Happy Birthday, Mia

I was afraid to talk to you in 2012. Wit and charm and specifically, my sister's friend -- something that now makes me laugh because of how much it precluded me from ever speaking to you.

It's not that you were particularly scary. It's that there isn't a prepping-for-friendship act in the world -- nerve included -- that's appropriately fitted for what you really get, but how could there be? How could you possibly measure the space in a heart -- one you don't even realize exists -- that is made for someone whom you had no idea would become one of your best friends? How could you summarize the feeling you're supposed to feel when someone you've never connected with physically, is one of the most steadying things in your life?

It's not that you were scary. It's that, from that tiny second when I pressed "Tweet," I couldn’t have imagined the great breadth that you would take up—the great breadth that you already were the moment I finally found that nerve I needed. I've known your magic for over two years now.

You turn twenty three today. The earth has made its long journey around the sun not once but twenty three times since you took your first breath. The thought of that journey can be overwhelming sometimes—such a long trip and such slow progression around the sun. But while we wait for it to make its cycle, we have small, more important progression to celebrate. It spins! The earth spins while it moves, giving us days. Lots of them. Learning and accomplishing and forward movement that is so recognizable, we have to take hold of the things that don't spin to stay grounded. The tilt of the earth's spin that I feel when we have those once every six months super-deep-life conversations, your smile at the moment you catch sight of me on the Skype screen, your encouragement to our friends when they're upset or insecure about something (I got to witness that one on Skype a few months ago. You are beautiful.) And we celebrate you today. Oh, how my Earth spins with you in it.

It’s not that I don’t realize that two years is just the beginning, a sliver of beauty for all that is to come. It’s just that it seems you’ve been here my whole life, and two years makes the most beautiful eternity.

Happy birthday, Mia. I love you.

Creative Wave

It's creative flood time. I never know when it's coming, which is half the fun. It just arrives, like a tsunami, sent by the universe to swallow me whole. I want to inhale books and buy flowers and write poems and paint masterpieces and dance and listen to new music and log ideas in notebooks and try new lipstick colors and cook amazing food and send compliments to my friends and paint a rainbow step stone path all the way up my driveway.  If I could map these creative waves out with some regularity and study arrival patterns, I would, but it doesn't work that way--at least not the tsunami kind. It's unpredictable.

Flowers: Which, when you're a kid and especially when you are a teenager, are very exciting.

The first bouquet inevitably setting off my spring cravings which include pink, pink, mint and pink.

 Also ranking in exciting newness:

New paint
New shoes
A new jar of peanut butter
New dish towels
New printed photos
New pens--the slick gel ones that glide nicely on paper
A new mug
New mascara
New found music

A week off of school: Thank you, George Washington. We all knocked out our teeth and replaced them with wood ones to celebrate you.

Most importantly -- Baby Shower:

Most excited about for Spring: Easter dresses; a good deep house cleaning that doesn't involve shoving anything into a drawer, closet or under a bed to get rid of it; decorating projects; flowers, flowers, flowers; Peeps. And yellow...everywhere.

New

Four months since I've logged onto my blogger account and written a post.

I don't have much of an excuse--"I started high school" has long since been worn out.

By the way, I started high school.

college campus I visited last week

Alas, it is a new year, and with new years come new goals and the need to satiate my desire to record it all. So, hello, blog. I'm back.

It's 2015 and work is aplenty. And there is biology homework to do. And beaches to visit. And stories to write (28 chapters into a fanfiction, and mind you it is a lot harder than it sounds). And my mom walked into my room today and mumbled "Gross, there's a scalloped potato stuck to the door." And I ignored her, pretending that if I didn't acknowledge she said it, it wouldn't really be there. Because there are resolutions to be fulfilled. And pictures to edit. And blog posts to complete.

And with all that comes writing and screenshotting writing resources and taking photos and recording everything that happens through words and images. And maybe cleaning out my closet, which I swear, I can hear growling at night. It's alive.

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The beach.

Just when I'm dropping terms like 'snow' as if poor California couldn't live up to the south's performance during the winter shift, California got all pissed off. "I'll show you," she said. "You wanna compare me with South Carolina? Fine. I'll have the last word." 

And then she did. California, with her kaleidoscope skies and salty waters, had the last word. 

She doesn't like to be challenged, that California. She'll pull out the big guns. 

Bam. 

Bam.

Welcome to the gun show.

Last minute trips to the beach are the best. When you have homework and your room is trashed, so an attractive alternative is to ditch. Head out from under the cover of gray clouds toward the open air of California's pride and joy--her welcoming coast. She has 840 miles of it to share. 

The year has seen a lot of the beach so far. I hope the pattern continues.

To the return of the blog.