Smallness.

My brother is in town on business. Busy-ness, more like.
He made a window for me last night. It was wonderful.
I revel in alone time with siblings and cousins. My selfishness loves
the lack of commotion of family events, and prefers a quiet bar with a
drink or two. Undivided attention for a few hours.
He challenges me a lot. Intentionally, I think. But gently.
I have to let my family be my family.
I have to let our definitions of success be different.
My life is small. I live here in the DTES with my sewing machine and
weird plumbing. Working at jobs with no benefits. Wearing sensible
shoes.
My impact is tiny.
I am happy.
My aspirations take me to a small house. They take me chickens and big
bowl of soup. My ambitions are to make a super huge quilt, to have a
family.
These things are not on ladders. I am not scrambling over rungs.
So I will pour you a drink. I will ask you about your day. Over time
we'll get to know each other, and our hugs as we meet on the street
will be strong and true.
Our conversations will increase in depth, our inside jokes will ripen
to something so funny we will cry laughing.

Blessedness is not counted by degrees or fancy cars. Thank heavens.

There is nothing romantic about buying a big pack of toilet paper and
walking with it through the Downtown East Side.

For Sarah.

I came home with August and Everything After in my purse. Pillaged
from Marty's giveaway pile.
You had just uncorked a bottle of wine, sitting and knitting or reading .
We pressed play and all those old lyrics came flooding back.
"It's raining in Baltimore and fifty miles east.
The bigtop is crumbling down."
Unembarassed and singing loud. Streatching out the YEAAAAAAAAAAH at
the end of Rain King.
We drank more wine and talked deep into the night.
Things like lonliness and love and God. Things that we always talk
talked about. Mostly boys though, I am sure.
I didn't want to leave that space of true sisterhood.
We went to sleep with our doors open. Counting Crows playing on
repeat, quietly in the living room.
I am not saying that this is the best band in the world, but this is
the story I tell to defend myself.
There was too much love in that little house on East 14th that night.
I think even the harshest critic would have danced the Mr. Jones with
us if they were there.
I will love you forever for being there in those formative years. For
letting me be Wendy Bateman.

Steps.

Remember the time when we were sitting on the Spanish Steps?
It was early April, and the weather was perfect. Not very hot, but you
could feel our noses browning in the sun.
I think it might have been a Sunday.
I was getting ready to leave, we had just a little while to spend
before I had to go get the bus.
There were a lot of interesting people sitting around us. You were
sketching them as Sabrina and I talked about big dreams.
I gave you my sunglasses because you needed them and besides, they
look better on you anyway.
I think about it.
I am certain that details are wrong, like maybe we went back to your
lovely apartment (with the tiniest elevator) to get my bag. Or maybe
we were eating oranges...I don't remember, but why would I make that
up?
That few minutes on the Spanish steps with the sun, and two of the
greatest, most sincere, funniest friends, is one of my my favourite
all-time Thoughts.
I am so blessed in this life to have memories like this peak out at me
from time to time.
Like on rainy Vancouver mornings. Listening to songs that sound like Idaho.

Every two or three times in a while.

I have been missing blogging.
I think it's fun, but can get boring fast.
I hate those conversations that start,"Did you see my blog?"
Gross.
And I can whine.
I have been thinking lately about something my mom used to say
whenever we were bickering or gossiping.
She would ask, "Is that nice? Is it necessary? Is it true?"
These are the guidelines for me still....I hope.
To be fair, no blog is ever all that necessary. It's just that
omitting that part would only be half (or two thirds) quoting my
mother, thus, making it less whimsical.
Heavy on the true, heavy on the nice. Funny sometimes too.
Maybe.