constant companion. Harriet and I drove the rest of the way in stunned silence. Eddie growling. Me purring.