January 19, 2005

But Come Ye Back

The other night I stayed on the phone for an hour with my sister. The first half of it I spent in the bathtub, soaking in bubbles and chatting until the water got cold. It was great to hear about her new crush and to talk about untangling yourself from the past.

I climbed out of the tub, put on my jammies, and sat on my bed with the guitar. She grabbed hers, too, and we attempted to teach each other a few songs, like "Goodnight" and "Danny Boy." I taught her "I Still Miss Someone." (Only because it's very, very easy.) My sister is a good guitar player. I am not. It was still fun, though, to just sit there on the phone and pluck out the chords and share and sing.

I miss my sister every day, but she's here with me even when she isn't. We're far apart, but we're not. And she got off the phone and said she was going to take pictures of the snow. And I was sitting in a tank top on a muggy 70-degree night.

I wonder how she feels about missing Mardi Gras for the first time in years and years. I remember that year we sat on the porch of the Columns and watched the parade go by. I hope we can do that again one day. I think we will, because I really do think that no matter where these next few years take her, before we know it, she'll be back. I kind of feel like New Orleans is her heart's true home.

I wonder if it's snowing there again tonight. I hope that she is warm and happy.

:::

And I knew it was too good to be true.

:::
About this time in ...

2004

1/20:

And that I miss them all already, and that my friend is a great mom, and that finishing The Time Traveler's Wife somewhere over Tennessee forced tears out my dehydrated airplane eyes, and that I want this baby to be lying on my chest right now, and if I never see any amount of snow ever again, it will be too soon.


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