Here comes the baby sister

During my afternoon nap, my little sister, my only sibling, called me to tell me her boyfriend had proposed this morning on their Minnesota vacation. I have been kind of reeling all day. This is a sharp reminder of how much I miss my family and the things I miss out on having moved away. I wondered about what was going on with my parents and how my mom was feeling. I enjoyed the thought of my big-kid dad having to keep this secret to himself for two weeks. This is the man who, unable to keep secrets or gifts under wraps, first let us begin opening a single gift on Christmas Eve. Then it was half of our gifts and now all gifts are opened the night before Christmas. Stockings are still saved for Christmas morning but I get the sense that even that is a trial for him.

Part of me is surprised because my sister is my little sister, now 20, and I'm sure she'll always feel like that to me. My great aunt, who's 86, still babies my grandmother who is 83. I guess that being a big sister never leaves you. Part of it might be my crushing fear of commitment, hell, I could only get myself to sign a six-month-lease on my apartment. I haven't heard any details about what they're thinking for a wedding. All I know is that she'll be a beautiful bride and I'll get hammered at the reception.

And I hate that there is even a single part of me that feels a pang of exclusion but that's how I feel. I am absolutely happy for my sister; her boyfriend is a really sweet guy and they're perfect for one another. At the same time, as a sort of pseudo matriarch of the family, a tiny part of me feels like an old maid. My family is in general well-educated but there is still a traditional sense of value in married life and children. The thought of people pitying me or making comments because she will be married first is exhausting. I know how those conversations will go b/c I've heard them over and over about other family and friends from back home. I know that we are very different people and I've had lots of experiences she hasn't because our interests and goals are so diverse. Maybe she thinks sometimes about moving away, I don't know. But it's not about me, it's about Kat.

Deep down, I just can't wait to see the ring. It sounds really beautiful.

You're So bitter you think he's sweet

"well he's wrong for you I swear."

I have been a slacker about writing. Planning and writing notes go to waste when I don't have the self-drive to put it into concrete form. The one thing I promised myself about this blog is that I would be truthful and honest about what's going on in my life. It's terrible when love affairs, even insignificant ones, interrupt your flow. Wait for more coolness to come from Your Mom...well, you know what I mean.

Look both ways!

Now, I don't mean to say all Colorado people are chew on a shoe crazy. But there are more insane pedestrians in this city than I've ever seen anywhere - and I'm counting San Francisco AND Ft. Lauderdale which have between them a insane number of yoo hoo's on the street. It's not to say that there are a lot of insane or mentally ill residents, I mean literally people on the streets. Pedestrians in this fair city seem to ignore the rules of traffic and seem to have no qualms about walking out into oncoming cars. I wonder if it's that perhaps Denverites are more exact, more calculating in their pathways. It's not enough for them to take patterns at right-angle intersections, they need to go directly to their destination; moving vehicles be damned. Perhaps the high altitude skews the brain's natural sense of cartography. This evening on my drive home I saw a group of people, three adults to be exact, cross six lanes of traffic TWICE. Together they ran, undaunted between cars, MOVING CARS and then back again.

At one point, one of the men started to bark at people in their cars. He was quite an intimidating figure - tattoos, shaved head, crazy hollow eyes and dirty overalls complimented by a dingy beater tank. Not alone in his journey, he was accompanied by a whooping girl wearing short short cut-off's and yellow, bleached hair and another companion running with a full, gas station soda. While I found the situation less than ideal after a long day at work - I was most amused by the reaction of the yuppie in the Honda in front of me. As the barking man passed his car he did the stare-ahead, pretend nothing is happening look. Once Barker had passed, Yuppie stared out the driver's side window with a death glare. The glare of man defending his territory, a primeval, instinctive glare bore down on the back of the unknowing barker as crossed three more lanes and was on his way. Fierce, burning stare with the questioning look so obvious on his face: Do I call the police? Do I do something? How can I not?!? This is MY street, I'm the one in a Honda! Becoming more and more simplistic. Turning as if to find something on the passenger's seat, perhaps in his attache. Where's my club? Man in oxford tough!

It was amazing, it was so instinctive - but alas, fleeting. I guess that rolled-up car windows block both UV rays and yuppie stare downs.

Cap'n Jack is BACK!

I just saw Pirates of the Carribean II. It was AMAZING. I am still so excited and flustered I think I have a fever. It was a packed house at the amazing United Artists theater in downtown Denver. I won't spoil, but there's a huge shocker ending! I am so in love.

I am still a child, when it comes to something wild

I spent my Independence Day weekend remitting my beloved grandparents to an assisted living apartment; giving up their independence. I gave up a lot to get to be there for my grandmother, who is my familial best friend, and had to leave her crying in her apartment. I get made fun of a lot for being a Jimmy Buffet fan, but when it comes to the fourth of July I think of this song. "The Night I Painted the Sky" It reminds me of nights like this past Monday, when my Uncle and is family, and my best friend, joined us for cheap fireworks and decadent sundaes in the hot Nebraska night. Everyone quits bickering, and picking at one another, and one fifth of the Stewarts (12) are still and sitting for more than five minutes. It's like a deep sigh in the middle of a crowded football game. If you enjoy this song, check out this album. I think it's both delicate and fun.

It's the child in me, selfish as it sounds, who can't say goodbye to the old house on Washington Street, now decrepit and falling down. I walked into the kitchen, during the move, and pressed my hand against the oak paneling and felt, for sure, it was not only my grandparents who were moving on but a goodbye to my home too.