Last week a few people asked if I was ok.

"No marriage moat appeared in my inbox. I wondered if something had happened to you."

It is true that moats have gone out every day since March of 2010, despite weddings, sickness, vacations, power outages and writer's block. They went out last week too, but that does not always mean they arrived. There are the annoying rubbery results, and spam folders that seem to get voracious now and again gobbling up what is not technically junk. 

In the last few days the world has gotten quieter. My ears have a long history of restorations, certainly more than my other four senses combined, and recently they seem to be as determined to filter out messages as the most discerning firewall. I wanted to wear a button with an apology.

"I am not ignoring you. I just can't hear."

My hopes are resting on an otolaryngologist who has cleared things up in the past. Not such that I can notice the pins that routinely drop in my sewing room, but enough that I can respond when the phone rings. 

Sending messages to people we care about is part of what keeps us in touch. Yet those communications are futile if not received. One way we can reduce static is if we package them in a soft start up. John Gottman uses the phrase to describe a gentle, non-confrontational beginning. 

"I was hoping we could leave earlier." vs. "You are so thoughtless. You are always late."

"Can we make a plan about the weekend?" vs. "No doubt you are going out with your buddies and don't even care about my needs."

When our opening line is prickly, even the best listeners throw up barriers.